Page 22 of Tempting Eden

“You’re welcome. Come on.” He lightly pulled my shoulders back and helped me from the barstool. “You need some rest.”

I let him lead me out of the bar and into the elevator. I was almost hobbling, my feet screaming for release from their stiletto prisons. I sagged against him, tired and dizzy. He held me at his side, just as he did when we first met. His arm was strong and steady. His hand wrapped around my ribs, his fingertips skirting the side of my breast. I wondered if he could feel the heat radiating off me from his touch. I hadn’t had a welcome touch in so long that my skin seemed to overreact, like it was starved for it.

He hit the button for the top floor, and we rode in heavy silence. Blood and alcohol rushed to my head, and I closed my eyes. When the doors opened, he dispensed with pretense and scooped me up in his arms.

“You don’t have to—”

“Key?”

I dug in my clutch and found the thin slip of plastic. My room was at the end of the hall, corner suite. He’d chosen well. Was his room up here with mine? Next door? I dropped my head against his chest and gazed up at him as he trudged down the hallway. His five o’clock shadow was showing. I wondered what it would feel like against my hand, my face, my thighs. It was the first time I’d seen him any less than perfectly groomed, though he still looked sexy as hell. He usually kept his appearance meticulously neat, everything in order. It was like a suit of armor, or perhaps a cage, for the man within. I wanted to know that man, the one I’d only seen glimpses of, the one I’d seen on the plane. But I couldn’t.

What we’d shared earlier today scared me. On the plane, I’d wanted to curl up in his lap, to comfort him. His fear was more than just flying. There was real fear inside him, the kind that only comes from having been through the fire and coming out the other side burned. I knew all too well what that was like.

He took the key from me and slid it into the lock. The door opened with a slight whoosh. It was cold and dark inside. He carried me to the bed and lay me down. He stood. I could barely see him illuminated in the glow of the alarm clock.

My head was fuzzy, but my focus never wavered. I wanted to know what he would do next, needed it to be something, to mean something, even though I knew I shouldn’t want it from him. My dress was pushed up almost to my hips, my legs exposed to his view. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I felt him studying me. I wanted him to. I could feel myself getting wet, warming even in the cold of the room.

He let out a breath, as if he’d come to some decision, and bent over me. His hands slid down my calves, his touch light, barely there. He left goose bumps in his wake. Then his fingertips were on my ankles, working to undo the buckles holding on the torture implements that passed for shoes. He took one off, and I heard it hit the floor in the far corner. My foot throbbed as I stretched my toes. He worked the next shoe off a bit more easily, and it joined its mate in the corner of shame.

“Thank you.” Was that my voice? It was so low, phone-sex husky.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. I could hear his palm hitting each of the stubbly hairs. I wanted to feel them against me.

He reached down tentatively and ran a hand over my outer thigh, stroking me from my hip to my knee in one smooth movement.

“Shit.” His voice was tense, like a wire drawn tight.

He ran his hand back up and scooted it under my ass, palming it. I whimpered and reached out to him. My fingers grazed his belt buckle and went lower, feeling the long, hard length of him. I went up in flames at the thought of him inside me.

He hissed and stood up again, encircling my wrist with his hand.

“Ms. Rochester—”

“Eden.”

“Eden, you’ve had a long day. You need to get some rest.”

“Won’t you stay?”

He stood silent for so long that I thought maybe I was imagining him in the first place.

“If I stay, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself from fucking you.” His voice was a low growl.

I’d already waved the white flag in the face of what I wanted, needed, from him. I decided to bring in the cavalry. I took his hand and guided it to my panties, letting him feel how wet he’d made me.

“Jesus.”

He prowled on top of me, spreading my legs with his knees and pressing down into me. His lips were at my throat as he took my hands and pinned them above my head. He held them there with one hand and used his other to cup my breast, teasing the hard tip through the thin fabric of my dress.

“I watched you all night,” he said between licks and bites.

I arched up to him, wishing we were both naked so I could feel the hardness of his body against me.

“In those fuck-me heels, that dress. I wanted to bend you over the fucking bar.”

I moaned at his words. This was the man inside, the one who stalked around in his cage of self-control. Now he was free. I didn’t know if I was frightened, but I was definitely turned on. My panties were already wet, and my pussy grew tighter. He moved down my body and pulled the fabric away from my breasts.

“Perfect.” He fastened his mouth around my nipple, and I cried out at the sensation of his tongue lashing the stiff peak.

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