Page 12 of One Night Only

“How…” she licks her lower lip, and I want to join her tongue in that swipe, “did you know?”

“Mom made me order that Italian feast from a Michelin-star restaurant for your birthday.”

“I thought that was Arthur.”

“Arthur’s Italian is Olive Garden.”

“Hey!” She pauses in the act of running her fingers through her hair. The movement pulls her shirt tight, and her breasts jostle. Fuck, but she’s sexy. “Nothing wrong with Olive Garden.”

“As long as you aren’t expecting gourmet food, no.”

“I can’t believe you remembered. That was months ago.”

I tap my temple. “Good memory.”

She nods, her breath coming out in a soft exhale.

I run my hands over the band of my trousers, feeling like a teenager on his first date. Bad enough that I’m second-guessing myself. I don’t want to make her do it too. “I remembered because I was curious about you. All the things Mom told me about you caught my interest.”

“And now?” she says, spreading her hands wide.

For a moment, I mistake the stance for a challenge.

It’s not though.

She wants to know where this is going, what I am thinking. And her neediness bolsters my desire to give her everything she wants. “It’s not just intellectual interest anymore.”

“Should I admit something too?” Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Although, in my dictionary, brave is usually another word for stupid.”

If it were anyone but her, I’d think she was going for self-deprecating coyness. But her eyes reveal her doubts.

“Tell me.” I inject every bit of authority and confidence I have into the words.

“I’ve had a crush on you for a while. It’s one of those… head things, y’know,” she hurries to explain. “Wasn’t like cheating on Rahul or imagining naked scenarios with you. You were just this larger-than-life guy I knew who wasn’t a complete douchebag.I mean, I have firsthand knowledge of surgeons and their god complexes.”

“And when you met me?” I ask, shelving her opinions about surgeons for later.

“You turned out to be better than my wildest fantasy.” She almost looks angry as she says this.

“What else are you thinking?” I demand, like a dying man begging for a sip of water.

“In the shower, I was thinking of ways I can pretend to be the kind of woman that holds your interest. Someone who’s all grown-up and sophisticated and has her shit together.” Her fingers play with the folded hem of the shirt, baring a sliver of smooth flesh to my greedy eyes. Until her gaze hooks mine again. “My life is in complete shambles, and I’m afraid that this might be another poor decision. But I want this. So much.”

The last statement is full of honest desperation that makes my muscles curl with want. “I don’t care what your life is outside of this hotel suite.” I cover the distance between us and clasp her cheek. Her silky-smooth skin is warm, and the sweet vanilla scent of her winds around me. “This is a parallel universe where none of the usual rules apply.” I edge my fingers toward her nape, sinking them into her wet hair.

She bends toward me like she’s a bow, and I am pulling the string taut. The movement’s so sensual, so trusting that it goes to my head and my cock.

Her chest brushes mine in the barest of grazes, and my knees shake. “In this space, you and I are equals. We can have whatever we want with each other.”

Her eyes widen into molten pools, and her lips tremble. A slim hand comes up between us, but she curls her fingers instead of touching me. Her tongue snakes out again, licking the thick lushness of her lower lip. “Thank you,” she says almost shyly.

“In your best-case scenario,” my words are a near-growl as her breath feathers over my lips, “what do you want tonight?”

“I want to feel so much pleasure that there’s no right or wrong.” Her mouth opens, and she breathes in roughly. As if she’s using up all her strength to just say the words. As if this costs her as much as it does me. “And I want you to tell me what to do so I don’t ruin this.”

“You won’t.” My tone’s not unlike the rumble of the storm outside, unable to leash all the swirling desires within.

“Okay,” she says.

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