drank silently, his hand large and his fingers long, his eyes never leaving her, never wavering.
She was acutely aware that he could have glanced down to the tops of her pushed-up breasts, to her barely covered thighs. If he had he would have noticed the intermittent tremors, the pink skin she felt sure was not just on her cheeks but the tips of her ears.
It was unbearably sexy, that stare, his dark eyes so large, unblinking. As if he could see more than she wanted him to.
As every second ticked by, the heat intensified, until she couldn’t take it any longer. She blinked. “The tea’s good,” she said, surprised her voice was steady.
He swiped his bottom lip with the edge of his tongue; barely a swipe really, only enough for the light to catch on the moisture.
“Although I have no idea what makes it a British blend. It tastes like … tea.”
He lowered his cup. “I’ve got a window in my bedroom,” he said, his voice—still low and rumbly—moving through her like distant thunder. “I want to take your dress off slowly. Let it fall down your body. I’ve been wondering for hours what’s underneath. I’m guessing black, maybe lace, maybe silk, but definitely black. You’ll look incredible standing by that window with the lights of the city as your backdrop.”
Bree almost dropped her cup, clumsy and awkward as a surge of wet heat flowed through her. She’d been so together, too. All calm and reasonable and thinking things through. And then he had to go and say that.
She was officially in another plane of existence because there was no one in the world as she knew it who could have said those words in that tone with that look in his eyes. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought there was someone sitting behind her, some model or actress or virtually anyone who wasn’t Bree Kingston.
“Bree?” His smile was slow, controlled, while she hesitated.
God, why was she hesitating? A few more seconds and maybe she could get her legs in working order.
He stood and held out his hand for her. Heart beating flamenco style, head swirling in a cloud of lust and weirdness, she rose without spilling, tripping or making any unfortunate sounds.
Instead of pulling her closer, Charlie stepped into her personal space, then into her. His body touched her from chest to thigh, and he was warm and big and he smelled as if he’d just walked in a forest. Looking up was nothing new, but meeting his gaze so near, feeling his tea-sweet breath caress her lips, that was stunning. As he bent down, her eyes closed at the last possible second, and then, and then …
CHARLIE SHIFTED HIS BODY as he kissed her. He’d been getting hard for a while now, since he’d put down that ludicrous tea tray. Bree wasn’t his type; there was no question about that, but she was something—
Something.
So small. Not thin, thin was ubiquitous, a thing to get over, not to enjoy. At least the kind of thin he was used to. Bree was diminutive, delicate. How he wanted to hold her completely in his arms, lift her from the floor and carry her off to his bed. More absurd than the tea service because there wasn’t a romantic bone in his body and also not enough booze to let his imagination get away from him, and yet, his hands moved down her black dress—which had to go—to cup her hips, her bottom.
Instead of giving in to his urge, he walked backward, pulling her with him. He didn’t need to look, not yet. It was a straight line to the hallway, where he would have to make sure to turn them, then another straight shot to his bedroom.
They kissed and walked in their odd shuffling gait. He touched wherever he could, mostly the parts that were bare, and warm, and pebbled with goose bumps. He hoped those were from him, not the temperature. Decided not to ask.
The bedroom was obscenely large for Manhattan, but the building was prewar and the place had been remodeled to make it expansive. He’d put in plush carpet for the pleasure of it, outrageously fine sheets, condoms and water bottles near the California king. Bree broke away from his kiss with a gasp. Not at the luxury of the room, she hadn’t looked at it yet, but for breath. To give him a smile.
He nodded toward the wall, all windows, the electronic shades up and hidden to capture the view. “There,” he said. “I want you there.”
She turned. This gasp wasn’t for air. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”
“It pales.” He took her hand and guided her closer to the windows and kissed her again, sneaking his tongue between her lips as his fingers found the zipper pull. He heard nothing but breathing and blood flow, but he followed the zipper with his left hand on her bare back until he reached the end. He touched the strip of elastic that was the line of her thong. The touch was enough to pull him away from the gorgeous heat of her mouth. He needed to see.
The dress fell, puddling at her feet, and it was better than he’d imagined. The thong wasn’t black, but red. Dark red, tiny. Seeing it against her pale flesh made his cock harder, his desire intense.
Odd, so odd, this reaction of his. She was pretty, she really was, but she wasn’t architecturally beautiful. Perfectly proportioned, yet not so slender she didn’t have curves and a little bit of a tummy that made him want to rest his head right there for a week. God, her breasts. They were mouthwatering, with pale pink areolas and firm little nipples, puckered and waiting.
Bree stepped out of her dress, and oh, that was something. Her in nothing but a ruby thong and high heels. Stunning, delicious … for Christ’s sake, the woman was two feet in front him, willing and eager.
He worked his clothes off in a controlled frenzy, flinging things away as he multitasked, toeing off his shoes and socks, moving closer to Bree as he unzipped, hissing as the silk of his boxer briefs brushed against the underside of his aching cock.
He kissed her again, but she was trembling and just chilly enough for him to bow to the nonsensical urge to scoop her up into his arms—she was a featherweight of soft flesh and hitching breaths—and dammit, he should have pulled the bedcovering down. She huffed a laugh as he stood her up, and together they got rid of the extra pillows and pulled down the duvet.
He waited, and when she sat and bent to take off her heels, he made a noise. It wasn’t a squeak or a whimper, but it was close on both counts. Bree grinned, rose from the bed. There was a wicked sparkle in those lust-darkened eyes of hers, and when she turned around and went onto all fours on the mattress, Charlie made another noise, but this was a groan that came straight from his balls. She crawled across the bed, her hips swaying in invitation, giving him flashes of red between her thighs.
When she got to the second pillow, she made a show of lying down, grinning at him, flushed and breathing hard as she posed for him. Hands behind her, clutching the teak headboard slats, hair dark against the white pillowcase. Her legs came up, one canted over the other, like a pinup from the forties, like a siren, like a dream.
Miraculously, he didn’t come right there and then. He made it onto the bed, took his time but he had to close his eyes before he touched her. Because, God.
When he licked a trail up the inside of her thigh, she trembled on his tongue.
BREE STOPPED BREATHING as Charlie’s mouth inched up her thigh. The sexy pose wasn’t
