Jake glanced at Rebecca. He liked that she was tall, five-eight, he’d guess? A six-inch difference was very doable. Not that anything couldn’t be worked around. He signed his name on the line, gave back the key card, and finally, they were free to leave.
“Thank you, Mr. Donnelly,”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, tearing his gaze from Rebecca, but he barely gave the other woman a second because his date, this amazing woman in the sleek black dress, tossed her hair behind her shoulder and tugged him along and it was as if the flag had been lowered in a race he hadn’t known he was running. It took him two steps to catch up, and when they looked at each other, side by side, gripping each other’s hands, they grinned like idiots. Who were going to have sex. Really, really soon.
“Should we order drinks?” she asked as they walked, their speed increasing with each step. “Champagne? Wine? Soda?”
“Wine? Do you like red? Although white would probably be better after vodka. Maybe we should just get some vodka.”
“I like red.” She pushed the elevator button three times, leaning into her thumb every time. “Besides, you’re a bourbon man. Bourbon men don’t drink vodka.”
“Who told you such obvious lies? Whoever it was should be banished from ever tasting another shot of Stoli. And he shouldn’t be able to look at a bottle of Elit.”
The elevator dinged and opened. Finally. A couple walked out, ignoring them completely. It was Jake’s turn to pull Rebecca inside.
“Then why did you order bourbon?” she asked.
He shrugged, astonished they were speaking in sentences when his brain and his body were one hundred percent focused on getting inside the goddamn room. “I like it.”
“Okay.” She pushed the button for the fifteenth floor. “What booze don’t you like?”
He couldn’t stand it, he pulled her until she was flush against him and he was staring down into her dark, wide eyes. “Boone’s Farm.”
She laughed as she pressed her breasts to his chest. He inhaled sharply at the feel of her, the reality of her. Then her hand, her right hand, slipped under his arm, around his waist and up his back. Without his permission, his hips jerked forward, his quickly hardening cock meeting the perfect resistance of her hip. Each floor they ascended felt like foreplay.
“What about you?” he asked, straining to pick up the thread of their conversation, although he was pretty sure if he started talking about pork belly futures neither of them would care. “Is there anything respectable you don’t like?”
“Tons of things. But I suppose you’re talking about liquor.” Her breath whispered against his jaw, and that hand on his back was moving in small circles, the hint of friction electric. “Oddly,” she said, her voice maybe half an octave lower than it had been a minute ago, “single malt Scotch whiskey. I know, it’s very girlie of me, but I hate it. What’s worse, I get very cranky when people get in my face about how superior it is. The age and what kind of barrel it was kept in. Which is ridiculous because I do the exact same thing with wine and champagne, so who the hell do I think I am? But there you have it. Completely irrational.”
“Good to know,” he said, now a few millimeters away from brushing his lips against hers. “I was going to seduce you with my knowledge of Glenlivet, but I won’t now. Pity. I know a lot about Glenlivet, and I’m incredibly charming when I add the personal anecdotes.”
“That’s okay,” she said, as they came to a smooth halt. “I already find you incredibly charming.”
He’d have kissed her right then, right as they stepped out of the elevator, but he wanted it private. Not that anyone was in the hall. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to do anything to this woman until he had her alone and there was a bed nearby. He checked the wall plaque and followed the arrows to room 1562, at the very end of the hall. They didn’t run, but they moved as quickly as his leg allowed.
She got the green light with her key card on the second try and he shoved the door open. His first impression of the room was that it was big for a Manhattan hotel and that it was very full with a sofa and chairs and coffee table, but it could have been the size of a pencil box and bright chartreuse and he wouldn’t have cared. It was theirs, and while there wasn’t a bed in front of him, there had to be one close. Rebecca walked in, but she didn’t get far.
As he slammed the door shut behind him, he gave her a spin, a sweet little twirl that set her back against the door with him blocking her path.
Her smile said she didn’t mind, and her lips parting as she raked his face with her very large eyes told him they were on the same page. She huffed softly as he slipped his hand behind her nape and his tongue in her mouth.
It was hot slick tongues and broken moans as they tried to get his coat off, both of them reaching at the same time. She scratched his wrist then shoved the coat off his shoulder while he was trying to remove the other side of the damn thing, and he twisted his shoulder in all the wrong ways.
He hissed as he drew back, hating his body so fucking much because he could be kissing her right now instead of this.
“I hurt you.”
“You didn’t. We did. I just have to be careful.” He threw his coat with force onto one of the big chairs, then took off his jacket, as well. He turned his head as he reached for his shirt buttons, but her fingers on top of his made him look.
“We can be careful.”
“It’s the scars. Left shoulder, right thigh. I can keep my T-shirt on, turn off the lights—”
She slipped the top button through the hole. “Don’t worry about my delicate sensibilities. I’m fine. As long as we can hurry up and get back to where we’re getting naked together.”
Scooping her into his arms, trapping her hands, he kissed her. Not that panic sloppy kissing, which was good, damn fine, but this was something else. This was a preview, a warning. He liked this part, and he was good at it. So he’d take it slow for the next few minutes, because soon, the moment he had that dress off her in fact, it was going to get crazy again. Messy, wet and hot, and while he couldn’t do everything he used to, he could do plenty.
Her moan was low as she tussled with his tongue. He moved his hands under her hair until he found the top of her dress, the zipper hidden inconveniently behind a fold of material, but he was using his dominant hand, not the one with the intermittent quaver, so no problem. His cock hardened as the zipper lowered until it hit bottom. The feel of her skin beneath his palms made him groan, but when she pushed her hips against his aching erection, he decided the lesson was over, and all bets were off.
He pulled back, not letting her have another chance with his shirt.
“Fine,” she said, chuckling, “be that way.” Then she took two steps away and lifted her dress over her head and let it flutter to the floor.
Jake choked. It took him a minute of coughing to get his act together, and when he did, and he looked at her again, he had to consciously remember how to breathe. “Holy God.”
“So you’re a La Perla fan?”
“I have no idea what a La Perla is, but I’m over the
