tilted her chin, eyes blazing with challenge, and, he hoped, lust. ‘Orgasms?’
He nodded, slowly encroaching until her body heat registered and her delicious scent tickled his nose.
‘We established earlier, there’s little trust between us. But we don’t need to trust each other outside of the bedroom to have a good time.’
Her pulse fluttered in her throat and he let his stare linger there, letting her know he saw that she wanted him.
‘You trust me with your body.’
She laughed, a nervous snort she used to conceal the rush of excitement lighting her eyes. ‘Cocky much?’
He nodded. Slow, sure, sincere. He’d show her a good time. For old times’ sake. A taste of what she’d never got to experience and what she clearly craved.
His blood pounded harder, her excitement ramping up his own.
‘Here’s how it’s going to go.’ He rolled his shoulders, enjoying the kick of satisfaction when she looked him up and down, her tongue darting out onto that glossy red lip.
‘I’ll call the shots, and you’ll reap the orgasms.’
She lifted one brow. ‘Plural?’
Another nod. Another inch closer. ‘Think of this afternoon as a prelude—not my best work.’ He allowed his eyes to linger on her parted lips, her soft rapid pants encouraging him. ‘The next one will be better. And better...’
She stared as if he’d proposed a naked run through Central Park. ‘Call the shots?’
He held his ground, but she stepped half a step closer. Perhaps she wasn’t even conscious of it. Now only a sliver of air separated them, practically sparking with erotic possibility.
He nodded, his hand sweeping the swathe of her hair behind one delicate shoulder, while his stare searched hers.
‘Are you done?’ He lifted a brow, tempting. ‘Or do you want more?’ He leaned in, his eyes practically closing as her warm scent bathed him. ‘You know I can give them to you. The question is, how much do you want them?’
She placed her hand on the centre of his chest, fingers flexing with enough pressure that he wasn’t sure if she’d push him away or curl those fingers into a fist around his shirt and pull him in.
Fuck, perhaps he’d played too hard? Miscalculated?
No. The unfinished business between them went beyond the stalled deal for the Morris Building. He knew it. She knew it.
Would she submit to his proposal, pick up where they left off earlier, leaving everything but sex at the bedroom door? She called it cocky, but he was a man of his word, he’d prove that to her, even if he had to drag that understanding from her one orgasm at a time while he worked this itch from beneath his skin.
She came to him, her petite frame pressing into his body from breast to thigh, and her breath gusting over his lips. The eyes she lifted to his glowed, the passion and defiance he’d guessed at earlier clearly on display.
‘I’m not sure that one earlier can be topped.’ Her fingers curled into his shirt.
His blood surged, thick and powerful.
‘Oh, I’ll top it.’ Lust slammed through him. A primal roar. Game on.
With a swoop from him and a tug from her their mouths collided. He manoeuvred her against the wall and kissed her, pouring every scrap of frustration into the slide and skim of lips and tongues. The surge of lust that had simmered beneath the surface since this morning at the building site flooding through him, breaking free, seeking fulfilment.
She whimpered, as if he’d held back for too long and she was as starved as him for the ferocious kisses. She palmed his cock, drawing a hiss from him, and he tugged the hem of her clingy dress, exposing bare, toned thighs. Pale and smooth—a place a man could lose himself.
She spread them, her fingers hooking into his belt loops to pull him between her legs, her hands as grabby as his, her need matching his with every stroke. He ground his erection into her, the clothing barriers hindering his goal—to get inside her and take them both over the edge. Over and over until she begged for more.
He pulled back from her hungry mouth, his gaze flicking up and down the stairs in case they were being observed. Harley kissed and nibbled a path to his neck, tonguing his earlobe until his eyes rolled back.
Was he seriously considering fucking her in a stairwell where they could be interrupted at any time by someone leaving the fashion show or someone entering from the street? Harley seemed up for anything. Her hands found his belt buckle, tugging and grappling as she returned her mouth to his.
Reality dawned.
He stilled her hands just as his phoned buzzed in his pocket. He soothed the rejection by palming her fantastic ass, pressing her centre to his hard length while he twisted away from her kiss to read the text.
‘Car’s here,’ he mumbled against her swollen lips.
Pocketing his phone, he pulled back, sliding her dress back down her shapely legs, and bit back a curse. He’d lost himself in the moment, almost fucked her in a public place.
He cupped her flushed cheeks, pushing her dishevelled hair back from her face. Her lip-gloss had vanished, her hair was tousled and her breasts, pressed against his chest, lifted and fell with her rapid pants.
She nodded once, stepping aside and tweaking her hair and her dress so she was once more the immaculate goddess.
With a flick of her blonde tresses, she followed him to the fire exit and his waiting car, where they made their escape into the night.
HARLEY HOISTED HER dress to mid-thigh and clambered astride his lap to continue the frantic, almost desperate kisses that had begun the moment the car’s doors closed. She couldn’t get enough of the chemistry that arced between them. It was as if she’d been living under water, everything dull and muted. This...lust...flared hotter than anything she’d ever known.
Combustive. Addictive. Uncontrollable.
And in this moment, she’d never wanted anything more than to pick up where they’d left off this afternoon in Jack’s apartment.
She reached between them, rubbing him through his pants until he groaned into her mouth and bared his teeth on a hiss. It wasn’t enough. She craved him naked, every inch of his magnificent body hers to explore. She yearned for him sweaty and determined above her, pushing her over the edge as she instinctively knew he could.
She didn’t give a damn about his driver, or the passing traffic. She’d had a brief taste this afternoon and she wanted more. More of what he offered. Just sex. The amazing, sheet-clawing kind.
When he’d suggested a ride home, she’d reasoned that accepting provided an opportunity to try one last time to convince him to push through the sale of the Morris Building. But honesty won. She wanted
