Narice had become so attuned to him, she didn’t need to see his eyes to know what he was thinking, and right now, his thoughts were in a place easily read. He reached out with a finger and gently traced her mouth. His touch made her eyelids lower and heat race through her veins.
Her response thrilled Saint to his core. Unable to resist, he leaned in and kissed her; the more he kissed her the sweeter she tasted.
By now the scarred, mud-covered Cadillac was drawing very skeptical looks from the brother doorman.
Saint in his flowing coat and dark glasses hit the button to lower the window and said to the brother, “I’ll park her myself.”
After parking Lily in the back of the large lot, Saint escorted Narice inside.
The hotel was done in royal purples and gold. It’s signature chandelier, supposedly one of the largest in the world, sparkled overhead like diamonds. The establishment was well known for its superior service, luxurious rooms, and catering to people who didn’t mind paying up to six figures per night.
The perfectly coiffed, redheaded sister behind the desk took one look at Saint in his coat and Narice in her travel-wrinkled clothing and said, “I’m sorry. We don’t have any rooms available.”
Narice knew the woman was lying. She was just about to challenge the woman when Saint put up his hand. “I got this.” He then said to the woman dressed in her red hotel suit. “Can I see your manager please?”
“She’s unavailable.”
Narice wanted to snatch her.
Saint reached into his pocket and pulled out a small blue business cardholder. He opened it, flipped through, and handed her one. “Read that out loud for me, please.”
She sighed impatiently. “Jeffrey Galen. Vice President for Quality Assurance”—her eyes widened and her voice dropped to a whisper—“you work for our hotels?”
“Yes, I do. My assistant and I travel the country looking this way to make sure all of our guests are treated fairly. Now, your name? Ms. Cooper remember this name.”
Narice assumed she was Ms. Cooper, so she piped in seriously, “Yes, sir, Mr. Galen,” and she stared smugly at the now terrified clerk.
“My name is Sheila Stump. I’m so very sorry. I’ll get you our best room.”
Galen said, “And Ms. Stump, you are not to tell anyone on the staff that I am here. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“As far you are concerned I am just another guest. Do that and I may let you keep your job.”
She looked ready to burst into tears. “Yes, sir.”
Saint reached into his pocket and pulled a wad of hundred-dollar bills. “Will fifteen hundred cover my bill for one night?”
The woman nodded so quickly Narice thought her head might bounce off her neck. Narice had no idea what other business cards Saint carried, but she loved the way this one put Ms. Sheila Stump in her place.
The clerk was now hustling to handle the paperwork. “Do you need help with your luggage?”
“Nope. Just a key and a room.”
And what a room it turned out to be. Narice was accustomed to traveling first-class, but even she was impressed by the chandelier hanging above the entranceway and the large bank of windows overlooking the city. The twin bathrooms had large walk-in showers and sensual Jacuzzis. The two bedrooms had big beds sumptuously covered in ivory and gold. There was a bar, a sitting room, which sported black leather furniture, three TVs, and a killer sound system. The refrigerator was fully stocked. From the drapes to the carpeting on the floor, it was a room fit for a queen.
Standing before the windows enjoying the view, Narice said, “I like the way you roll, St. Martin.”
He grinned.
“Jeff Galen. Quality Assurance.”
He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Right now, though, I’m with the Narice Quality Assurance,” and he brushed his lips across the edge of her jaw. Narice rippled in response to the unexpected caress. She turned up her lips for a kiss and he complied deliciously.
Soon one kiss turned into another, and before they knew it, the fire between them was fully involved. His hands began moving slowly over her breasts, rolling the nipples between his fingers and sliding his palms over the tightened points. She could barely breathe. “I should take a shower…” she managed to say.
The buttons on her blouse were conquered, the halves opened, and his lips were saluting each newly bared inch of skin from the hollow of her throat to the soft flesh rising and falling above her lacy black bra. “If you leave, you’ll miss this…”
He unhooked her bra and filled his palms with the trembling weight of her soft breasts. He tongued each nipple in turn, letting the scents of her skin turn up his heat even more, then sucked until she gasped from the heat filling her.
He captured her mouth again while his expert hands and fingers continued to play her breasts like a gifted musician on a prized instrument. When he dropped his head to once again taste the buds he’d prepared so lavishly, she crooned like a lust-filled Stradivarius.
The pleasure pulsing through Narice was wonderful. To be in the hands of a man who knew his way around a woman’s body was priceless. His lips on her throat, his mouth on her breasts, the heat of his hard thighs against her own all set her on fire.
Saint was on fire, too; a slow burning, white hot variety that made him want to lay her across the bed and fill her until she moaned his name. He didn’t care about showers; he wanted her now. He whispered boldly, “How ’bout we move to the bed?”
Narice nibbled his bottom lip, then licked at the parted corners of his mouth, before saying in a passion husked voice, “Thought you’d never ask….”
They kissed their way through the suite to one of the bedrooms; opening the fronts of pants, discarding clothing, and lingering over the caressing of heightened flesh. He picked her up, then gently laid her on top of the elegant spread. Next she knew, her shorts were taken from her and the founder of the Jordan Academy was lying below him wearing her opened blouse, undone bra, and matching black lace panties.
Saint had been wanting this woman for over a week now. He traced the waistband of her panties and then the whorl of her navel. “Love your underwear,” he murmured.
His hand cupped that hot warm place between her thighs. When she spread her legs in wanton invitation, his hands sent back an erotic rsvp. “We can shower later, angel. I can’t wait.”
Neither could she. His touches were magic; scandalous. She wanted to touch him like he was touching her, but every time she tried to reach for him her efforts died because he was stroking her through the fabric of her panties in bold and magical ways that made her so hot and filled her with such hazy desire, she couldn’t complete her goal.
Saint had wanted this first time to be slow and un-rushed but touching her, kissing her, and hearing her moan in response made him feel like a teenager in his girl’s bedroom and her mama was due home in twenty minutes. He had to have her now or explode.
Narice was breathless and wet from the passion flowing between her thighs. As he slid her panties off her hips and stroked the dampness of her core, she thought she’d explode into orgasm then and there. She held his eyes while he eased the condom on. When he entered her, then filled her, her eyes closed and she growled like the contented lioness that she was.
Saint made a mental note to make love to this woman early and often; she was passionate, uninhibited, and oh-so-sexy, but now he concentrated on stroking her, teasing her, making her beautiful body rise and fall to his rhythm. He filled his hands with her soft hips and lifted her so she could feel every possessive inch of his thrusts. Wanting to brand himself into her memory, his rhythm increased. Her soft cries of response floated in the silent room. It didn’t take them long to find paradise. She finished first and he exploded right behind her. The cheetah growled, the lioness purred, then they slept.
Fourteen
Hours later, Narice awakened in the bed. The slow realization that Saint wasn’t beside
her made her sit up. Her eyes swept the room. The clock beside the bed showed five after seven, which meant she’d slept a good ten hours. The opened drapes showed dusk falling, but where was he? Still wearing only her blouse, she got up, intending to search the rest of the large suite, but a note on the table beside the bed made her stop. Picking it up, she read: “Gone for whipped cream.” Laughing, she set the note down and padded into the shower.
Twenty minutes later, a revived Narice wrapped herself in one of the hotel’s thick black terry robes and stepped out of the bathroom feeling all the world like a woman who’d been thoroughly loved. Her nipples tightened at the memories of his hands plying her nipples and the hard promise of his body sliding into hers. Just thinking about him made a soft pulse begin its familiar beat between her thighs. The smell of food cut into her reminisces. Tantalizing aromas filled her nose and captured her attention. Surely he wasn’t cooking? Throwing on some clothes, she went to find out.
He wasn’t cooking. Dressed in a black tank top that showed off his lean muscles, and wearing a pair of well-fitting black jeans, he was standing beside a beautifully set table for two. The cloth on it was the color of indigo and the china and silver reflected the twin flames of the ivory candlesticks in the center. Ornate silver dishes covered the food and a bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket packed with ice. The table was positioned right beside the windows and offered a dazzling view of Atlanta, twinkling like a constellation against the shadows of evening. The subtle glow of the dimmed lamps in tandem with the sounds of the soft jazz floating from the speakers made the atmosphere sensual and romantic. “This is very nice.”
“I thought we could do with a little room service.”
He didn’t have his dark glasses on and once again Narice had trouble deciding which of his personas intrigued her the most. She concluded that it didn’t really matter; the man moved her in every form and the scandalous woman growing herself inside couldn’t wait to be moved again. “Did you get your whipped cream?”
“Yeah, I did,” he told her with a gleam in his green eyes, then gestured her to the table. “Shall we?”
Narice inclined her head royally, then walked to one of the two chairs. Always the gentleman he came to assist her, lingering just long enough for the heat of his nearness and the fresh scent of his clean body to tease her senses, then took his own seat.
Saint thought she looked even more beautiful by candlelight. She was casually dressed in a sleeveless green top and a matching pair of lightweight blousy pants. Her bare feet sported red toenail polish. The row of dark buttons fronting the shirt brought his attention to her curves. The fabric was thin, showing the points of her nipples and making him remember the passionate gasp she’d made when he took them in his mouth.
Narice forced herself to look away from the brilliant hunger in his eyes so she could clear her mind and say a silent prayer before starting in on the meal. Once that was done, she looked up and found him still watching her. His intensity seemed to raise the temp in the room a good fifteen degrees. “We really should eat.”
“Do we have to?”
Both knew what the other wanted.
“Yes.”
“Why?” He began taking tops off of the food.
“Because we’ll need our strength.”
He answered with a smile. “You’re right.”
Anticipation stroked Narice with a sensual shiver, and because she’d never meet another man quite like Anthony St. Martin, she vowed to enjoy this interlude.
The dinner included roast chicken seasoned with rosemary, a salad with Caesar dressing, side dishes featuring everything from green beans to spiced apples, hot yeast rolls, and a chocolate hazelnut gateau for dessert.
Saint popped the cork on the champagne. After pouring some of the fine beverage into two crystal flutes, he set the bottle back into the ice then raised his glass for a toast. “To a beautiful sexy lady named Narice.”
“To a handsome sexy brother named Saint.”
Eyes mingling they sipped in unison, then set the glasses down.
Fixing their plates came next, but as Saint picked up his silverware, he paused to watch Narice’s fingers slowly and deliberately undo the top three buttons of her shirt. “And what are you doing?”
“Playing.”
He surveyed her hot eyes. “Playing what?”
“A new game I just invented called, Seduction.”
Saint’s blood began to roar. “Are there any rules?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Can I play?”
Narice’s nipples tightened deliciously. “Yes.”
He slowly set down his silverware, then walked over to where she was sitting. The desire blazing in his gaze made Narice tremble a bit. When he leaned down and brushed his lips ever so softly over hers, her trembling increased.
He coaxed her to come and play with kisses that were featherlight yet potent enough to make her reach up and slip her hand behind his head to bring him closer. Their earlier coupling had been as frenetic as two teenagers in the back seat of a car, but Narice wanted to go slow this time so she could thoroughly explore every golden inch of him. The kiss deepened and their tongues mated provocatively, reigniting their inner fires and their need for each other.
Moments later, he slowly backed away then straightened, only to slide a possessive palm down over her breast. As he caressed her, teased her and made her lips part, he husked out. “I think we should call this game, Make the Principal Hot.”
Narice thought he had hands of magic. The sensations caused by him expertly rolling her pleading nipples between his thumb and forefinger made her arch and preen with uninhibited delight. “I think she already is.”
“Good.” He dallied with her breasts and lips for a few more steamy moments. Only when she groaned out her pleasure did he seem satisfied. He silently slipped away and retook his seat.
Narice was breathless, weak, and rocked. Her vision was hazed over, and if he touched her intimately he’d find her already flowing. Make the Principal Hot was a good game.
Saint liked the way his game was progressing. Everything about her made him want to lay her down on the nearest flat surface and see how many times he could make her explode beneath him, on top of him, in front of him; he wanted to make love to her in so many different ways it would take two lifetimes to experience them all. He was falling for her and falling hard, a voice in the back of his head pointed out, but Saint didn’t want to deal with that now. Right now, all he cared about was pleasuring her until sunrise.
So, they ate. It was a slow process because what they really wanted was each other. As a result they spent as much time making love with their eyes as they did sampling their meal.
Narice had never considered herself a very sexual woman, but being with Saint seemed to have opened a new channel within herself. All she could think about was being naked for him, having him run his hands slowly up and down her thighs, and having him fill her to the hilt. Her ex had been just as inexperienced as she the first few times they’d gone to bed, and Lars had been more focused on his own pleasure. Her best time in bed had been three years ago. A Canadian financial guru. The brother’s talent as a financier was surpassed only by his talent in bed. After a torrid six-month affair, they’d gone their separate ways. Last she heard he was serving time in a Canadian jail for embezzling 14 million from a mutual fund.
But here in the present the new Narice boldy undid the last three buttons. The now gaping top made the sides of her breasts very visible.
Saint eyed the tempting brown beauties waiting for him to claim, and his manhood rose to the occasion. “Come here for a moment, Narice.”
She set her napkin on the table and walked over. When she reached him, he took her by the hand and guided her to sit on his lap. Without further ado, he kissed her slowly and fully, sending desire surging through her veins. In response she met him willingly, boldy, running her hands up and down his strong arms. He pulled her closer, teasi
ng her tongue with his, then brushed his mouth over the soft skin covering her jaw. “Are you hot, Ms. Principal?”
Narice’s eyes were closed. She wanted to answer but gave a croon instead as his hands filled themselves with the trembling weight of her breasts. Dinner was momentarily forgotten because the diners were hungrier for passion.
Saint didn’t think he could get any harder, but the scent of her perfume, and the silken feel of her breasts increased his need a thousand times over. How was he going to let her go when this adventure came to an end? No brother in his right mind would relinquish skin this soft or a mouth this divine. She wanted no ties yet he wanted to tie her to him for life. Instead he had to take what she offered, which was her spirited mind and body.
It was the body he was concentrating on now, and so leaned her back and took a sweet dark nipple into his mouth. She growled low in her throat and he turned his attention to the neglected twin, tonguing it, sucking it while his hand beneath her shirt explored her back and the planes of her waist. He tugged at the waistband of her pants and she lifted her hips to accommodate their removal. They fluttered to the floor leaving Narice on his lap wearing her opened green top and a black lace thong.
“God, you look hot…”
He began trailing kisses down her arched throat and over the soft tops of her breasts. The scents on her skin were driving him wild as was the heat of her hips atop his hardness. Capturing her mouth again, he kissed her as if he needed her essence to live while touring a slow hand over the yielding brown flesh of her thighs. He explored her languidly, learning the shape of her while his palm burned over her skin as he moved it up and down her limbs.
Narice took it all back; the Canadian brother was an amateur compared to this master. The hand now working slow magic between her thighs made her part her legs so he could do whatever he wished. Her wish had already come true. The knowledge that he was wickedly caressing her through the thong sent her senses racing.
The Edge of Dawn Page 20
