Casey averted her gaze to safer territory, like the vast array of flashing neon signs up ahead. A rainbow of blues, greens, yellows and reds flashed with precise rhythms, beckoning passersby to stop and enter the doors beneath. Everything from music clubs to quaint, unique shops lined the street. That's what she needed to cure her Alex woes—shopping. Nothing like a good, hearty round of power shopping to distract a girl from pining over a man. Casey knew that from first-hand experience.
"I sort of like to shop.” She shrugged—as if her sometimes financially crippling habit was no big deal.
"Sort of? How do you sort of like to shop?” He quirked a brow in question.
"Okay. I admit it. I love to shop.” They stopped at a street corner and waited for the light to go through its cycle.
"So do I, sugar,” an extremely tall, ice blonde said to her left. Dressed in scarlet sequins and wearing bright red lipstick, she smiled, revealing the most perfect set of teeth Casey had ever seen.
Casey gave a smile in return and with one quick assessment, realized the woman was no woman. Although, she had to admit, the guy did look pretty hot. In comparison to his dazzling clothes, he made her feel like a drab, frumpy wallflower.
And he smelled terrific, too. The scent was light, refreshing, yet mysterious. “Nice fragrance,” Casey said.
"Thanks, sweetcakes. It's the latest from Estée Lauder. Cost me a small fortune, but it's worth every penny,” he said in his breathy and sultry voice.
Casey saw a grin tug at Alex's lips. The stoplight switched to green and like a herd of cattle, they and the ten or so other people, including the blonde, hustled across the street.
"You might say shopping is my own form of therapy,” Casey said. Drawn like a mosquito to a dangerously glowing bug light, she pressed her hands against the plate glass of a shop window. Gaping at a vast collection of handbags on display, Casey's mouth began to salivate. A quick inspection of her reflection showed that at least she wasn't drooling. Yet. Saliva dripping down my chin, now that would be attractive.
"Therapy?” Alex asked, surprise in his question. “What could a bright, beautiful accountant like you need therapy for?"
Bright? Beautiful? He thought she was beautiful? A flash of heat warmed her cheeks. Feeling unsure and restless, she moved away from the window and started walking.
"Oh, nothing much, I guess. Just my parents’ divorce. Maybe a broken heart. Or two.” She laughed to hide her discomfort. Peeking at him from behind her lashes, she hoped to see she'd been successful, but instead saw a flicker of raw emotion cut across his face.
"Sounds like plenty to me,” he said softly. “My parents are divorced, too. I know what it's like."
"I'm sorry."
Alex shrugged. “Ah, it was for the best. I guess. They loved their work more than they did each other. Even as a kid I saw they were really married to their respective careers. They spent so much time apart I often wondered how I was even born."
"That must have been tough to understand."
"That's just the way their relationship worked. The sooner I accepted it, the easier it was for me to cope and get on with my own life. That morsel of acceptance came in damn handy when they split for good."
They passed by a blues club and the deep, soulful music coming from inside the brick and mortar building vibrated the sidewalk beneath their feet as they walked.
"How about you? Why did your folks opt for the big D?” he asked.
Even though Casey wasn't cold, she pulled her jacket tighter and tucked her arms around her middle. “My dad was a ... free spirit. A restless soul. Or so he claimed.” She took a deep breath, reminding herself to stay calm—that according to a thousand dollars worth of therapy sessions, talking about her dad didn't always have to raise her hackles. “Deep down, I think he really did love my mom, though. It was the restrictions and responsibilities a wife and five kids presented that he couldn't handle. No matter what we did—no matter how hard we tried, he wasn't happy. Blamed us for holding him back, keeping him from what he really wanted in life."
"So your mom got stuck holding the bag."
"Exactly. And since I was the oldest, so did I,” she said with a bitterness she hadn't intended to reveal. Even after years of psychobabble and shopping therapies, Casey still struggled to control the resentment she harbored toward her father.
Deliberate, self-centered abandonment was a hard act to forget. And forgive.
"So, what about the broken hearts?” Alex asked. “Engaged? Married?"
Casey's pulse quickened at his question. Was he interested? Or simply curious? She hoped interested because Alex sure had a way of making her want to rattle a few skeletons from her closet, bequeath her dog to him, and pledge her undying devotion. Of course, she could be experiencing a moment of insanity brought on by indigestion after eating too much barbeque.
Whatever it was, she'd learned a long time ago that admitting she stunk in the relationship department wasn't the best way to garner a man's interest, especially when hoping for something long term. It was better to leave him guessing as to the true reason she shopped until her credit cards groaned under the strain. Of course, admitting her credit cards groaned on a frequent basis wasn't the smartest way to catch a man, either.
"No marriage. Not even an engagement,” she said with an air of conviction. She stopped walking and leveled her gaze on Alex. Time to test the waters of attraction. “Finding a good man is hard these days. And I won't settle. I'm holding out for Mr. Right."
The neon lights reflected in the depths of his smoky eyes as he returned her stare. He stepped closer and she could smell the subtle combination of leather and Alex. Yummy.
He stood only three inches taller than she, but at the moment he seemed as tall and encompassing as a rugged mountain top. Boy, she'd loved to go mountain climbing right about now.
"And if Mr. Right doesn't exist?” he asked, his voice whisky smooth.
Casey swallowed hard and tried to calm her racing heart, gasping lungs, and sparking nerves. She hoped like hell Memphis had an excellent ER. If Alex didn't back off, the EMT's would be scraping her melting body off the sidewalk like the smoldering Wicked Witch of the West.
Shouting erupted down the street, breaking the connection between them. They turned in unison and saw two men pushing and shoving one another. The crowd on the street backed away as the scuffle turned into an all out fight. Police rushed up to pull the men apart. As they scrambled to subdue the offenders a fist flew through the air and dealt one officer a hard blow to the jaw. He hit the ground with a hard thud.
"Looks like the night is heating up,” Alex said. “Maybe we should head back to the hotel. It's getting late, anyway."
The intensity she'd seen in his eyes only moments before had disappeared like an elusive wisp of smoke. Casey groaned under her breath. She wouldn't mind throwing a few punches at those two idiots herself for their piss-poor timing.
"Sure,” she managed to say around a lump of aggravation lodged in her throat.
Alex stepped to the curb and hailed a cab. Within seconds a taxi zipped up beside them. Alex placed a strong hand on the small of Casey's back and helped her into the backseat. The simple touch, even through her jean jacket, made certain parts of her anatomy tingle with heat and desire.
The cab took off with a jolt and careened around a corner. Casey slid across the seat from the force of the turn and found her body pressed up against Alex's.
She reached out to brace herself and realized her hand was gripping Alex's firm upper thigh. Shoulders, knees, elbows and hips weren't the only body parts making electrifying contact. All she had to do was move her pinky finger a quarter, no an eighth, no, make that a sixteenth of an inch, and she'd be making full blown contact with a very prominent piece of Alex's anatomy.
Oh, God. Heat that had never really died in the first place exploded like gas thrown on a simmering flame. She fought the urge to crawl on top of him and give him her own version of lap dancing in the back
of the careening cab. Daring a glance into his eyes, she saw the intent she'd seen there earlier had returned. Her heart pounded in her heaving chest. She clamped her mouth shut, afraid if she didn't, Alex would notice she was panting like a dog. Not a good idea to appear too eager. A girl should always play at least a little hard to get.
The cab sped around an opposite corner and Alex slipped his arm around her to keep her from catapulting back the other way. His hand squeezed her waist. Holy crap. His fingers were touching her bare skin where her shirt had ridden up against the seat.
Okay, if she wasn't panting shamelessly before, she was now. But really, who gave a damn? Panting was a natural, reaction to being tossed around in the backseat of a city cab with the hottest man to ever walk the earth.
The cab screeched to halt in front of the hotel. Someone really needed to give the cabbie some serious driving lessons, but since Casey was entangled in Alex's arms, she wasn't going to complain. In fact, she was feeling a little disappointed the torrid ride was over.
"That was a ride to remember. Are you all right?” Alex asked after paying the cab driver. The cabbie tore out of the hotel parking lot, barely missing a parked car.
"Not really,” she said, breathless from the crazy, exhilarating experience. The night air did little to cool her still burning cheeks.
"You're hurt?” Alex lightly squeezed her shoulders, a mixture of concern and desire in his eyes.
Casey's already quivering insides jolted from his touch. She was hurting all right. Hurting for wild, passionate sex. She wanted to reach out and touch him in return, but if she dared, there would be no holding back. Concrete never looked so good.
"No. I'm fine,” she lied through her teeth. “Just a little ... shook up from the ride."
His brows furrowed and he stepped back, letting his arms fall to his sides. Casey groaned. Alex looked as disappointed by her admission as she felt by the loss of his touch. Since when had she become such a tongue-tied idiot around men?
Since she met Alex.
Suddenly, Alex grabbed her hand and pulled her into the Heartbreak Hotel. Ignoring the bustling activity going on in the lobby, he pulled her down the hallway toward the stairwell. He shoved the door wide and without letting go of her hand or breaking his stride, he led the way up three flights of stairs, his grip tightening with each step. By the time they reached their floor, Casey's chest heaved from the exertion and her hand hurt, but Alex didn't slow is pace. Halfway running to keep up, Casey started to ask him what the heck was going on, but she let the words die on her tongue. The last thing she wanted to do was say something stupid again and change his mind. He was clearly a man on a mission.
They reached their rooms and Alex immediately dropped her aching hand. He stepped back, as if he couldn't bear to be near her, putting several long, agonizing feet between them. Geesh, had her deodorant quit working?
"This is your room,” he said, one hand firmly planted on his hip, the other pointing at her door. “That's my room.” He pointed to the door to his right. “You belong here. And I belong there,” he said, moving his hand back and forth in a chopping motion. “Get it?"
"Oh, I get it all right.” She grinned, her heart jumping for joy. “You're as sexually attracted to me as I am to you. And we're both trying so damn hard not to be that it's getting in the way of hot, wild sex.” There, she'd said it. And it felt wonderful to speak up and be her old self again—throwing caution to the wind, going for what she really wanted.
And she wanted Alex.
His eyes turned as dark and turbulent as a stormy spring sky, and for a few seconds she couldn't tell if it was a good turbulence, or a bad turbulence. Had she goofed and misread his signals? He leaned forward as if to kiss her, then in a split second, stopped himself. Intense, animalistic desire smoldered in those eyes of his.
She was right on target. She'd bet the one Armani suit she owned on it.
"Look, I've tried all along to be a good girl and play the professional game with you,” she said, determined to make this trip to Memphis one she'd never forget, “but after today, I'm through. I can't take this agony of denial between us anymore. Life is too short. Why waste it?” So what if she ended up with another broken heart and a maxed out credit card after he'd had his fill of her and walked? The hot, electrifying sex they were bound to have would make all the pain worth it.
"Damn,” he said huskily, and grabbed her, pulling her tight up against him. Capturing her mouth with his, he kissed her deep, kissed her hard, as if he couldn't get enough.
Instantly, Casey's body responded like a match held to a firecracker fuse. Explosive currents raced through her veins to her fingers, her toes, hell, even her eyelashes.
Oh, yeah. Could she call it? Or could she call it?
The familiar earthy scent of leather and spices teased her nose, tempting her beyond belief. Her purse fell to the floor as she slipped her arms around his neck. The force sent them plummeting backward. They hit against the solid door with a thud, shifting their hunger into overdrive. She held on tight, desperate to climb on top of him right here, right now.
Alex's tongue sought and found hers. He tasted of beer and mint and she plunged her tongue deeper, hungry for more, silently begging for more. He answered her call and their tongues twined together, dancing and mating in perfect unison.
His day's growth of beard rubbed against her chin, giving her a rough caress, and a new series of sparks exploded inside her, spiraling down to her core. Her body throbbed with longing, making her wet with desire.
A moan echoed in the back of her throat. Her needy hands pushed at his coat and managed to find their way beneath to his shirt. She tugged and yanked at the material, desperate to remove any barriers keeping their flesh apart. The shirt pulled free and she ran her hands up the hard six-pack of his stomach. Casey groaned with pleasure.
Alex buried his hands in her hair and cupped the back of her head. Pulling her up on her tiptoes, he kissed her harder, with fervor and urgency.
The solid, unforgiving door pressed into her back and Alex's erection pressed into her front. Holy, shit. The only thing standing between his pulsing manhood and her screaming O zone were two layers of blasted clothing. And well, they were gettin’ it on in the public hallway of the hotel. But who gave a damn about that? All Casey cared about was getting rid of those sexy, inconvenient jeans of his.
Without warning he broke the kiss and Casey heard herself whimper from the sudden loss.
"Your ... key?” he asked, his words coming in a short raspy breath, tingling the lobe of her ear. His chest rose and fell against her breasts, tormenting and teasing her nipples.
He peppered her cheeks and lips with more kisses. Smooth strong hands and cool air brushed against her back as Alex pushed up her shirt. Without hesitation his hand slipped down into her jeans, massaging and caressing the small of her back before diving lower down to her backside. He squeezed. She gasped.
Her head fell back against the door. Feeling possessed, she moaned from the desire consuming every ounce of her body. So, this is what Elvis meant when he sang Burning Love.
She pulled at Alex's coat. Her fingers dug into the soft leather as she struggled to remove the damn thing. His lips worked magic against her feverish skin, and with each touch, each caress, her knees threatened to fold.
"Where's your key?"
"Key?” she asked, panting. What was he talking about?
"We need your goddamn key,” Alex rasped against the hollow of her throat. “Now."
Casey blinked once, twice. “Key? Uh..."
"Casey,” he groaned. “I'm a desperate man, here.” He nipped at her ear.
"Back ... pocket."
"I should have guessed.” His fingers slid down into her jeans pocket, tickling and teasing as he grabbed the plastic in one slick move. Without breaking his hold on her, he managed to slide the card into the slot and pull down on the door handle.
Talented.
The door gave way and they stum
bled into the room in a frenzy of tangled arms and legs.
"My purse,” Casey breathed against his lips.
Alex groaned and let go just long enough to snatch her bag from the hallway floor. Within seconds the door slammed shut and he was yanking off her jean jacket and pushing her down onto the queen-sized bed.
"Dammit. This is wrong and you know it,” he growled as his hand slipped under her shirt and pushed the fabric up to below her breasts.
"Wrong? Why?” Her questions came in short, breathless gasps as she tugged off his coat.
"I make it a rule to never mix business and pleasure.” He kissed the sensitive flesh between her breasts. “It's too dammed expensive."
"Oh, yeah? I make it a rule,” she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled at the buttons, “to never date a guy who wears flannel.” One button let go and the rest followed with blessed ease. Thank, God.
James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 02] Page 14
