Chapter 2
The next hour ground on excruciatingly as Peyton’s eyes followed Valentino around the dance floor, laughing and flirting with what seemed like every hot woman in the room. Not that she could blame any of them – Valentino in full flirt mode was hard to resist.
Relax, that’s what he’d said to her. Relax? With his body firm and hot and her body lurching in areas that hadn’t lurched in a very long time?
He may as well have asked her to fly to the moon.
She remembered the moment she’d stumbled and had leaned into him to steady herself.
How aware she’d been – too aware – of the muscles beneath his shirt, the strength in his arms, the heat of him, the power of him.
Not to mention the ache of her taut nipples as they’d chafed against the fabric of her dress and his shirt.
The darts of heat radiating from fingers sitting low on her spine, shooting waves of sensation over her bottom and the backs of her thighs.
The heat in her pelvis stoked by the heat in his.
The lust, the intent in his espresso gaze, was frighteningly compelling.
For a few seconds Peyton had wanted nothing more than to grind herself against him.
It was an urge she’d had to suppress with an iron fist as she’d sought desperately for something – anything – to say to instil distance, to break the hypnotic pull of the music, the warmth of his breath at her temple, the sway of his body against hers.
Thank God for Harry. On so many levels.
She could have talked about her fabulous boss all night.
And, curiously, Peyton found herself wanting to tell him more about McKenzie, about her fragile health and the long road they’d both been on, but as much as she was desperate for conversation to maintain distance, the ups and downs of her life were not for public consumption.
Certainly not for Valentino’s consumption. The less he knew about her the better.
The throb of her feet pulled Peyton out of her reverie. She wasn’t used to wearing fancy heels any more and frankly, she was weary down to her bones from all this socialising. It was time to call it a night.
She knew it was bad form to leave the wedding before the bride and groom, but she couldn’t take being sociable another second. Nor being in the same room as Valentino, watching him dance and flirt, for a second longer, although he seemed to have temporarily disappeared.
Probably doing furtive things in furtive places with one of the many women he’d been flirting with tonight. A hot wave of something Peyton didn’t even want to name flooded her veins.
Definitely time to go.
Making her apologies to Nat, she assured her she was staying the night but pleaded a headache.
When the lift arrived promptly she almost pressed a kiss to its cold metallic doors.
The impulse, sadly, was short lived as they opened to reveal Valentino, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his bow-tie undone, leaning against the back wall.
They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity. ‘Going up?’ he murmured.
Damn, damn, damn.
Peyton entered the lift after a brief hesitation during which an errant brain cell urged her to run.
But she was damned if she was going to show this man he had any power over her in this maddening dynamic.
She turned her back on him, keeping to the front of the spacious lift, and searched the buttons for floor twelve.
Of course it was already lit.
Great! Same floor. Next, they’d have adjoining rooms! The doors shut and she clutched her bag close.
After what felt like an eternity, the lift reached their floor and Peyton practically sprinted from it, far too aware of Valentino following at a much more sedate pace.
She did not want to know the location of his room.
What if they happened to be neighbours? Would knowing he was in the next room be conducive to sleep?
Wondering if he slept naked? Wondering if he was thinking about her.
Like she was going to be thinking about him.
Refusing to check on his progress as she reached her door, Peyton rammed the key card in with trembling fingers.
A red light appeared and she cursed beneath her breath.
Slotting the card in and out several more times, Peyton twisted uselessly at the handle, wanting to scream at its continuing recalcitrance.
‘Can I help with that?’
His calm, almost amused, very definitely smug voice from behind her did not help the buzz of adrenaline coursing through her veins.
But with useless fingers and a wonky card, he was, ironically, her quickest route to escape.
Maybe he could go back to reception and ask for her card to be recoded? Or whatever it was they did.
That would certainly help her equilibrium recover.
Peyton turned, glaring at Valentino. Damn it – why did it have to be him? She held up her useless card. ‘I hate these things.’
His smile was slow and lazy, which sizzled along nerves already stretched to the maximum. Unhurriedly, he hung his jacket over the knob of the door opposite then reached for the key. ‘Let me have a go.’
Frowning, Peyton shook her head. ‘It’s not working.’
Nevertheless, she didn’t resist when he whisked it from her useless fingers and swaggered by.
She’d done all her resisting at the wedding – there was no more left.
Not with the heat of his body diffusing his scent into an intoxicating cloud as his arm lightly brushed against the taut tips of her breasts.
‘It just needs a gentle touch,’ he said, his low voice not much more than a serration of air as his fingers slowly inserted the card and slowly pulled it out again.
Would he be that gentle with her? That slow? That thorough?
Peyton blinked at the X-rated thought. What the hell? Thankfully, the light turned green, giving her something else to think about. Like him turning her doorknob and opening her door and murmuring, ‘Entri.’
A glow from the bedside lamp she’d left on beckoned warm and welcoming, belying the emptiness of the room. She flicked her gaze to Valentino’s hands wrangling with a runaway temptation.
It just needs a gentle touch.
They’d be gentle, those hands of his. Hell, Peyton had no doubt they’d be whatever she wanted them to be.
‘Would you… like some company?’
Company. Had she been the type of woman who frequently did this sort of thing she’d have probably laughed at the euphemism.
Because he sure as shit wasn’t inviting himself in for a cup of tea.
But instead, Peyton wanted to cry. She hadn’t realised just how lonely the last few years had been until an attractive man had ogled her so blatantly, making no secret of his desire.
How easy would it be to just surrender? To forget the mangled heart she’d been trying to protect and succumb to the invitation?
It was just sex, right? People did this – hooked up – all the time.
Absurdly shaky, her gaze lifted to meet his, the naked heat and desire in his eyes cutting off her air as if he had cuffed her throat with his hand.
This was crazy.
‘I don’t…’ What? Make out? Have sex? Bang? What could she say without sounding gauche or like a teenage girl who’d never been kissed? ‘Do this.’
It had taken her three weeks and a handful of dates to succumb to Arnie’s persistent attempts to get her into bed.
‘That’s okay.’ A smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘I do this a lot. You’re in safe hands.’
Glancing at his hands again – those sure, slow hands – Peyton supposed his confession to being a bit of a man-whore should turn her off as it had earlier in the evening, but, strangely, it didn’t.
Not now. It wasn’t like she didn’t know that already from what Nat had told her and the evidence of her own eyes.
It wasn’t like she didn’t know this was a one-night thing. So why not choose an expert? And how nice would it be to cede control to someone who knew what the hell they were doing? To not have to be the one making all the decisions, calling all the shots.
If even for a little while.
But… why her? ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, her voice already stupidly husky in anticipation. ‘Any woman in that room tonight would have accompanied you here in a flash if you’d asked. Why the hell do you want me?’
Peyton wasn’t fishing for compliments; she was genuinely puzzled about why a sexy, experienced man like Val wanted to give an inexperienced wreck the time of day.
‘Because you’re the only woman who wouldn’t have.’
So, she was a challenge? Surprisingly, Peyton wasn’t insulted by his honesty. In fact, it suited her just fine. Neither of them was here for love so why pretend otherwise? She didn’t have time or room in her life for anything beyond tonight, and he lived on the other side of the planet.
It wasn’t like she had to ever see him again.
Feeling more confident in her decision, Peyton brushed past him without saying a word. She hoped, as she stepped into her room, it looked confident and sexy and that he couldn’t hear the boom of her heart or the knocking of her knees.
Stopping in front of her bed, Peyton opened her bag, took her mobile out, checked it for messages then placed it and the bag on the bedside table.
The door clicked behind her in the muted light and she didn’t have to turn to know he was heading her way.
Within seconds his heat was behind her, his breath at her neck, his big body a solid wall.
Thank God for the bed in front because his presence alone was turning everything liquid. She shivered as fingers stroked up her arms, leaving raised flesh in their wake, and she swallowed as those same fingers toyed with the knot at her nape.
‘Can I tug on this?’ he asked.
Her pulse thrumming in her ears, Peyton nodded, not trusting her voice in case all that came out was some feral kind of moan. But it came out anyway as the knot ceded to his questing fingers and the dress slithered to her waist, her bare nipples already hard and eager for his touch.