by Noelle Adams
So I square my shoulders and take a deep breath before I start to leave. My ankle turns in my high heel, and I stumble, catching myself against the bathroom door.
The near fall startles and jars me, but a quick assessment of my condition confirms I didn’t do any damage. Fortunately no one’s in the bathroom to see my clumsiness.
Just a private reminder of who I really am.
And hopefully not a warning of what’s about to come.
The stumble distracts me from my nerves, and I walk to the elevator and ride it up to the twentieth floor in a weird daze, feeling like I’m only halfway inhabiting my own body.
When I reach room 2020, I pause and take a couple of slow breaths. There’s a shuddering deep inside me, not yet reaching my fingers and toes.
Maybe this is stupid.
Maybe this is dangerous.
Maybe I’ve become desperate enough to risk something I’d never have even considered a year ago.
Maybe all of that is true.
I just don’t care.
I knock on the door to preface my arrival before I open the lock with the key card and let myself in.
“Come on in,” Richard calls in his low, pleasant voice. I can’t see him yet because I’m in the short hall that leads past the bathroom and closet before it opens up into the room.
It’s a much bigger room than the one I have. It’s got a full kitchenette and a small dining area and comfortable seating near the door leading out to the balcony.
Also a king-sized bed.
I tear my eyes away from the crisp white bedding and instead focus on Richard, who’s standing near the table. He’s still wearing the suit and tie he was wearing this afternoon. His eyebrows are slightly elevated. The corners of his lips are turned up in a sexy smile. He’s holding an expensive bottle of champagne. There are two glasses on the table.
“How did you get them to bring the champagne up here so quickly?” That’s me. Always focusing on the most unimportant of details. “Or did you already have it up here, assuming you’d find someone to join you?”
“Neither. I picked it up on my way upstairs. I figured we could enjoy it—or else I’d have to drown my sorrows when you didn’t show up after all.”
I laugh at that—the irony in his voice and the knowing twitch of his eyebrows. “Did you really think it was likely you’d be spending the night alone and have to drown your sorrows?”
“To tell you the truth, I didn’t know. I’m usually good at reading women, but you’re...” He shakes his head.
“I’m what?” There’s no way I’m going to let him get away with not finishing the sentence.
“You’re different. And I really don’t know what to expect from you.”
It’s not exactly a compliment, but I’ll take it as one. I’d rather be a challenge than someone he thinks he can wrap around his finger without trying.
“You want some of this?” he asks, gesturing with the bottle toward the two champagne flutes.
“Yes. Thanks. I’d hate to let all your planning go to waste.” I’ve been standing a few feet away from him, my fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of my cute red purse. I have no idea what I should do. Take off my shoes. Try to get comfortable. Attempt some sort of sexy pose.
There’s no way. I’ll feel like a fool if I even try. I do manage to set my purse down on the long, low dresser, glancing in the mirror above it to assure myself my hair is still decent and my neck hasn’t gotten too flushed and blotchy, the way it sometimes does when I get emotional.
I’m genuinely shocked that I look calm and attractive—like I do this kind of thing every day—when I hear a loud popping sound and a surprised exclamation from Richard.
I gasp as I whirl around and see that the bottle has exploded as Richard opened it, spraying champagne all over the surface of the table and Richard’s tailored suit.
My lips part in shock. Then my eyes lift to his face.
He’s frozen. Soaking wet and with the now half-empty bottle still in his hand.
I choke on a burst of amusement, raising a hand to cover my mouth.
His frozen stillness cracks just enough for him to slant annoyed blue eyes in my direction.
I burst into helpless laughter, the shuddering tension I’d been holding inside me spilling out with my hilarity.
By now, Richard has recovered from his surprise. He sets the bottle down with a curl of his lip and murmurs dryly, “Of course you would decide that mocking me is the most appropriate response to this debacle.”
“I’m not mocking you,” I gasp out, losing it even more at his tone. “It wasn’t your fault. I know for sure you wouldn’t be stupid enough to shake up a thousand-dollar bottle of champagne.”
“Definitely not. But some fool must have.” He shakes his head as he takes off his suit coat and drops it onto a chair. “Damn it. I hadn’t intended to begin this evening by looking like an idiot.”
I’m still giggling. I really can’t help it. The incongruity between his smooth gorgeousness and the champagne all over him is just too much. “It’s probably good for you. You’re way too slick for your own good. The universe must be trying to bring you back down to size.”
He chuckles as he walks into the bathroom and returns with a white towel. “I liked my previous size just fine.” He sighs and shakes his head as he mops up the wet table and then blots his shirt and the front of his trousers. They aren’t as wet as his jacket is, but they’re definitely damp. “I had a whole thing going on, and now it’s totally blown.”
I’m far more relaxed than I was a minute ago. I’ve managed to restrain my hilarity to no more than a smile as I walk over closer to him. “What whole thing did you have going on?”
“I was running with this romantic thing,” he admits, slanting me a look that’s almost—almost—embarrassed. “You seemed like... you were trying something new, and I wanted to make sure it was good for you, so I was going to...” He gives a helpless shrug. “It doesn’t matter. An exploding bottle of champagne is about as unsexy as it gets.”
Seven hours ago in the car, I found him handsome but unreal.
One hour ago in the bar, I found him sexy but also suspicious.
This is the first time—right now—that I actually like him. That I can see a real person beneath the surface.
A person who might even have a few things in common with me. The girl who tripped on her own feet in the bathroom.
I step nearer to him, so close I can smell the champagne he just spilled. The scotch he drank earlier. A very faint whiff of spicy aftershave that sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine. “I don’t mind.”
His expression changes. He looks faintly hopeful. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Swallowing hard, I take one more step closer so I can reach out and touch the collar of his shirt. “I actually prefer things that feel... feel...”
He leans down and brushes a featherlight kiss against my lips. “That feel what?”
The shuddering inside me has begun again, but it’s different this time. It’s more excited than nervous. It feels like me rather than a stranger who happens to be living in my body. “That feels real,” I whisper, stretching up so I can kiss him.
Kissing a stranger isn’t what I expected.
It’s good. Everything about it feels good. Richard smells delicious, and the fabric of his shirt is thick and soft as my fingers close around one side of his collar. His lips are gentle and dry. The scotch on his breath isn’t unpleasant. In fact, I like the thick, pungent fragrance of it. His body is warmer than mine is. One of his hands lifts to lightly brush down the length of my hair.
It feels good, but it’s also weird. Like someone is intruding into your existence. Like there’s a presence inside you where it’s not supposed to be.
He’s oddly passive as I kiss him, like he’s giving me control of the embrace. But the thing is—I don’t want control of it. I don’t feel like I know what I’m doing. I’ve kissed men before but not a lot. Most of
the kisses I’ve had felt unnatural, and even those that were good in the moment have gotten clouded in memory.
I don’t want control of this. I ease back and take a conscious breath, dropping my eyes.
“No good?” he asks softly.
When I look back up at him, I see him searching my face. I’m not sure what he’s looking for there, but I once again get the sense of him really seeing me.
As if I can’t hide, even as I let my hair fall forward to mask my face. “No. It’s good. But maybe I’ll have a glass of that champagne first, if any of it survived the explosion.”
He chuckles in that soft, breathy way he has as he reaches over to fill the two champagne flutes with bubbly liquid. He hands me my glass and says, “If you’ve changed your mind, it’s really okay. One-night stands aren’t for everyone, and deciding against it says nothing about how brave or adventurous you are.”
I smile at him as I sit down in one of the chairs. “Oh, I’m definitely not brave or adventurous. But I think I still want to do this. But I’m not sure I have enough oomph going yet to jump right into it.”
He sits down next to me. “Oomph?”
“Momentum. Whatever you want to call the thing that pushes us into sex.”
“Lust?” His eyes are warm and resting on my face. He seems to be enjoying the conversation, as strange as it is.
“Maybe. But for me, it takes more than that, and I don’t have the oomph going yet.”
“Just let me know if the oomph makes itself known. Until then, maybe you can tell me why you suddenly decided you needed to have a one-night stand on this trip.”
It’s an intrusive query. Presumptuous in a way that I’m learning is characteristic of the man. But he doesn’t sound pushy, and I’m still in this weird jittery mood. Because I don’t know Richard and I’ll probably never see him again, it feels like I can tell him things I wouldn’t tell anyone else. “I don’t know really. I was just feeling... dissatisfied with my life. I wanted a change. And I kept coming back to this as... as... I don’t know... a sign of my ability to change.”
He nods, as if this makes sense, even though I’m not sure it makes sense to me. “So you normally go for the supersmart, socially awkward types?”
I’m about to take another sip, but I hold the glass in front of my mouth instead. “Why do you say that?”
“Because those were the guys you had in your sights for tonight. I figured that must normally be your type.”
“Oh.”
He might not have intended it as a compliment, but it feels like one. He’s assuming I have my choice of guys. That I can pick the kind I want and then get them. That hasn’t been my experience of life, but it feels good that he thinks it is.
“Maybe. I don’t really know if I have a type. I was really just thinking that kind of guy wouldn’t be as intimidating. I wasn’t looking for a player or anything.” I let out an amused exhale. “So I’m not sure how I ended up in this room with you.”
“You think I’m a player?”
“Of course you’re a player. There’s no way a man approaches a woman the way you approached me without having a lot of experience with women and being utterly confident of your ability to win them over. You’re not going to deny it, are you?”
He gives a half shrug, playing idly with the stem of the glass. “Eh.”
“Eh? Yeah, right. Tell me the truth.”
He lifts his eyes and holds my gaze. “I suppose I’ve got some game, but it doesn’t feel like you think it does. If I’m just looking for a good time, I don’t approach women unless they’ve already made it clear they’d be interested. I don’t assume every woman in the world is waiting for me. That would be inexcusably arrogant.”
“And you’re not arrogant at all.” Amusement edges my tone, although I appreciate what he’s saying. What it says about him.
“Not as arrogant as you seem to think.”
“So you really thought I’d be receptive to your advances?” I’m frowning now as I think about what he said. “I didn’t even realize you were in the bar when you plopped right down beside me.”
“Well, no. That was quite a blow to my ego—that you didn’t even notice me.” He gives me that self-deprecating smile that goes right to my head. “The truth is I wasn’t expecting sex this evening when I approached you. I just wanted to talk to you.”
I check his expression. He’s recovered his confident smoothness after the accident with the champagne, but he looks real right now. Not like the ultraslick stranger he was before. I nod. I’m not sure what to say, but I believe him.
Maybe I’m hopelessly naive, but I do.
I take my last swallow of champagne. It’s a shame that half the bottle was spilled, because it’s excellent.
He lifts the bottle as a wordless offer to pour the last of it into my glass, but I shake my head. At the moment, I have a very mild buzz from the alcohol. Enough to subdue my typical uptightness but not enough to make me feel out of control or sick. I don’t want to risk any more.
He sets the bottle down and leans back in his chair. “Are you disappointed?”
“In what?” My eyes are wide. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“That you didn’t find a sexy stranger who swept you away from your real life and into a hot night of passion.”
I laugh. Out loud. Then I can’t stop.
He narrows his eyes. “That wasn’t supposed to be a joke.”
“I know. But it is kind of funny. I wasn’t for a moment expecting to be swept away for a night of passion this weekend. I had no unrealistic expectations about my one-night stand. I really just wanted to do it. I wasn’t expecting it to be good.”
“Well, thanks a lot.” He’s not angry, but he does look a bit peeved. Like I might have hurt his feelings a little. “Maybe I’ve given you no reason to believe it yet, but I’m not exactly a slouch in the bedroom.”
“I didn’t mean with you,” I object, laughing again. I reach over to touch his arm. “When I had the low expectations, I wasn’t for a moment dreaming I’d have a one-night stand with you. Naturally, once I came up to your room, my expectations were raised a bit.”
“Oh. Good.” He gives me an adorably rueful smile. “If you decide to go through with it, I’ll try not to disappoint.”
That’s what does it for me. That smile. Those words. The leisurely warmth of his blue eyes, sharpened by a deep intelligence at rest.
His shirt is still damp from sprayed champagne. His collar is sticking up on one side from where I was holding it earlier. His legs are outstretched under the table, and I realize for the first time that he’s not wearing any shoes.
I lean over in my chair and grab for his shirt so I can pull him into a kiss.
This one is different. I recognize it immediately. I’ve taken him by surprise, so he responds instinctively, curving a hand around the back of my head to hold me steady as his lips move against mine urgently. Almost greedily.
My body senses the change.
My body likes it a lot.
I suck in a breath at the wave of pleasure that washes over me, starting at my lips and moving downward. I’m still clinging to his shirt with both hands, and my mouth opens as soon as I feel his tongue.
I was worried I’d be hung up on figuring out specific moves. Afraid I’d be distracted by deciding what to do with my hands, my tongue, my legs.
But I’m not even thinking about it now. I’m chasing that thrill I experienced as soon as our lips met. I’m leaning over toward him so eagerly that I almost fall out of the chair, but he hauls me into his lap before I lose my balance completely.
I’ve never sat in a man’s lap like this before. For no rational reason, it’s as thrilling to me as the kiss is. Richard isn’t a huge man. He’s lean and probably not quite six feet. But he’s strong. The muscles I feel beneath his clothes are firm. And his hands are sure, possessive, as they settle on my hips as we kiss.
I don’t want it to stop. I love the way my body
feels right now. The way my heart and brain are buzzing. His tongue is deep in my mouth, and it’s doing all kinds of crazy things to my body. It’s generating a pulsing I can feel in my throat. My nipples. Between my legs.
I’ve had orgasms before. Plenty of them. I’m a mature thirty-two-year-old woman—virgin or not—and I know how to take care of my own needs. But this is different.
It’s really, really different.
“Oh damn, Gillian, you’re so hot,” he says in a hoarse whisper as he kisses a line down the side of my neck. “You’re already driving me crazy.”
I have no idea how that could be true, but it’s impossible not to believe him. His body has tightened beneath me. It’s even hotter than before. His kisses, his touches, the way he keeps shifting my position on top of him. All of it is openly hungry.
I drop my head backward as he mouths the throbbing pulse in my throat and cups one of my breasts over my top. I hear a soft moan and realize I’m the one who made it.
That sexy sound just came from my lips.
Mine.
He teases my nipple through my shirt, and the little move tugs on my deepening arousal. I moan again. Louder this time.
“Does this mean you’ve found your oomph?” He sounds slightly breathless as he raises his head to scan my face.
He’s seeing me again. Even more intimately than before. And it’s not just my red cheeks and mussed hair and swollen lips he’ll be able to see.
It’s me.
I nod, my voice momentarily caught in my throat.
“So do you want to move this to the bed? If not, that’s completely—”
“Yes!” When I get a word spoken, it comes out too enthusiastically. A sharp burst of sound.
He blinks in surprise.
I giggle. “Yes.” I find the coordination to climb off his lap. “I think we’ll do a lot better there than in this chair.”
He’s smiling as he stands up. “I think we did pretty well in the chair, if you want to know the truth.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed. Then I slide off my shoes and leave them on the floor.
