He was a breath away, warmth caressing her skin.
He shouldn’t.
She braced herself, feeling the sizzling ache deep inside.
He wouldn’t.
Oh, please, let his lips hurry up and touch hers.
When they did, all pleas were futile, all thought vanished and her mind clouded.
The taking was slow, his lips touching lightly against hers as if testing the waters. They touched hers a second time, and she was the one to step closer. Third time was the charm, as his tongue snaked out to meet with hers as if in silent agreement.
Warm, wet, enticingly slow, he kissed her and she kissed him right back.
Her hands clasped around his neck, his around her waist. The kiss deepened until his moans echoed in her ears, her heart thumped in her chest.
As far as kisses went this was, as Deena would say, off the chain.
His technique was slow, persistent and right on the mark as Karena felt sensations rippling fiercely throughout her body. This was breaking another of her rules when it came to men. She didn’t do a lot of kissing. It was too intimate and stirred too many emotions. Like right now, she felt as if she was falling weightlessly into a swirling pit of desire lined with fluffy white clouds designed to make the fall smoother.
Heat licked at her with each stroke of his tongue as she felt his hold on her increasing until he was almost lifting her off the floor. His mouth opened over hers, devouring her lips, strangling her tongue. And still, she felt as if he was holding back, giving her only a taste…of what was to come.
Sam was lost, felt the stranglehold of control that normally surrounded him slipping just a bit. He hadn’t meant to take the kiss this far, only to get a small taste. But she’d opened to him immediately, like a flower waiting to bloom. When she wrapped her arms around him, going higher on her tiptoes to meet his insistent embrace, he almost shivered.
He wasn’t a player by any stretch of the imagination. He’d had only two serious relationships in his entire thirty-one years. Unlike his brother, Cole, his goals where women were concerned were already etched in stone. Love. Marriage. Family. That’s what his parents had and that’s what he wanted. Any woman he took to his bed more than once would have to know that right up front.
Damn, she tasted good and felt good, wrapped in his arms with her body pressed hotly against his own. Desire speared through him with an intensity that had him holding her tighter, tonguing her deeper. His erection throbbed and he lifted her until it was cradled against the flat indentation of her belly.
He could take her right here, right now, and give them both a pleasure they longed for. But that would be crass, not to mention unprofessional. No, he wanted the seductive Ms. Lakefield in his bed for hours on end, not propped up against this wall screaming his name, because that would never be enough.
With those thoughts running rapidly through his mind, Sam pulled away slightly, giving her a second to breathe before nipping her bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth and feeling her tremble once more. One more taste and he swore he was going to let her go. His tongue traced her lip, slid along the line of her teeth. She pulled her head back away from him and he groaned.
“Don’t run, Karena,” he whispered huskily, moving his lips closer to hers, his tongue already extended and waiting for her to join in.
For a split second it appeared she would back down, but then something sparked in her eyes and her tongue once again touched his, twirling around him in a sensual dance that had him moaning. His eyes were just closing once more, his mind slipping into the trance that her taste weaved around him, when his cell phone rang.
He’d planned to ignore it, Karena could tell by the way his arms tightened around her. She couldn’t blame him, this was one helluva kiss. She’d felt it all the way down to the tingle in her toes. Yeah, that probably sounded real corny, but damn if she was lying. Sam Desdune definitely had skills in the kissing department, and if she wasn’t careful she’d be ending her self-induced sexual drought right here in the lobby of her art gallery.
The phone chirped again and she forced herself to pull back. “Answer it,” she said, breathing hard and lifting a hand to wipe the moisture from her lips.
He only stared at her for a moment and she nodded toward the phone that still rang at his waist. Finally he reached for it but still kept her pinned to the wall.
“Desdune.”
“I’ve got identification and a passport. Are you near a fax?” Bree said in her efficient way.
“What’s the fax number?” he asked Karena and repeated it to Bree.
“That’s the machine in my office,” Karena said, using this diversion as an opportunity to slip away from him and move in the direction of her office.
Grateful for the space she walked quickly, knowing he was watching her but refusing to bask in the feeling of sexiness that emanated with just one look from him. She wasn’t an amateur in the game of boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy and girl have sex. And after what they’d just done she was thinking more and more that sleeping with Sam Desdune would be just as explosive as the kiss they’d shared. Her business-only stance might have to be readjusted.
Pushing through the door to her office, she saw that whatever he’d asked be faxed to them was already being transmitted through the machine.
“Your office works fast,” Karena quipped.
“It’s Bree, my twin sister. She takes her job about as seriously as you take yours.”
“Smart woman,” she said, lifting the first page from the machine without looking at him.
He was about to say something else when she gasped.
“It’s not him.”
He moved closer to her. “What?”
She handed him the paper, dread filling her eyes, her entire body tense. “That’s not the man I met with in Brazil. It wasn’t Leandro. Monica was right. I got played.”
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