him deeper still. And then she screamed, smacking the sheets with one hand as she begged for more. He’d never felt a woman come apart with such abandon. It nearly undid him. But he couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.
He leaned forward, releasing her bucking hips as he reached around to touch the spot he knew would skyrocket her to the peak of her second orgasm. And this time, he came with her.
* * *
MAGGIE ROLLED OFF the stack of pillows, taking one with her. Cuddling it against her chest, she closed her eyes and reveled in the orgasmic shock waves still pulsing through her body. She’d never had sex like that—wild, unrestrained—the way she wanted it. If she’d been home in her own bed, she might have thought she was dreaming. But she wasn’t in her empty mansion. The pillow against her chest belonged to the Marriott hotel. Nothing in this room, apart from her clothes, belonged to her, including Hunter. None of it was her responsibility.
She waited for the disappointment, but it didn’t come. Instead, relief snuggled up next to her. After tonight, after another round or two, she’d never see him again. She had a Toyota parked outside and she planned to use it.
Maggie sighed into her borrowed bedding.
“Give me that.” Hunter plucked the pillow from her grasp and tossed it off the bed. “You’re making me jealous of a pile of goose feathers.”
“I’m pretty sure these are synthetic.” Maggie wrapped her body around his, letting her head lie on his shoulder. He tensed beneath her. Opening her eyes, she saw him wince. The gunshot wound. She’d completely forgotten. She sat up. “Am I hurting you?”
“My shoulder aches sometimes, usually after a workout.” He sat up beside her on the bed. “And that was quite a workout.”
A warm flush crept up her cheeks. He’d given her everything she’d needed. It only seemed fair that she offer him something in return. “Would you like a massage? I’m not a professional. Not even close. But I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m definitely going to take you up on that. But first let’s order some grub.” Smiling, he flopped down on his back and reached for the hotel phone on the nightstand. “Turns out those nachos weren’t enough. I need to refuel. Up for a late-night snack?”
Maggie glanced at the clock. It was only ten. But if he was hungry, she could pick at something while he ate. “Sure.”
“Great.” He rolled to his side and pressed the button for room service. Maggie listened as he ordered two pasta dishes, a salad and a dessert. Then he asked the person on the other end to hold.
“Are you a vegetarian?” he asked her, his hand over the receiver.
“No, and no dessert for me.” If he was going to look at her thighs again after their “snack,” she didn’t want to wonder if hotel cheesecake had added an extra layer.
Suddenly self-conscious, Maggie went to the bathroom and found two plush robes while Hunter finished ordering. She wrapped one around her still tingling body and returned to the room to offer him the other. He took it without pointing out that he’d already seen her naked, or saying he preferred to remain unclothed. A perfect gentleman, she thought, except when he’d taken her from behind. Then he’d been pure animal.
She smiled. He would make some woman very happy one day, but not her. This man was too I’m-in-charge for her world. Maggie sat back down on the bed.
“So tell me, Maggie,” he said. She tensed, waiting for him to ask her about her work, or her home, or why she’d been on the prowl for a one-night stand. “What is your favorite Italian restaurant?”
Maggie laughed her relief. “The Olive Garden.”
He nodded, accepting her choice instead of demanding to know why a woman who could afford to eat at Mario Batali’s finest New York City establishments any night of the week would pick a chain.
“Mine’s this small hole-in-the-wall in Costa Rica,” he said. “I was down there on vacation a few years back, on the Caribbean side, when I found it. Had to walk down an unlit road to get there, but it was worth it.”
The food arrived and the conversation flowed. They talked about travel and vacations, but never work or home life. She told him how she’d fallen in love with Italy when she was seventeen and visiting on a school trip. He told her about his favorite Greek island, Antiparos. They talked until she’d devoured half the salad (he ignored the other half), a third of a meat-filled lasagna (he ate the rest) and a bit of the vegetarian penne.
He barely touched the wine he’d ordered, sticking mostly to water, she noted, before pushing the thought from her mind. Now was not the time or place to study his behavior or compare him to her father. Tonight was for pleasure, and so far, the evening had exceeded her expectations. Sipping her own glass of white wine, Maggie thought, This is the best date of my life. And it’s not even a real date.
* * *
BESIDE HIM ON the bed, Maggie leaned back against a mountain of pillows. Forget Greece, he had his very own goddess right here. Her loose curls rested on the plush robe. Take it off, he thought. I want to touch you again.
He drained the last of his water and set the glass on the room service table while Maggie described her dream vacation: Paris. He’d only met her a few hours earlier, and in reality he knew very little about her, but he still felt closer to her than he had to most of the women he’d dated in the past few years. And he wondered if it was because she didn’t try so hard. She wasn’t here to find forever or to prove they were a good fit. She was just here because she wanted sex. If the erection under his robe was any indication, it was about time for another round. But first, she’d promised him a massage.
Hunter rolled his shoulder. Sex mingled with half a glass of wine had dulled the ache, but it was still there. “About that massage, you still game?”
“Oh, yes.” She sat up, transforming instantly from relaxed beauty to take-charge woman. Little Miss Maggie reminded him of a Rubik’s Cube, her colors constantly changing. One minute her yellow, innocent side shone bright, then a row moved, adding a touch of brazen red. And when she came, hands slapping the bedding? That’s when all the colors mixed together.
Hunter shrugged out of his robe and flopped down on his stomach, turning his head to the side to watch Maggie. She set her wine on the night table and crawled across the bed. “I don’t think you can give a proper massage with your robe on.”
“Is that an order?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, ma’am.” The side of his mouth hitched upward. “If that’s what it takes to get you naked.”
Maggie laughed as she loosened the fabric belt at her waist and unwrapped her lush curves. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her full, perky breasts, enjoying the slight rise and fall with each breath she took. But when she shifted to straddle his lower back, he wasn’t left with a choice. Her hands touched his aching shoulder, gently, yet exerting just enough pressure to push away the pain. The rest of the world slipped out of reach, leaving behind Maggie’s hands, her heat grazing his lower back. When he died, if Hunter could have his pick of heavens, he’d return to this moment.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes into the massage, the brazen Miss Maggie replaced her hands with her lips. Kissing and licking, she made her way down the center of his back, shimmying her wet core over his ass as
