Page 28 of These White Lies
“The ex? He’s in the hall with another guest.” I make a comical grimace, happy that this time there’s no heartache in the statement. Whether that is because of the Scotch or the sexy, mysterious man in front of me is up for debate.
He laughs, a low, rich sound that sends another wave of heat through me. “Messy.”
“You have no idea.” I smirk. “Don’t worry. They won’t be occupied long.”
“Ouch.”
I lift my eyebrows, taking another sip. “Just stating the truth. Then again, he has no problem holding on to his girlfriends. I guess it was just me he wasn’t attracted to.”
“You don’t strike me as the woe-is-me type.”
“I’m not.” I bristle at the insinuation.
“Then just admit he cheated because he’s a dick. It’s really not any deeper than that.” He drains the last of his drink and sets it on the desk with a soft click. “Because you sure as fuck know it has nothing to do with how you look.” His eyes heat again as his gaze trails over my body.
The obvious approval in his slow smile and the anonymity of the situation makes me reckless.
“Maybe I’m just terrible in bed.” I’d meant it to sound sexy. Provocative. But even I hear the needy tone lying just underneath.
“Maybe,” he agrees. “But I doubt it.” He comes closer, and my heart races with anticipation.
“That’s supposition.” My breath hitches when he takes another step, his chest is almost brushing mine.
“True.” He gently twirls the hair that came loose earlier around his finger, and gives it such a light tug, I’m not sure if I imagined it.
Accidental or not, it sends a bolt of electricity straight to my clit, and my breath hitches.
“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he murmurs.
“I hope so.”
His eyes lock on me before his head dips, lips claiming mine. I gasp into his mouth, fingers fisting the fabric of his tuxedo jacket, to keep him close.
The slow glide of his mouth over mine sends sensation crashing through me, and when teeth catch my bottom lip, I moan, allowing his tongue to sweep in to tangle with my own. He answers my sound of pleasure with one of his own, his hand tightening at my waist to anchor me against the hard plane of his body.
The kiss is heat and hunger. Consuming. All of my senses narrow to the man destroying me with every skilled stroke of his tongue. The scratch of faint stubble against my skin, the taste of scotch on his lips driving me wild. It feels as if every nerve ending in my body is firing at once as I light up from the inside. I arch into him seeking more contact.
When he pulls back, it’s with obvious reluctance. His eyes glow behind his mask. “Why would you think you were bad in bed? If that kiss is anything to go by?—”
“I didn’t say I did.” I feel drunk, even though I’m not. Unless being intoxicated with pheromones is a thing. Right now, it’s a definite possibility because all I can think about is grabbing and kissing him again.
I’ve forgotten about Keith. The party. Or even that there is a world outside of the door.
My entire being focuses on this man. This moment. The unbearable need coursing through me.
His thumb tugs at my lower lip, and his eyes are glued to the slow movement as he rubs it over my mouth.
“I don’t even remember.” I surprise both of us by whispering.
He frowns. “Remember?”
I swallow hard. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about saying the words, but they are out before I can stop them.
“What it feels like to be wanted. What it feels like to be a desirable woman.”
His eyes flare in disbelief, and his thumb moves to stroke beneath my cheekbone, the gentle movement making my ridiculous confession continue to spill forth.
“I work all the time.Allthe time. When I’m not working, I’m thinking about working. On top of that, I have to be so unflappable at work I can’t switch it off when I come home. There, I was supposed to have a partner, but he wanted a traditional wife, and it was apparently my job to have already decided what we’re having for dinner, called the pest control company, arranged his friend’s birthday present. I had to be in chargeeverywhere, and it was exhausting.
