CHAPTER 27 #2
Riding with him was exhilarating, leaving her breathless and throbbing with need.
Ian was in her arms.
The feel of him, his intoxicating, familiar scent, and the flex of his muscles eased her tension and simultaneously took it to the limit.
To her amazement, he controlled the bike with the expertise of someone who had been riding for years, which she knew he hadn’t been.
He took each apex perfectly, smoothly leaning the Harley and accelerating out of the corner.
A passenger normally added difficulty, yet this man had none.
He was one with the bike, and she was one with him.
God, how she couldn’t wait to be one with him again. She squeezed his thigh, making him half turn his head, and Claire made a sign that asked where they were going. He tipped his head toward the strip, and Claire nodded.
Presently, they turned onto South Las Vegas Boulevard. The Lark Hotel immediately came into view, dominating the strip, a shimmering steel and blue glass tower jutting into the sky.
With its strips of undulating blue glass running up the sides and the wraparound penthouse windows and columns visible at the top, it looked strikingly like the New Capitol building in Tallahassee.
Only the Lark was twice as tall. Looking at it, Claire had a visceral reaction that made her breasts tingle and her nipples pebble.
Undoubtedly, it was also because of the memories of what had happened at the top of that phallic building.
Without realizing what she was doing, Claire let her hand drift down to rest on Ian’s thigh, and her fingertips encountered …
a wave of dizziness washed over her, and she clenched with the need to have him inside her again.
He veered left of the tower and drove down the ramp into the underground garage, the engine’s roar sounding even more robust as it echoed, reverberating off the concrete walls.
Ian drove to the end and slowed, the Road King sputtering as if protesting the reduced speed. He pulled into a reserved parking spot and cut the engine, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the roar of the Harley.
She could feel the tension in his hard abs; he radiated with it. Claire’s breath quickened as she perceived the kind of tension that always ended up with him grimacing on top of her in bed.
She lingered a bit before she let go of his waist. She was a mess of nerves and anticipation, visions of him bending her over that bike right here in the garage flickering in her mind.
Ian removed his helmet while she took off hers, and heat pooled in her lower belly at the sight of his tousled hair. The man was a testosterone vortex, and she was swirling in it.
He smiled that smirking half-smile that brought out the dimple at the corner of his mouth. “Welcome back to fabulous Las Vegas, Penny.”
His smooth voice made her stomach flutter and sent tingles shooting down her belly. God, she had forgotten how everything coming out of this man’s mouth sounded like a promise of hot sex.
They walked toward the steel door leading to the elevator, and something blue with a tan top caught her eye. “That’s your Bentley!”
“Yes. She’s been making the rounds.”
It seemed like such a long time ago, the ride they’d taken in it, the burgers at the park, and his indecent proposal. The way he looked at her told her he was recalling that day too.
The heavy metal door slammed closed, confining them in the small space. Ian swiped a key card, and the elevator doors slid open.
“I wonder how he’s doing,” he said, allowing her to enter first.
It took her a second to realize what he meant. “The dog!”
He chuckled. “Bugger. He must be huge by now.”
So must you be.
She closed her eyes briefly, shocked at how her mind had gone dirty. Then again, it was the Ian effect. With him, all the good girl in her flew right out the window. Now she remembered getting herself off on top of his fully clothed body.
The elevator whirred as it ascended, picking up speed. So did her heart. How was it that he always made her feel this way? Her gaze raked over him, bright blond head to biker boots. She had imagined how he’d look in leathers, but her imagination had shortchanged him.
“So. You got a bike.” She smiled, admiring the stitching and the multiple zippers on his jacket. She tried, and failed, to stop herself from checking out the snug fit of his leather pants.
He grinned. “I did.”
“When?”
“Not too long ago.”
His eyes were so darned blue. It was as if she had forgotten their unique color, and when she saw him again, she was newly shocked. “Why?”
“Multiple reasons.”
The scent of leather wafted to her nostrils, and Claire resisted the urge to set upon him in the elevator. “I’m glad you got it.”
“So am I. It was worth it to have you riding pillion.”
“You have impressive riding skills.”
The elevator halted, and the doors slid open with a whoosh.
“Why, thank you, Penny. I have no merit. Riding has always come naturally to me.”
She swallowed. Was he still talking about the Harley?
She stepped into the penthouse, immediately overwhelmed by the scent, feel, and look of the place. The supremely phallic painting she’d spotted that first night. The side table, where he’d thrown the wallet that contained that condom.
And the wall.
That wall.
He smirked, noticing where she was looking. “I’m sure you’re hungry. I have lunch ready for us on the terrace. You didn’t have catering on that flight, and knowing you, your breakfast was a cup of coffee.”
He was right. Of course he was.
He unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off. She would have been disappointed, except the fitted black base layer was every bit as hot, clinging in just the right places to show off his torso.
Her mouth watered, and it had nothing to do with the promise of a good meal. She wouldn’t have minded having him for lunch instead of food. And, oh, he knew, because the smile he gave her as he tossed the jacket on the arm of a leather chair was his signature I-know-what-you’re-thinking smile.
Claire stared at the discarded jacket. She remembered that chair. He’d carried her to it and cradled her right after he’d—
“Come on, Penny.” He took her hand and began leading her toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. “You’re not the only one who didn’t eat this morning.”
His gaze lingered on one of the panels as they passed it, and Claire’s eyes widened when she realized it was the window where he had taken her from behind while she propped herself against the glass, wearing only heels.
Had she not been walking, she would have pressed her thighs together against the pulse that instantly shot through her.
The view was much different in the light of day, the beige and sand colors seeming dull compared to the multicolored dazzle of the Sin City lights at night.
In a few hours, darkness would fall, and that window would look …
He slid open the terrace door, and they stepped out. Dry, hot air immediately blasted Claire in the face.
“Isn’t it too hot out here?”
“Not if you’re well equipped.”
Claire shuddered. Oh God. She had to drag her mind out of the gutter.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, swiped the screen twice, tapped, and with a hiss, a fine mist began to flow from overhead over the entire seating area. “I installed a mounted misting system. Cool, isn’t it?”
Claire groaned.
“Sorry, bad pun. I couldn’t resist. Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving.”
He pulled out her chair, and she settled in it, eyeing the covered chafing dish on the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth.
“You cooked?”
He nodded. “I did.”
“I didn’t wash my hands.”
“Not a problem.”
He reached into his pocket, withdrew a packet, and handed it to her.
She smiled. “A wipe?”
He shrugged. “My mother is a clean-hands fanatic. She carried these wherever she went and trained us well. I always have one somewhere on me.”
She tore the packet, shaking her head as he, too, quickly used a small alcohol-impregnated square to sanitize his hands.
“The wipes are fitting since this is a picnic of sorts,” he said.
Her brow furrowed. What sort of picnic was this, sitting on a huge terrace by an enormous lap pool with a bird’s-eye view of Las Vegas?
“A do-over picnic,” he clarified as if reading her thoughts.
He always had been good at figuring out what she was thinking.
“What are we having?” She balled the used wipe and stuffed it back into the packet.
“Everything but the ketchup.” His smile was wide as he lifted the lid with a flourish.
Claire took one look and burst into laughter.
The fancy silver chafing dish was full of burgers and fries.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m very serious when it comes to food.”
“You made these?”
“Affirmative.”
“These aren’t the frozen fries.”
He threw her an exaggeratedly offended glance and handed her a paper plate. “Please. Nothing I make is frozen. That would be cheating.”
“You’re telling me you made these from actual potatoes? Peeled them, cut them, everything?”
“All of it.”
“Wow.”
Indeed, the mouthwatering scents that wafted from the food were like nothing she had ever smelled. She helped herself to a burger and some fries. Both could have served as one of those stylish restaurant pictures that looked nothing like what you actually received.
Ian picked up a pair of tongs and pinched something she hadn’t seen behind the fry mountain.
“Onion rings!” She almost clapped her hands.
He smirked. “The onions are garnering more enthusiasm than I got when you saw me at the airport.”
“That’s not fair. I was taken aback.”
“Good. I was going for shock value.”
“It worked.”
He reached into a small bucket and pulled out some packets, and Claire smiled brightly when she saw that one was mayonnaise.
“You remembered.”
He caught her gaze and held it. “I remember everything.”
She took the packet, feeling the charge as his fingertips grazed hers. Somehow, she kept them steady as she squirted a little dollop on the bottom bun. She held it up. “Want some?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”