His broad hands spread over her stomach, smoothing down the front of her skirt with a deliberate touch. His voice rumbled in her ear, rough and compelling. “Come inside with me.”
She trembled. Trembled and pressed back against him. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples achingly sensitive, the pulse between her thighs hot and ready, every part of her aching for that touch to wander a little more. She licked her lips. “Is this why you brought me here?”
“No,” he said, and pulled her tighter against him until she could feel his heartbeat throbbing in the hard flesh pressed against her bottom. “I brought you here because my hotel has a fabulous Mexican restaurant that doesn’t even have salads on the menu.”
Her laughter burst out before she could stop it, then trailed into a sigh as his lips feathered over her neck. His stubble teased her until every light brush against her throat sent prickles through her entire body.
“Thomas—Thomas, we’re outside on the sidewalk—”
“Then let’s not be.”
He drew back, leaving her cold. Before she could protest, he laced his fingers with hers and drew her toward the door.
She followed him without speaking.
Words were pointless. When she decided to stay, she knew exactly what she was getting herself into. She fell silent and followed him into the hotel. His long strides slowed past the front door, relaxing into casual arrogance. She stole a quick glance up at him. His face was impassive—but when he caught her look from the corner of his eye, the heat smoldering there sent a thrill through her that left her thighs aching.
God, she was really going to do this. Have meaningless sex with a man she barely knew.
She almost chickened out at the elevator. Almost protested, but then the doors opened and he pulled her inside with sure, easy strength. They were the only ones inside; he hit the button for the seventh floor.
The moment the doors shut, he was on her.
Her breath flew from her as those godforsakenly wondrous hands curled against her waist and pushed her back against the steel wall of the elevator. His body, wild savagery barely caged inside the civilized layer of his shirt, pressed hot against her.
His lips melded to hers. He ravished her mouth, filling her with the taste of him, caressing her so deeply it was delicious. Indecent. Lascivious. Obscene, and so unlike her that, as she melted under his kiss, she wondered dimly who this soft, yielding woman was, moaning in his arms.
Then his fingers stroked down over her hips and dragged her close; his cock nudged against her, hard and sinful and thrilling. She whimpered and clung to him. That wanton woman she didn’t recognize wrapped her legs around his waist. The hard heaviness of him spread her thighs until they hurt, and her skirt inched up her legs, baring her to him. Baring her to the burning pressure of him, the insistent need nudging against her, teasing her through panties so thin she almost felt him against her bare skin.
The elevator doors slid apart with a soft chime. Without releasing her mouth or her body, he carried her into the hallway. His hands slid down to cup her ass, fingers gripping with a maddening roughness. With every slow, blind, fumbling step down the hallway, his mouth ravished hers until she was trembling, panting, biting him with an urgency that simmered under her skin and trembled in her bones.
With a husky snarl, he slammed her up against the door of a room. The breath knocked from her. The door rattled in its frame. His mouth dipped to her throat, but she tangled her fingers in his hair and dragged him back to kiss him. She wanted to taste more of him. Devour him. Sink into him and never let go.
She wasn’t sure how he got the door unlocked. Wasn’t sure when his hand left her ass and found the keycard. She dimly heard the beep of the security lock over the harsh mingling of their breaths. Then the door opened behind her and they nearly fell into the room together. He raked his hands over her body, lingering to caress the outer curves of her breasts. She tore at his tie, ripping it off him hungrily.
He stopped kissing her long enough to allow her to yank his tie off. His hand slid under her blouse and touched her with brushes so light she quivered with a fierce and fiery sensitivity. Slowly, with a deliberation that left her feeling shamefully exposed, he drew her shirt up and off. It fell to the floor with his tie. He fell still, simply looking at her, his eyes unreadable and darkly intense.
She fought the urge to cover herself. Old insecurities she thought long dead and buried crept back up. This man was pure perfection. But she met his eyes—and sucked in a harsh breath. His eyes blazed with desire, leaving no doubt.
He wanted her.
His gaze seemed to strip her of more than her clothing, making her feel vulnerable. Fear and longing twined inextricably. His thumbs grazed her cheekbones; his lips brushed hers with a softness that made her burn for something more. Something rougher, deeper, hotter—but he stopped. Denying her. Tormenting her.
“I can stop,” he whispered against her mouth, every syllable brushing her lips tauntingly. “If you want to leave, leave now. Last chance.”
“Don’t,” she gasped, and rocked up against him. “Don’t you dare stop.”
With a rough sound, his mouth crashed against hers, his tongue sliding past her lips to claim her again. It was like letting an animal free from its cage, and the beast was ravenous. He cupped her breasts. His thumbs grazed over the sheer fabric, taunting her nipples until she arched into his hand and sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingers found his hair again, tugged as if he were the only thing anchoring her in the rough tide of pleasure. God, she needed him so badly. Hadn’t realized how much she missed a man’s touch until now.
When he squeezed her nipples, she moaned and clawed at his shirt. Her fingers fought with the buttons as she nibbled at his throat, then licked the sting away. She fumbled. Need made her clumsy—and her damned fingers kept slipping off the tiny plastic buttons.
“Shit.” He yanked his shirt off. Buttons flew in every direction. She tightened her legs around his hips and rubbed against him. Her bra clasp slipped open with a simple flick of his wrist. Her breasts spilled free and into his hands.
He cupped them, drawing in a ragged breath. He pressed her tighter against the wall and rolled her nipples between his thumbs and fingers. His mouth captured hers again. She scraped her nails down his back. God, his body was hard. Tight. So damned perfect. She traced his abs down to his pants, and when her fingers hit fabric, she tugged at his waistband.
He let go of her, and she slipped down onto her own two feet—and then onto her knees. He pulled a condom from his pocket. She stole it.
“Not just yet.”
He looked down at her in surprise. “Brianna?”
She cupped his erection, pressing her palm against his heat through the fabric. His abdominal muscles clenched and he hissed. She unbuttoned his slacks and let them fall to his ankles. With a teasing kiss to his stomach, she drew his boxers down. Once he was free from his clothing, she wrapped her fingers around his smooth shaft, leaned in, and flicked her tongue against the tip of his cock. He groaned and buried his hands in her hair, rocking his hips against her mouth.
She licked the head, then took him into her mouth. She teased him with her lips and tongue and gentle suction. His shuddering groans, the hot pulse of him on her tongue, stole her breath and left her hot, craving. His fingers clenched in her hair, spasming, and he let out a tortured sound. His hips jerked, and his cock pushed against the back of her throat.
“You have to stop,” he gasped hoarsely.
She drew back. “Last chance for you to leave.”
When he growled, she flashed him a slow smile and tore the condom wrapper open. With one last teasing nuzzle, she rolled the condom over his length. He bit off a curse and pulled her to her feet. His lips closed over hers without a moment’s hesitation. He grabbed her skirt, flipped it up, and pressed her back against the wall again. His thumb hooked her panties and dragged them aside.
She quivered at his touch and moaned into his mouth. He pull
ed away for just a moment—then, with one smooth, almost violent thrust, buried inside her, filling her so completely she thought she would burst. She gasped out a ragged cry and dug her nails into his back, raking him with every inch that burned her, stretched her, took her.
He withdrew, then thrust harder. Smoother. Again and again, and she met each stroke, each touch, with a need she’d never known she could feel. Her throat was tight, her eyes hot, her ears ringing with her own wild cries. When he reached between them and found her clit, she lost all control. His strokes built the pressure to a boiling point until she tensed in his arms and her need unraveled into a burst of vivid pleasure, a pinnacle of luscious tension that threatened to break her deeply sensitized body. He snarled and plunged into her one last time, before joining her in a trembling, clutching release.
He dropped his forehead to her shoulder. His ragged breathing teased her throat.
“Holy shit.”
She let out a wordless affirmative groan and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt like she’d run a marathon, her entire body sore. God, they didn’t even make it to the bed. Hell, they’d barely made it into the room. She’d needed that, desperately. It had probably been building up inside her since Michael—
Michael.
The heat and blissful buzz bled from her, leaving her heavy and cold. What the hell had she just done? Thrown herself at a man she hardly knew, that was what. When she knew better. When she had responsibilities that didn’t give her these kinds of freedoms.
And he’d probably go back to the office and brag to the other execs about bagging the account by bagging that frigid bitch.
“You’re tense,” he rumbled. He drew back. Dark, intense eyes searched hers. “What’s wrong?”
She closed her eyes. She couldn’t look at him. Not when he’d see the shame on her face, in her eyes—and she’d likely see the triumph in his, as arrogant as the rest of him. She swallowed past her aching throat and opened her eyes.
“Let me down, please.”
He said nothing, but after a moment he separated their bodies carefully; she fought not to cry out as he slipped out of her, leaving her throbbing and sore and feeling, as much as she hated it, deliciously used. But that’s all it was, wasn’t it? He’d used her for pleasure.
And she’d used him.
She smoothed her clothing, pulling her skirt down. Damn it, her hands were shaking, fumbling, clumsy. She choked out a curse.
He took her hand, steadying it, then tugged her skirt down and handed her her shirt. She shrugged it on, hugging it closed across her breasts. What should she do now? Thank him for the good lay? Shake his hand and run?
What had she gotten herself into?
She couldn’t think about this. She threw her shoulders back and forced words past the knot in her throat. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes flinty. “Brianna, I—”
“Don’t.” She couldn’t look him in the eye right now, so she turned away. Bending down she picked up her bra and slid it on. With her back to him, she let the shirt fall and dressed herself. The whole time, she felt ridiculously exposed. Even more ridiculous, considering what they’d just done.
“You don’t have to run away,” he said, his voice guttural. “Stay for dinner.”
She wanted to look at him so badly. To see if he looked as upset as he sounded. But she didn’t turn around even after her shirt was firmly back in place. “No, thank you, Mr. Jones.”
“Brianna, don’t do this.”
“I already did. You can have a courier send the contract to my office tomorrow.” She put her shirt back on and buttoned it up. “There’s no need for us to communicate in person again.”
“Damn it.” He made an angry sound. “Tonight wasn’t about contracts or work, and you know it.”
She gritted her teeth. “Good night.”
And without giving him a chance to speak, she turned and walked from the room with her head held high as quickly as she could without running.
And her feet bare.
Chapter Five
Thomas sat in the plush upholstered easy chair in his suite and stared at the shoes on the table without really seeing them. The sun was just rising outside the window, light bursting in a brilliant panorama over the city. The beauty was wholly lost on him. It was just another filthy Vegas morning in which dozens of people would be going home with regrets and empty wallets.
Regrets. He knew quite a bit about that.
She’d run away from him. Run away. Maybe she’d strutted out with that elegant ice queen walk of hers, but he knew running when he saw it. He’d almost chased after her but pride and disbelief had rooted him to the spot. He’d been dazed, too. He’d never had sex like that. Sex where he completely forgot himself and lost control—and she’d been right there to meet him, like no woman ever had. And then she’d walked away, like she hadn’t felt it, too.
And it was irritating the hell out of him.
He picked up one slender shoe and traced a finger along the velvety toe. He vaguely remembered her kicking them off when he’d hoisted her against the wall, the dainty Dior heels flying. She’d been in such a hurry to get away from him that she’d left them, like a real-life Cinderella. First she’d accused him of faking his interest in her, like she was some kind of leper, only to run away from him like he was the one diseased.
So why, damn him, was he still thinking about her?
She’d gotten what she wanted from him. He’d gotten what he wanted from her. It wasn’t much different from his relationship with Nicole. With the rare fling or girlfriend afterward, either.
But it wasn’t all he wanted from her and that irritated him even more. He was curious. Curious about what she was hiding. Curious why she hid so much energy and passion and wildness under that thin sheen of frost. Curious about her, when damn it, the last thing he wanted was another thing tying him to Las Vegas.
He should wash his hands of this. Secure the contract, leave this godforsaken town, and never look back. Beg for a new position in a different city or hand in his resignation. Drive away until he found that quiet place of white sand and blue water. Drive until he found some place to just be, where he was acceptable with or without business casual suits and natty cufflinks.
Maybe he’d do just that.
But first, he’d track Brianna down and find out why she’d run out on him like the hotel was on fire. He needed to know.
He showered and changed first. He looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes, jaw stubbled, and he doubted his jeans and undershirt were appropriate attire for a business meeting. He slid his wallet into his pocket and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. It was a tight, tense smile. One he didn’t like.
But it didn’t matter, because he and Brianna Faulk had some unfinished business.
He pulled into the parking lot of the Golden Hand and hopped out of his truck far too eagerly. As soon as he crossed the barrier between casino and corporate offices, a security guard stepped in his path. Thank God he had the proposal packet from MotoTek in his truck. And thank God he could fast-talk his way past the glowering, pot-bellied old man—who fingered his Taser with way too much enthusiasm—and into the casino with only a minimal nod to the fact that he looked more like a failed white wannabe rapper than George Clooney right now.
Second floor. Fourth door on the left, the guard had told him grudgingly. The upstairs offices were clustered along a narrow hallway lined with potted ficus trees and floored in Oriental carpet so old it had probably been woven at the height of the Chinese opium trade.
Her office door was closed but the blinds over the glass-windowed door were open. She sat bowed over a broad mahogany desk, taking handwritten notes in a ledger. Banks of security monitors lined the wall behind her desk. Even on a Saturday she was in a neat, well-fitted suit, the skirt and jacket in a misty silver that offset her dark blouse. Her hair was twisted up in a messy bun, and she had those naughty librarian glasses on agai
n.
He pushed the door open without knocking. “Good morning, Cinderella.”
Her head snapped up. For a moment she stared at him, naked shock flashing through her eyes, her color high. Then she set her pen down and reclined in her high-backed chair, glacial calm falling over her like a cloak. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You left your shoes in my room.”
“I noticed halfway down the hallway.” Her gaze flicked to his empty hands. “I see you didn’t bring them back.”
“I didn’t. They didn’t match my jeans.”
She laced her fingers together on the desk, her mouth twitching as if she bit back a smile. “What do you want this time, Thomas?”
Thomas didn’t answer until he’d closed the door behind him. He leaned against the wall next to it and folded his arms over his chest. She might want to act as if she wasn’t interested in him, but he knew differently. And there was no way in hell he was falling for the act.
“I want an honest answer,” he said.
She sighed. “To what?”
“Why you ran out on me last night.”
Another sigh. “Let’s not delude ourselves, Mr. Jones.” She picked up her pen and began writing in the ledger again. When she spoke, it was a dismissive murmur, distracted. “I know exactly why you brought me to your room.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I’m not sure if it’s MotoTek’s policy to include seduction as part of the contract perks, but if it is, I’m sure you’ve just earned your annual bonus.” A disdainful little shrug tightened the shoulders of her jacket. “It was a nice bonus for me, if nothing else.”
The world bottomed out beneath him. His stomach twisted and his face heated. Tension was a noose locking his arms to his body, rigid. “Is that what you think? That they pimp me out to clients?”
“Is there any reason to think otherwise?”
His tension snapped. He shoved away from the wall and stepped closer to her desk. “Is that why you slept with me?”
Love Me Page 4
