“What?” His gaze centered on where his fingers disappeared inside her.
She pushed against his shoulder to get his attention. “I don’t have—”
He treated her to a quick nod. “I do.”
He dug into his pants pocket and came out with a small packet. He clamped it between his teeth and ripped off the wrapper.
He was ready for action? Here? Today?
She had to ask. “You brought a condom to a wedding?”
“It’s a long story.”
One she was dying to hear, but the thrumming in her body trumped her brain on this one. “You can tell me later.” She shifted, bringing her body closer to his just as he deepened his touch. “Oh, that’s good.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, then quickly disappeared again. “I’d say.”
Her hand slid down to the opening of his pants, to where his erection pressed against his gray briefs. She wasted no time in freeing him to her touch. Moving up and down, tightening and learning the smooth feel of him until he groaned.
She pulled the condom out of the death grip of his fist. “Let me.”
As she rolled it over his length, he leaned in, letting his warm breath brush against her cheek. The sound of harsh pants filled the room.
“Faster,” he said as he nibbled on her earlobe.
A clutching filled her chest and moved its way down her body. Heat and building need. The kissing and wandering hands led to this deep desire. It wiped out everything else, making her abandon her true purpose for being at the hotel and, instead, focus on easing that stern look he’d worn throughout the wedding reception. On getting his pants off as soon as possible.
He shifted his hips and pushed inside her, slow and even, stopping only to let her inner muscles adjust before sliding deep. The fullness brought a rough intake of breath to the back of her throat. The job, the money—none of it mattered, not when he moved like that.
At least he’d worn a condom. Eric sat in his office the following Monday morning, grateful for that small show of intelligence during an otherwise mindless bout of hot sex.
He had his idiot friend, the same one who stood on the other side of the desk holding out a cup of coffee, to thank for that favor since he was the one who’d insisted Eric take the packet to the wedding. Not that Eric planned to share how he’d used it.
“You look like shit.” Seth Freeman delivered his assessment with a huge smile as he plopped into the small black chair across from Eric. The seat was designed more to keep visitors off guard and squirming rather than comfortable.
The hard wood didn’t bother Seth. His relaxed, never-ruffled style allowed him to be at ease in any situation. Thanks to years of friendship, Seth was not one to give in to Eric’s intimidation, which was exactly why Eric had pushed to have Seth named as Chief of the Career Criminal Division the year before. Their styles complemented each other, and the guy was a damn fine lawyer.
But right now, Eric seriously thought about having Seth arrested. No idea what the charge would be, but he’d think of something. Anything to stop the conversation Eric guessed was coming.
“This one is for you,” Seth said as he slid the cup across the top of the practical metal desk before easing back into his open-legged sprawl.
To keep from getting sucked into a personal conversation, Eric grabbed a file and flipped it open, pretending to read. “Thanks. I have some work to do but can meet you for lunch at the usual—”
“Your foul mood have anything to do with your weekend activities? Or should I say lack of them?” Seth asked as he sipped his coffee.
Eric stopped rambling but refused to glance up and acknowledge the humor in Seth’s tone. “No.”
“Interesting.”
Eric could think of a hundred words to describe the last two days. Interesting didn’t come close to summing them up. Fast, sexy, and dumb were more on point.
“Not really,” he said.
“Hmmm.”
Eric ignored the first three hmmms but gave in to the fourth one and looked up. It was either that or deal with Seth’s staring and odd noises for the next hour. “What?”
A shrug. A frown. Seth went through his entire “no big deal” repertoire of gestures before actually spitting out a word. “Some guys would have trouble dealing with their ex-girlfriend’s wedding when they’re not, you know, the actual groom. Most would refrain from attending said festivities. Might even make sure to be out of town when the deal went down.”
“Do you have a point other than being dramatic?”
“Since you insisted on going to the shindig…” Seth broke off, shaking his head in what could only be described as pained disappointment. “Ah, hell. I bet you even brought a gift. Didn’t you, you dumb bastard?”
“If this is a closing argument, you should actually, you know—” Eric cleared his throat. “End.”
“I assume the wedding and seeing Deana looking all beautiful as she walked to another man is the source of all the frowning and grumbling. Can’t blame you. She is one fine woman.” Seth whistled. “Always has been. I’m sure her wedding day was no exception.”
Deana’s big white dress blowing in the March sunshine and her face lit with enough happiness to power all of the island of Oahu. Yeah, that was an image Eric didn’t need or want swimming around in his head. He’d fought it off all weekend.
“Are you done?”
“You have the entire office on edge,” Seth added as if he hadn’t yet made his annoying point. He hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “I think I saw a grown prosecutor cry out there.”
There it was. Eric had noticed the sympathetic smiles and sideways glances at the wedding, watched as the attorneys in the office scurried away from him as he walked down the hallway that morning. Despite his practiced appearance of calm, he’d somehow gone from being in charge to being the object of pity and more than a little fear. The last part didn’t bother him. The former did.
As the Deputy Prosecuting Attorney, he wielded a lot of power over assignments and work performance assessments. Not a bad thing for people to be careful around him, but being the subject of courthouse gossip destroyed his authority.
He had one woman to thank for the bleed between his personal and professional lives—Deana Armstrong, now Deana Armstrong Windsor. She’d dumped him for doing the right thing and then married a guy she barely knew. Eric still cared for Deana. Hell, he even liked her new husband Josh Windsor.
But Eric hated their wedding—the rows of white chairs set up on the lawn, the cloudless day, the stunning sweep of a view from Diamond Head at one angle and Waikiki at the other. The idea of it, the press surrounding it and having to attend it, all ticked him off. If he could, he’d wipe out the image of Deana smiling as she strolled across the grass and stopped under a trellis
