Page 12 of Painted in Love

He laid his hand over hers before she unlocked the door, bracketing her with that magnificently toned body. She couldn’t help a shiver of need, as if the sex goddess she’d kept under lock and key for five years was about to be unleashed.

His breath tantalized her ear. “Are you sure about this?”

She turned the key, pushed open the door with her foot, then turned and met his flame-hot gaze.

“You don’t even know me,” he said.

She pressed close to his body, his hardness. In her boots, despite his height, she didn’t feel petite. But she did feel womanly. Her voice came out in a husky whisper. “You don’t know me either. I could be a succubus luring you to my lair so I can drain you of your essence.”

He laughed. But his breathing was harsh, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Doesn’t the succubus sneak into the victim’s room in the middle of the night?” His nostrils flared as he breathed her in.

“She comes to men in their dreams. Maybe this is all a dream.”

Then she grabbed his shirt and backed into the room, pulling him with her. When he was inside, she kicked the door closed. The sun, not yet obscured by fog, lit the room. “I have only one rule,” she told him.

He seemed to be begging when he asked, “What’s that?”

“This is only for one night.”

His lips curved, this time with a cocky smile that turned her heart over in her chest. Damn, he was so dangerously good-looking. “What if you want more?”

He had the looks of a beautiful devil, a smile that promised glorious sin, and eyes that could devour her soul. But she smiled right back at him. “I won’t.”

He ate her up with those eyes. She was so very hot, wet, and ready to jump him right this moment, before they even made it to the bed. Especially when he asked, “Doesn’t a succubus keep coming back?”

She trailed a finger from his chin down his throat to the neckline of his shirt. “When I’m done with you, there won’t be anything left to come back for.”

His entire body seemed to go up in smoke. She was so gorgeous, and he’d never wanted a woman more. His chest to her breasts, her scent rose to his head, clouding his brain like the San Francisco fog starting to roll down the hill. That’s what she was like—a whisper of fog, or a ghost, something that couldn’t possibly be real.

But he scented how much she wanted him.

Like a predator, he took hold of her hips, jerked her close, let her feel how badly he wanted her in return.

“Don’t you want to look at the van Gogh prints?” she murmured.

“Screw the prints.”

Like animals, they tore at each other’s clothes, fabric flying. He picked her up, strode to the bed, her combat boots bouncing against his backside. Then he laid her on the bed, her legs parted. She was amazing. Her breasts were perfect, not large but rose-tipped, begging for his lips, his tongue, his teeth.

Her flowery dress and black tunic lay somewhere behind them. So did his shirt. Now he toed off his shoes and shucked his slacks while she watched. Her eyes widened as he stripped down to nothing, and he teased her a moment just by standing there, letting her look her fill.

He squatted to untie her boots, yanking them off, throwing them with a thud against the wall, then peeled off her socks. She wore no bra, and that was even sexier than a scrap of lacy lingerie. Thrusting his fingers into the tops of her leggings, he yanked them down. Her breathing ratcheted up. Then she was gloriously naked before him.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he whispered with the awe he would have felt gazing at van Gogh’s Starry Night.

He didn’t know her. She didn’t know him. While he didn’t have relationships, he’d never moved on a woman quite this fast. He’d wooed a little, given gifts, spent money on jewelry and dining and shows. But this woman wanted no trinkets. In fact, she wore no jewelry and not even a speck of makeup. Yet her lips were a luscious red that beckoned him.

He fell on her, kissing her, taking her mouth as if he’d never tasted a woman before, as if she could fill up every empty nook and cranny inside him. He was the incubus, taking everything he could and needing more. She tasted so damn sweet, like Kahlúa and amaretto and something so much more. Her.

Pulling back, he whispered, “I have to taste all of you.” Then he started to glide down her body.

But she grabbed his shoulders. “I want you inside me. Right now. As deep as you can go.” Her beautiful brown eyes were now like dark amber, mesmerizing him.

Until rational thought flooded in. “I don’t have a condom.”

She laughed, a sparkle in her sexy eyes. “I thought all men carried a condom in their wallets in case they got lucky.”

An answering laugh rumbled up from his chest. “I don’t. But if I’d known I’d rescue a woman like you from a robotaxi, I’d’ve made sure I had one.”

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