Page 49 of I Almost Do

James has me deposited on the seat next to him, using his body to block me, mere seconds before the door opens.

"Give us a minute, Dean," James says.

"Of course, Mr. Mellinger." Then the door thunks closed once more.

James turns to me and grabs the flounce of my skirt, jerking it down over my hips. I help by lifting my butt off the seat to make the slide easier.

His eyes travel over my hair, my lips, my neck. He looks… I don't know that look. Wild? A little unhinged?

I indicate his shirt. "Are you going to put yourself back together?"

He smooths a hand through his hair, then says, "No point. It's not like Dean doesn't know exactly what we've been up to."

Then he opens the door.

He reaches out to assist me from the car, so I grab my clutch with my left hand and place my right in his. I glide out of the car with the dignity of a queen. Like I'm not still breathing hard. Like I'm not wearing a catastrophically wrinkled evening gown, with my lipstick kissed right off my swollen lips, love bruises on my neck, and what must be utterly spectacular sex hair.

I catch Dean's eye as he stands near the front of the car. Hands folded, expression stoic.

I tip my head as we stroll past him, James still holding my hand. "Good night, Dean."

He nods. “Good night, Mrs. Mellinger. Mr. Mellinger."

I don't turn my head, but I sneak a glance at James. His tuxedo shirt is completely unbuttoned, shirttails loose. His tie is half shoved in his jacket pocket. His lips are swollen, there is a smear of my lipstick on his neck, and one unruly piece of hair is sticking straight out on the side of his head.

He catches my look with a smoldering side-eye of his own. Then he's moving fast up the steps to the brownstone, and I'm running to keep up.

The moment we're inside, James has me backed against the front door, hands working the skirts of my gown up over my hips, his mouth on mine.

I shove his jacket and shirt off his shoulders. We get tangled for a hot second, and he has to pull his hands off my body to shake them off. His cuff links clatter across the marble floor.

He reaches a desperate, greedy hand up my back, running his fingers over the seams of my gown, searching. "Jesus, woman. How do I get you out of this dress?"

My heart thrills at his words, not just because they're sexy as hell but because of what he called me.Woman. That's what I need from him. It's everything I need.

I twist to expose the side of the gown. "The zipper's here. There's a little hook at the to—"

James rips the catch apart with rough fingers and slides the zipper all the way down. Then the gown is in a puddle on the floor, and I'm kicking it away.

He cups my breasts and rubs his thumbs across my peaked nipples. Then he takes a small step back.

He's looking.

"No bra?" His brows are furrowed, his eyes moving back and forth between my breasts and my face like he can't believe what he's getting to see.

"I didn't need one. The dress has a built-in—ahh." His mouth closes over my nipple, sucking, then flicking with his tongue. First one, then the other.

I squirm and push up toward him, holding his perfect, beautiful head in my hands.

He pulls away to look up at me. Runs a single finger over the crest of my breast, just where a spray of freckles scatter. "I always wondered," he says, "if you had freckles here."

He breathes deeply, in and out. He's visibly trying to bring himself under control.

I can't bear it. I don't want James under control.

I squirm against him as he rises to his full height, pulling his mouth to mine once more. When he leans back again, I nip at his jaw. He groans, moving his mouth to my neck.

I reach for his belt, but he stops me with a hard hand at my wrist and a slow shake of his head. I frown, frustrated.

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