Chapter 3 #3
She was quiet, which had him focusing his eyes back on hers. A somberness met him, and he wondered what that was all about. Had she suffered a loss like him? He’d seen that look before, because whenever he observed his own reflection, he saw it: pain.
“Only child.” She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs a few times. “How long are you staying here?”
“Another five days.”
“And where do you go after? I mean, where do you live?” she asked.
“I have a place in Charleston, but I’m in D.C. and New York a lot, too.”
“Oh. So, you’re familiar with my stomping ground?”
He nodded, his eyes falling to the bar counter where someone had keyed the initials R.M.H into the wood.
She must have followed his gaze because her index finger smoothed over the letters. “Ride me hard, maybe?”
He laughed and looked up at her. “If you’d like to.”
“Funny.” She smiled. “The initials.”
“Really? That was the first thing that popped into your mind? Not—Rose Marie Hanson?”
“Rose? You have a grab bag of women’s names in your head?”
“I prefer the way you think, actually.”
Some of the smile she’d lost came back, and her dimple almost reappeared when she looked at him. He’d do anything to get those generous lips to stretch again.
“Well, I feel like I know you. Covered all the bases, right? What do you say?” He stood and held a palm out. “Ready to dance?”
“I might need a shot to loosen up first.” She smiled. “Maybe even more than one.”
“Really?” He quirked a brow. “You seem fairly loose to me.”
She bit her lip as if fighting a grin. “I do, do I?”
His palm met his face as he grumbled, “Didn’t mean it like that.”
She pinched his bicep. “Kidding.”
He dropped his hand, and she stood.
“Two shots of tequila.” He faced her and found her eyes, the brown color softening as she stared at him.
He hoped to salvage the moment, but when she leaned into him, pressing a palm to his chest, he realized he didn’t have to. The moment never left. Hell, he was pretty sure their banter had heated things up a few notches.
Memories of his past, of his loss, tried to scrape into his mind, but he didn’t want to give in to the pain.
He just wanted this woman. Right damn now.
Her eyes lowered to her hand on his chest. Maybe she could feel the racing of his heart? “You as nervous as me?”
Her whispered words chucked every last thought he’d been harboring out the window—all he was thinking about was her. Only her.
“Honey, I’m only nervous I might step on your toes on that dance floor.”
“I can lead.”
“Not on my watch.” He listened to the sounds of the tropical house music with rich drum beats and a hard bass in the background—anxious to dance with her, to feel her body against his.
“Your shots,” the bartender said, and they both dropped their hands as if caught joining the mile-high club. Not that he could ever have sex in a bathroom with a woman like her—hell no.
“You ready?” he asked as he handed her the first shot.
She wet her lips, and he’d swear he could see the pulse at her neck heightening. She was nervous.
“Guess we’ll find out,” she said then downed the shot.
Two more rounds later, they found themselves on the deck, joining the rest of the dancers.
The alcohol probably caught up with her because she was the definition of laid-back now. Her fingertips traveled up his chest before she hung her arms loosely around his neck and danced with him.
Her pelvis touched his body in circular movements, creating a permanent hard-on, as he held on to her trim waist.
“It’s beautiful here,” she whispered as he seized her eyes, noting the hungry look in her browns.
“You’re beautiful,” he answered instead and edged his face closer to hers, dying to see how she tasted.
“You’re . . . unexpected.” Her eyes narrowed as if a question hung in her mind she couldn’t bring herself to ask. And then, she inched up higher, so their faces were nearly touching, like an invitation to kiss her.
And, hell, he took it.
His mouth came down over hers. Soft at first. Slowly kissing her. Nipping her bottom lip.
But when she pushed her tongue into his mouth and threaded her fingers through his hair, he groaned against her lips, and the blood rushed south.
His hands slid down to the curve of her ass as she continued to dance, her body moving in perfect time with the beat—driving him damn wild.
Her ass was as tight as he’d imagined, and he couldn’t wait to touch the rest of her.
“My room,” she cried against his mouth.
She held his hand while they broke into a sprint to head back to the hotel.
Was she drunk?
Shit, was he drunk?
“Hurry,” she begged, as he worked her key into the card reader once they were outside her room.
She looped her arms around his hips and pressed her mouth close to his ear as she fumbled with his belt buckle. “You’re killing my focus.”
“Come on, you can be stealthier than that.”
He almost laughed as he finally got the door open.
She maneuvered around him in one quick moment, and he allowed the door to shut behind them.
She faced him with a smile and began walking backward toward the sliding doors, slowly removing her clothes.
Heels.
Top.
Pants.
He’d groaned during her striptease when she’d kept her lip between her teeth and her eyes pinned to his.
He’d remained locked in position in front of the door, unable to do anything other than watch the stunning woman as she’d undressed, and his length had throbbed against the confines of his jeans.
Now, he braced a palm on the wall and kicked off his shoes, noting the swell of her full breasts in the nude-colored bra.
She turned, unsnapped her bra, and tossed it over her shoulder before opening the glass doors.
With her back to him, he spotted a second tattoo on her right shoulder blade: rosary beads. He was going to commit all kinds of sins with this woman tonight.
She slowly faced him. “I want to feel the breeze on my skin while we fuc—”
“Sam,” he nearly growled her name as their eyes met, which had her dropping her words.
She flicked her finger in a come-hither motion. “Well, you going to come and get me, or what?”