SEVENTEEN
CHAMPAGNE AND SMILES. Everyone was charming. In the moment. Neither the faces or conversations stuck with her.
One simple kiss in the car had become a make out session that ended with her dry riding him through his expensive slacks. Oh, she should be ashamed, but how could she be?
Right then, his hand was in hers, left hand to left hand, because his right was on her hip, holding her body against his side. They hadn’t broken contact for a moment all night.
The people were whatever, the music, whatever, the point of the night, or whatever they were talking about, nothing measured up to the gentle possession his hands betrayed.
Could she call herself his after such a short time?
Whatever words fitted or didn’t, sensation told a different story.
Whenever she spent time with Roman, she rued this crazy set up and wished to be anywhere but with him. That night, she rued the location and event, but not the man.
“Are you okay?” His lips moved in her hair, and the people they’d been talking with were gone. She’d missed the conversation. Was it important? Had she contributed at all, or was her first impression bimbo dumb?
“Hmm?” She coiled his arm around her waist. “Were those people important?”
She’d be damned after going through all this just to ruin Roman’s reputation anyway. That was not a crime her shoulders deserved.
“You’re the only important person here.”
Caught in the shield of his body, he navigated them through people and onto the dance floor again.
She laughed. “We’ve spent more time here than anywhere else tonight.”
By rote, her arms coiled around him, beneath his jacket, and closing her eyes, she rested her cheek against him.
“It’s my favorite place to be,” he said, his strength as calming as it was arousing.
Even then the music didn’t compute. He led and she moved with him. By outward appearances, they were a couple, enjoying each other like dozens of others were at that moment. With her eyes closed, she could believe they were alone, that it was just them and nothing else existed. No Roman. No con. Just them.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.
If it meant leaving his embrace, no, she didn’t want to go anywhere. How long had they been dancing? The night wasn’t close to over, was it?
Time didn’t pass the same with him.
“I want to stay here.” She squeezed all her muscles. “Right here, beau, nowhere else.”
Fate wasn’t smiling on her.
“Roman!” someone exclaimed, shattering the moment. Her date was forced to release her. “You haven’t been returning my calls. All about Whey now?”
“No, Mr. Wrigley, definitely not.”
“Richard. Richard. Call me Richard.” The guy smacked a hand to Struan’s bicep and swiped up his hand to shake. “Have to admit, with a beauty like this, I would be distracted too.”
“Richard Wrigley, this is Bambi Bennett, my fiancée.”
Hummina, that sounded good on Struan’s lips.
“Yes, the whole world knows that,” the man said, laughing again. Jovial though he portrayed himself, wariness prickled. Her female intuition wasn’t taking this guy at face value. “We need to get together, there are things to discuss.”
“I’m shooting every day. I don’t have a lot of time to myself these days.”
“Yes! You’re on the rise again. That’s what we need to talk about. I have some interesting opportunities—”
“If you’ll excuse us. I have to get Bambi a drink.”
Again, holding her, he directed her to the bar to order more drinks.
“Who was that?” she asked.
Struan sat on a stool and guided her into the vee of his thighs. “A sycophant. You get used to them. When you’re on the way down, no one knows you—”
“On the way up, everyone’s your best friend?” It would be galling if it wasn’t so ridiculous. “How do you live in this town? Honestly? How do you do it?” Turning to relax her back on his chest, still in the circle of his arms, she scrutinized the room. “There are so many people here, and I don’t know any of them. I don’t think I’ve met a single genuine person in this town, except you.”
“Some of the UO crew are good people.”
She conceded that. “Maybe it’s the small-town girl in me. I’m used to everyone helping everyone, to them meaning what they say.”
“No such thing as small-town gossip?”
Her grin quickly became a laugh. “Oh, God, people talk about each other all the time. There’s always whispers and always judgment, but at the end of the day, if someone needs help, your people are there for you. We might whisper in our own circles, but if anyone dares take on someone we class as our own…”
“Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes I miss the people. I miss knowing exactly where to go if I want peace or the best latte in town. Knowing where I’ll be guaranteed a listening ear, or a gentle nudge.”
“You’ve got that in me, Fawn,” he murmured against her.
And he felt so good. “I love my home, but it’s not the whole world. I know people who are born and live and die in Wishbone and barely leave its limits. There has to be more to life than that. Doesn’t there?”
He’d swept her hair from her shoulder and was trailing gentle kisses down the side of her neck and along her shoulder.
“Thank you for leaving its limits,” he whispered, his breath fogging her skin on his mouth’s return journey.
She flattened her hands on his to twine his arms further around her. “You have to stop doing that.”
Her mouth spoke words her body couldn’t back up. Her head tilted and her lips curled. The heat was more than electricity. She struggled to take even short, sharp breaths. His solid form held her up, cradled her in a safety she’d never known. In that strange place, surrounded by these unusual people, she had found her home again, and not in the geography.
“Come here.”
He snagged her hand and rushed from the bar. What happened to their drinks? Oh, who cared about drinks?
Struan swung her around into a corner, past a shelving unit and indoor trellis to a shadowy alcove.
“What are we doing?” she called in a laugh as he picked her up to seat her on something. “Beau!”
“Your feet hurt.”
Mm, yeah, sure. Suspicious, in a good way, she doubted her discomfort was the root of his emerging inner rascal.
“How do you know that?” she asked filled with the ecstasy of a teenager finding her first love, lost in a haze of passion and hormones.
Everything she was depended on what happened in the next few minutes. The kiss, the thrill that could be forever. What was the potential with a man so full of life? An honorable man who treasured her? He kissed her, cradled her face and toyed with her hair. The light trace of his fingertips tickled down her spine until he elevated her hips, pressuring her back, deepening their kiss, pressing her skull into the wall.
Struan was everything she wanted, her adventure. Her body responded without thought. There was no mental process. The certain pressure of his lips and the firm nature of his tongue sent silent signals on how to respond. A wordless dance. His hands wouldn’t stop roaming across her body, and when he dragged her dress up her thighs, she didn’t hesitate to raise her knees higher around him.
Love hadn’t been on the agenda. Maybe it had been somewhere in the distant background, but it wasn’t why she’d left her home. In LA, she’d been doing her job, living her life without thought of establishing romantic relationships. Not yet, maybe somewhere down the line…
People said love found those who stopped looking for it. Love didn’t have to mean settling down forever, barefoot and pregnant, locking yourself away. Not with Struan Lowe. Something in their connection granted her freedom while keeping them tied together.
“Struan,” she gasped when he kissed her jaw and forced her head back with his own to taste her neck. “Is this a hotel?” Shelves didn’t do much to conceal them from partygoers. Salacious ideas definitely required privacy. “Baby…”
When his mouth rose, she kissed him again. Cupping his jaw, she anticipated his tongue only to be left wanting. He hunkered down, snagging the elastic of her panties to drag them down her thighs.
She laughed. “What are you doing?”
Question? Yes. Curious? Yes? Concerned or reluctant? Not a chance. Her fingers supported her weight to lift her hips and grant him access.
“You want adventure,” he said and kissed her knee.
Their eyes stayed locked on each other as he trailed those lips up her inner thigh, then he scooped her to the edge, plunging his tongue into her.
Oh, God, her body arched instantly, clenching in carnal reaction to the delightful delectation of him devouring her.
He knew just how to convey his own need and satisfy hers. The former was such a huge part of her gratification, she’d never felt so desired, so special, so appreciated. He pampered her, spoiled her, granted attention few men would and certainly not first.
Arousal wasn’t just about nerve endings and sparks of endorphins, heat and pressure and need and want.
Her power, the true, overwhelming nature of this sensuous naughtiness came with the knowledge that it was all about them. He got pleasure from her pleasure. This was gratitude for giving him the same meaning she felt in him.
He wanted her, needed her, and had found something he hadn’t been expecting either. How did she know? The way he held her, the delicate pressure of his lips, the glide of his tongue around her clit. Her nails dug deep into the wood beneath her, and she gasped, teetering closer to the edge of release.
“Baby…” she stuttered. “Oh, God, beau…”
Another cry. Not hers. A gasp and a shriek opened her eyes. Struan rose in a twist enough to cover her modesty, but yeah, they were being watched.
Not by one or two, but by ten or fifteen, and at least a few of them had cameras.
Shit. Why hadn’t she thought about there being press at the event? Of course there were members of the mass media present. And many who wanted to impress them.
She caught his hips and he laced their fingers together.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his back.
In a second, he faced her. “That was just a snack,” he said, kissing the back of her fingers, left then right. “Entrée’s coming soon.”
He wasn’t sorry. Defiant, he’d owned her, and didn’t mind the world knowing it.