"Scorching." I grinned back as our dinner arrived.
Neither of us touched our food as we continued to spar.
"You're too hot for your own good. For now. But time has a funny way of slipping by too quickly. What about when you're sixty-five? Old. Fat. Hair growing out of your ears and nose."
"You paint such a flattering picture." He waved a hand over himself. "Behold my impeccable grooming. What makes you think I won't buy a nose trimmer or work out?"
"You'll still be old and losing your testosterone levels year by year," I countered. He was delightful.
"And I'll still be a billionaire." He snapped his fingers. "And able to attract the twenty-year-olds by the power of the almighty dollar."
I shrugged, trying not to laugh. He was incorrigible, really. "Maybe. But is that what you want? Is that how you see your future? One hollow sexual encounter after another with women who only want you for your cash. That's a shallow substitute for a long-term loving relationship with your soul mate."
"Maybe I like shallow."
If I really believed that, I would have given up right then. But I didn't.
"More sex." I slid my hand over his and caressed it. "Married men have more sex than single men do. Lots more. One study done by the Kinsey Institute suggests that twenty-three percent of unmarried men periodically go a year without sex, while only one percent of married men experience twelve-month dry spells."
"Thankfully, I'm part of the seventy-seven percent that doesn't have that problem." He pressed his knee against mine suggestively.
If he kept that up, and the flirting, he'd have sex in a matter of minutes. I believed him, but I wasn't giving up.
"Only nineteen percent of single men have sex two to three times a week. Compared to thirty-six percent of married men." I traced his hand with the tip of my thumbnail.
His eyes popped open. He shook his head. "Sixty-four percent of men have sex less than twice a week? That's horrific." He kept shaking his head, amazed. "You mean to tell me they're not even getting sex at rates twice that of single guys? If you're looking to impress me with that statistic, you picked the wrong one. Statistically speaking, odds are against me getting more sex than I get now as a single man able to play the field and choose his sex partners without restriction."
He paused and lowered his voice into even sultrier tones. "I can get it pretty much whenever I want it. Why give up my freedom?" He turned his palm up and clutched my fingers, issuing an invitation.
"Not as conveniently as if you were married," I countered, thinking he could pretty conveniently get it from me with a crook of his finger. "And, as I keep reminding you, I'm going to find you your soul mate. The woman who will give it to you any way you want it. As often as you want. And want it as badly as you do. If sex is important to you, it will be equally important in the right spouse for you.
"You may think the sex you're having now is good." Talking about sex and imagining it with him, my pulse was running wild. "But you ain't seen nothing yet. According to all the studies, married sex is better sex. Much, much better. More frequent. More inventive. More loving. More available. More convenient—"
"I wouldn't know. I've never been married. I'll have to take your word for it." As he leaned in toward me and squeezed my hand, I had to resist panting. "The sex I've had has been…mind-blowing." There was that sexy grin again. The one that lit his eyes with invitation and made me tremble.
Temptation. Temptation.
"Married sex is beyond measure." My breathing was shallow with excitement.
His eyes were dark as he studied me, waiting for my next move. As a potential client, I was losing him. As someone to go home with, I was so close.
"One-night stands can be exciting," I added.
"I agree completely. That's been my experience."
My breath caught. "People like the thrill of the chase."
"Exactly." His voice was so low and sexy.
"But in real life, once two strangers get naked together, awkwardness sets in all too easily. Fumbling. Out of sync with each other. Unable to anticipate each other's moves."
"Not in my experience."
"You would be the expert there," I said. "But believe me, married couples know each other. They know each other's bodies. What the other likes. What their spouse's fantasies are. What turns them on."
"I don't fumble. I don't need marriage to figure out what turns my sex partner on."
My breath caught. He was issuing a challenge. I could let it slide by. Or I could give in and do something I hadn't done in years and years. "You can satisfy a woman you don't know at all? Someone you've just met? Someone, say, that you picked up in a bar? An out-of-towner. A tourist?"
He nodded. "Absolutely."
"Without her telling you what she likes?"
He nodded again. "Throw anything at me. I like women. I know what they like."
"I'd like to see this superpower," I said in my sultriest voice.
"I'm more than happy to demonstrate it for you." He paused. "My penthouse is just a few blocks away. But first, eat your salmon. It's an aphrodisiac. Why do you think Seattle guys are so horny?"
Chapter 3
Ashley
Lazer let us into his penthouse with a jangle of his keys. I'd almost expected him, tech guru that he was, to have electronic locks. But, no, he was just a regular guy when it came to locks, apparently. I didn't know why, but I found that reassuring. Calming in a strange way.
He stepped aside to let me by, but not far enough that I could make it past without brushing against him.
I smiled to myself. One point for him. That had been purely intentional. Part of the dance. And totally effective if he'd meant to make my pulse race.
I wasn't sure what to expect now. The awkwardness of being out of the dating scene for so many years put me at a definite disadvantage. Despite years as a happily sexed, happily married woman, I was the inexperienced one here. I was, and always had been, a monogamist. A serial monogamist before my late husband, Ruck. And there wasn't actually much serial to it. We met and married young. A monogamist with Ruck. And celibate since.
The dating studies were right about hookups and first times. Awkwardness. How did we get from here to the bedroom? I had a pang of missing Ruck and the easy way we read each other and fell into bed without thinking about it.
I glanced at Lazer, waiting for him to make a move. Eager to see how a true playboy operated.
Would he, could he, read me and give me the pleasure he'd promised? Should I have been pawing him and trying to rip his clothes off as soon as we stepped in the door?
He seemed in no hurry. As if we had the luxury of time along with the luxury of everything else. Good. I wanted to savor the moment.
Because he wasn't making an immediate move, I took my time and took in his surroundings, trying to learn as much about him as possible. I may have given up on playing matchmaker for him. But I wasn't immune to that budding sense of excitement of wanting to know everything about a new…conquest. Maybe that was the word.
I looked around Lazer's penthouse, taking in every little detail. I was fully aware this might be, probably would be, my only chance. Modern style. Clean, masculine lines. Lazer was six one or six two. Accordingly, his furniture was sized for a tall man.
The place was immaculate and smelled faintly and pleasantly of lemon, vinegar, and natural cleaning products. Not one thing out of place. Not one crumb on the gleaming kitchen counters. They were so sterile you could have performed surgery on them. Not one personal item sitting out. The only clues to what he liked were all of the state-of-the-art, top-end electronics.
"Well?" He turned to me, watching me with as much attention and intention as I was studying his penthouse.
My heart fluttered, totally under his spell. He knew how to flatter a woman with a look. Being the center of a man's focused attention was heady stuff, especially in the mood I was in.
"Are you sure you live here? It's beautiful, but…it f
eels more like a high-end hotel penthouse suite than a home."
He grinned and nodded. "Observant. And honest. I like that in a woman.
I keep the penthouse as a place to crash near the office when I'm too tired to head home. The cleaning service comes in on Fridays. They're thorough. They pick up and clean absolutely everything. They even change the sheets."
I arched an eyebrow, but I was relieved.
His eyes danced with amusement. "See? I read you right. You were almost hoping this was a hotel. You're the kind of woman who likes clean sheets."
I laughed and shook my head. "Who doesn't?"
"You'd be surprised." He took my hand and held it firmly, lacing his fingers intimately through mine.
My heart skipped a beat. This is it.
I glanced nervously across the room to the view of the city through glass patio doors and full-length windows opposite us.
He followed my line of sight. "Would you like to see the view from the terrace?"
I hesitated.
A grin spread slowly across his face. "What? Did you expect me to pounce on you first thing? Rip your clothes off as soon as we stepped in the door?"
"Well…" I shrugged. "Is that so bad?"
He laughed. "Don't tempt me. I'm trying to be polite. Build up to it. Seduce you, slowly. Offer you something to drink—"
"I'm fine, thank you. I've had plenty."
Why was I so nervous? Even my answering laugh gave me away. I paused again. "I don't know what I expected. You're an enigma."
"Enigma? I like that," he whispered in my ear. "Because I want to impress you with my wealth and the view I paid too much for?"
I laughed, this time not nervously at all. "I'm already impressed."
He stopped. "You're easy."
"We already knew that."
"Damn," he said. "Do you want to see this view or not?"
"I want to see everything you own," I whispered in his ear in a breathy voice as I stroked his shoulder. "But first, the view."
He grinned back at me and led me through the penthouse to a dark outdoor terrace. Night had fallen. A cool breeze blew off the sound. I shivered.
He ran his hand over my arm in a purely possessive way and pulled me close. "Cold?"
"Not now." I smiled up at him.
"Good." He stroked my arm again and started to pull off his suit coat.
"Really. I'm good." I put a hand out to stop him. I wanted to melt, just melt into him. It had been so long since a man had had me in his arms. I didn't want his coat. I wanted him.
Light from the penthouse streamed out through sliding glass doors, but didn't reach the edge of the terrace.
"I could turn on a light," Lazer said in a deep, low voice. "But it would ruin the view."
"We can't have that." I glanced at him and then out over the city lights to the dark waters of the sound and the lights of ferries as they crossed. "It's beautiful up here."
I felt him nod.
"I like to come out here to think," he said. "You can't see many stars because of the light pollution. But the city lights make a decent substitute."
"You must also come out here to barbecue, soak in a hot tub, and roast marshmallows over your fire pit." I gestured to the dark silhouettes of plush outdoor furniture and accouterments around us, including a large outdoor heater. Which I hoped he didn't turn on. He was doing a fine job of warming me all on his own. "You're well equipped."
But my first look at him had told me that.
"I hope you still think so in a few minutes."
I shivered with desire as much as cold as the breeze blew a stray strand of hair over my mouth.
Lazer took my arm and gently turned me toward him, using the excuse of the breeze to gently adjust my hair and sweep it out of my face. This was the classic move of a pro. Touch the hair and see whether the woman flinches away or moves in.
Entire promising relationships can be destroyed in this delicate moment. Or indelibly forged.
More people remember their first kiss than their first sexual encounter. Kissing is that emotionally intimate. If this move was truly a prelude to a kiss, Lazer, with his talented, long fingers, and the deep look of desire in his eyes, was a maestro.
I looked up and held his gaze, leaning ever so slightly into him, encouraging him with my heart pounding as I grabbed the lapel of his suit coat. He had a good four inches on me, even in heels. Up close, he smelled delicious, like an expensive cologne I recognized.
"Arrogance." I sighed, happily, and let out an involuntary gasp, a little yum sort of sound I'd nearly forgotten I made. Only Ruck had ever drawn it out of me. I pushed thoughts of him away.
"That's a non sequitur." Lazer smiled, revealing straight, white, beautiful teeth, and a hint of fresh, minty breath.
Nice teeth. Fresh breath. Two scientifically proven kissing turn-ons. Oh, I was turned on.
"Your cologne—Arrogance. Is that a description of you?" I whispered. I'd slipped a mint in, too, on the way to the penthouse.
"I don't pick my colognes based on their name. I like the way it smells. Earthy. Elemental." He angled in for a kiss, moving closer with each word until his lips gently met mine.
He was reading me well so far. Coaxing me into this act with gentleness. Letting me set the pace. Maybe I should have wanted it fast and furious. Already hot and wet from the thought of what was ahead, I wasn't ready for release.
Tantalize me. Caress me. Seduce me. If he could have read my mind I was telling him what I wanted.
Neither of us moved the kiss forward. I stood with my fingers clutching his lapel and my lips pressed against his. It had been so long. So long.
His lips were surprisingly soft and enticingly warm. I almost sighed with the sheer joy of my lips meeting his.
I felt him restraining himself. Holding back. I realized he was waiting for me to make the next move.
I took his bottom lip into mine and gently sucked, running my tongue along it. Closing my eyes until all I did was feel. When was the last time I'd been this close to anyone?
I moved to his top lip and sucked, feeling him tense as he grabbed my hips. Giving me full rein to do as I would, bruise his lips if I wanted. I took both lips and gently bit them.
His restraint cracked. He grabbed my ass and pulled me into him, parting my lips and tantalizing me with his tongue with just the right balance of thrust and assertion to make me go weak at the knees.
I was desperate to taste him. I breathed in through my mouth as we kissed and sighed as we shared an intimate breath.
It took him by surprise. I felt his breath catch.
"Damn, you turn me on," he murmured in a guttural voice filled with heat.
"Likewise." To me, kissing had always been the most exacting foreplay. "I want to see you naked."
"Forceful." He blew a hot breath on my neck.
I arched my neck, ready for his kiss. And then his lips were on my neck. Hot and sucking as they travelled over the arch of my neck to the tops of my breasts. "Take me to the bedroom."
He grabbed my hand and led me to the master bedroom, turning the lights on to a soft, romantic setting. The room was sumptuous. The bed oversized. And turned down for the night.
I lifted an eyebrow. "Did you call ahead? Or are you pulling my leg and this really is a hotel?"
He grinned. "I'm always prepared."
"Optimist."
"Just realistic."
I kicked off my shoes, exaggerating the previous height difference between us. He slid his suit jacket off and tossed it over a chair. Kicked off his shoes.
When you live alone, dresses that zip up the back are highly impractical. As a consequence, I preferred side-zipping dresses. Lazer showed his expertise again by automatically sliding his hands up my sides and locating the zipper as he kissed my neck. I let him unzip me and slide my dress off, thanking fate that I'd decided against following my own advice of wearing granny panties out to avoid temptation. Sexy lingerie gave me confidence. I wore it as a m
atter of course.
I stood before him in an expensive, skimpy lace bra and thong panties as his gaze devoured me. Maybe I should have been embarrassed or self-conscious. I was surprisingly bold and confident. Something about the appreciation on his face encouraged me.
"My turn." I ran my hands over his shoulders. "So broad. So strong." I was almost talking to myself, marveling. So long. It had been so long since I'd caressed a man like this.
I moved to the front of his shirt. Unbuttoned it. One button. Then another. Slowly. Deliberately. Relishing the feeling of his hard chest beneath it. Skimming the backs of my fingers over his bare skin as his shirt fell open.
"You're so totally and perfectly jacked," I whispered into his neck, my breath becoming shallow and excited. "I bet even the men in the locker room stop and stare."
"With horror," he joked.
"Don't be modest." I traced his muscles with the tips of my fingers and ran them over his hardened nipples. "You know you look good."
He stood statue-still. But his breaths became shallow. I peeled his shirt off his shoulders and slid it off his arms. As it fell gently to the floor, I traced the planes of his abs to his belly button and below. I slid my fingers beneath the waistband of his pants until I felt the top of his pubic hair.
He didn't move as I unfastened his pants and slid them off, except to step out of them with a quiet rustle. His dick was straining at his briefs. That was a sight I had missed. I hadn't realized how much.
"Ace of spades, the stud card," I whispered in his ear, stroking the whimsical playing card design on his expensive briefs. "Soft."
"Are you insulting me?" He leaned that luscious, full stud card into my hand.
"Complimenting your taste in briefs." I slipped my finger beneath his waistband and ran it over the tip of him. "Sexy underwear for men is underrated. Now take it off."
He grinned and slipped out of them, revealing just how erect and ready he was. And how much restraint he'd been showing.
He had a fine V that ran from his hips to his groin. I stared at him. "You're beautiful." I whispered, unable to keep the awe out of my voice.
"I thought that was supposed to be my line." He took a step into me.
Lazer Focused: A Jet City Billionaire Romance (The Billionaire Matchmaker Series Book 1) Page 4
