She found them, neatly packed into the compartment, along with various other barware. “You keep a well-stocked limo.”
“My teammates sometimes join me,” he said, filling the glasses she held. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a plastic container of chocolate-covered strawberries and flicked open the top. Instead of offering the box to Miranda, he picked one up by its leaves and held it in front of her mouth. “For you.”
She started to put down a flute to take it, but he shook his head. “From me.”
Miranda looked from the strawberry to his face and found his eyes blazing with an intention that was not anywhere near friendship. Heat spiraled through her, and she shifted her gaze back to the proffered treat.
“Take it, sugar.” His drawl went rich and slow.
His voice vibrated straight into her bones. She leaned forward and bit into the juicy sweetness. A piece of chocolate broke off and started to fall, but he raised his other hand to catch it in a lightning reflex. He popped the stray piece into his own mouth, bringing her gaze to his lips and their clean, sculpted lines.
She leaned back abruptly, splashing a few drops of champagne on her trousers.
“Champagne doesn’t stain,” he said with a slantwise smile as he dropped the top of the strawberry onto the plastic lid. “I’ve had enough of it sprayed on me to know.”
Her laugh came out with a nervous edge. He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body and smell the citrus of his cologne clinging to his T-shirt. It made her want to rub her face against his chest to feel the soft cotton on her cheek, to inhale the insanely male scent of him, and to hear his heart beating through the wall of skin and muscle. She lifted her glass and drank half the champagne in one gulp.
But the champagne couldn’t douse the skyrocketing heat in her body. She put down her glass and started to shrug out of her jacket. The backs of Luke’s fingers brushed against her neck as he helped her slide it off her arms. It was a surprisingly sensual touch for such a simple gesture. Tiny shivers arrowed along her spine as she pivoted forward again.
He tossed her jacket on the seat across from them before he refilled her half-empty flute. “Another strawberry?” His tone was soft, but his gaze was a challenge.
“S-sure,” Miranda said.
He chose the largest berry and shifted on the seat, bringing him even closer to her. He brushed her lips with the chocolate-covered tip before she could open them, watching with his eyelids half-lowered. She took a bite and closed her eyes to shut out the intensity of his gaze while she chewed and swallowed.
When she opened them, he smiled as he brought the juicy berry to her mouth again. “You don’t need lipstick when you’re wearing strawberry juice,” he said, touching it to her lips. “I’ll bet it tastes as good as it looks on you.”
She had enough time to stop it, but not enough willpower. He moved closer, and she let her head fall back to meet him. When his lips brushed hers, she forgot about who he was and just let the sensation of his mouth on hers take over. He leaned in, so she flattened her palm against his chest, feeling the fabric, the muscle, and the heat, as she’d wanted. Then he flicked at her lips with the tip of his tongue and made a low humming sound in his throat, as though he liked the taste.
The warmth and slight roughness of his tongue sent flickers of delight dancing through her veins. One of his hands slid up the back of her head, his fingers twining into her hair and angling her head so he could bring his mouth down at a more demanding angle. She was caught between the solid barrier of his chest in front and the iron bar of his arm behind her, and she reveled in it. Her hand holding the flute was curled against his chest, the cool glass chilling her palm while the heat of his body warmed the back of her fingers. The contrast added to the sensations ricocheting through her.
But it was his mouth that was the focal point, slanting against hers, his lips hard one moment, softer the next, his breath with the fizz of champagne on it. He didn’t force, he persuaded, and she tilted in to him to taste and feel more when she allowed his tongue between her lips.
He slid his other arm around to pull her in closer, and suddenly a sluice of cold wetness ran down her back.
Luke swore and released her, righting the glass of champagne he’d just tipped down her blouse. “Smooth move, Archer.” He dug around in another compartment of the limo to produce a white linen napkin. “Turn around and I’ll dry you off. My apologies.”
“It doesn’t stain,” she parroted. As she pivoted on the smooth leather seat, Miranda didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated by the interruption. With her back to Luke, she raised a hand to her mouth, touching her swollen lips in wonder, while her body fizzed and sparked with longing. Luke Archer had kissed her. Like he meant it. She could feel the outline of his big hand against her back as he carefully blotted the champagne from her blouse.
“I’m sorry, sugar. I forgot I had a drink in my hand.” He moved the napkin to press against a different spot. “You should take that as a compliment.”
“Oh, I will,” she said. Wherever he touched her, those dancing ripples of pleasure radiated over her skin.
“I hope it’s okay if I do this, but it’s going to be a mite sticky if I don’t.” He slipped one hand under the back of her blouse to swipe the napkin over her damp skin.
She closed her eyes and shivered in delight when the rough tips of his fingers brushed over her shoulder blade. “It’s fine,” she breathed in a husky voice.
“All cleaned up,” he said, withdrawing his hand. She could feel him pull her blouse away from her back and flap the fabric slightly to dry it.
“It’s fine,” she repeated, turning so he would let go of the blouse.
“Where were we, sugar?” he said, reaching for the glass in her hand.
She clasped it against her chest. “We were someplace we shouldn’t have been.”
He’d spooked her, going too fast, but her mouth had tasted of sweet berries, rich dark chocolate, and sparkling champagne. And innocence. He wanted to taste more. But he had learned the virtue of patience on the playing field. So he settled back in the seat and gave her an inch of extra space. “Sugar, I was happy with our destination.”
“Friends, Luke,” she said firmly, but he saw the rapid rise and fall of her breasts under that pretty silky top.
“Maybe we’ve gotten to know each other as friends and we like what we’ve found out.”
She scooted six inches away from him, and he sighed.
“That was unprofessional of me,” she said, her voice tight.
He turned on the seat and skewered her with a look. He wasn’t going to have her job dragged into this. “You are officially off the clock. I’m your tour guide from here on out, so just sit back and relax.”
He demonstrated what he wanted her to do by stretching out his legs and crossing them at his booted ankles before he swallowed the rest of his champagne. Grabbing the bottle for a refill, he offered it to her, and she nodded.
But she didn’t change her position. “I’m not used to sitting back and relaxing.”
“Truth is, I’m not, either.” That’s why he’d decided to make this a memorable day off.
She looked thoughtful, although her cheeks still held the flush of their kiss. He didn’t want her thinking. He wanted her feeling like he was. Hot. Bothered. Needing more of that sexy body pressed against him.
“Don’t you relax in the summer at the ranch?” she asked, the movement of her berry-stained lips pulling at his gut.
He forced himself to think about the twice-a-day workouts in the ranch’s gym, the early-morning runs, the hundreds of laps in the pool. “The older I get, the harder I have to work to stay in shape. It’s a year-round project.”
He felt her gaze like a physical touch as she skimmed it down his body. “Well, you’re doing a good job of it,” she said, her flush intensifying.
His groin tightened. “Thanks, sugar.”
So she felt what he did, even though she tri
ed to hold on to her professional persona. Must be something about the code of concierges.
He nudged the strawberries toward her. “Don’t let them go to waste.”
She picked one up and bit into it. She did that thing again where her eyelids fluttered closed for a split second as she savored the taste. She liked sensual pleasures, whether she wanted to give in to them or not.
The limo glided to a halt, and she swallowed the bite of berry.
“Okay, time for audience participation.” He boosted her toward the door, although it was really an excuse to fold his hands around the curve of her waist. The flash of pain in his side didn’t dampen his pleasure one iota. She grabbed for her tote, but he kept moving her. “You won’t need that or your jacket. We’re going straight in the door, and everything’s on me.”
She squeaked a protest, but he knew how to use leverage and momentum, so she was out before she could stop herself. His bruises grabbed at his ribs when he followed her, but he ignored the hurt. They stood in an alley in front of a stainless-steel door lit by a single purple light.
She eyed the blank door. “Where are we?”
“A friend’s place.” He knocked and looked straight up at the security camera that was concealed in the light fixture.
The door swung open, releasing the pounding sound of dance music into the night. “Mr. Archer, a pleasure to welcome you to Cleats. Mr. Greene will be delighted to see you.” The bouncer waved Luke and Miranda into the back foyer.
Luke took Miranda’s hand and started down the dark hallway toward the music. She pulled him to a stop. “This is a friend’s place?” she said, her gaze accusing.
“The club belongs to my friend Larry Greene. He played on the Empire for a few years before he retired and bought the club.” Luke had financed his teammate’s purchase and been repaid with more interest than he’d asked for or wanted. Larry welcomed all football players, former or still in the game, and gave them a break on the drinks but demanded that they behave. It turned out to be a winning combination, because the football players drew fans . . . and beautiful women.
Tonight, though, Luke was here for the music. On the dance floor, he could hold Miranda close to him again. He might pay for it in pain, but he’d played with worse.
“I’m not much of a club person,” Miranda said.
“I went to the ballet. You can go to a club.”
She absorbed that and squared her shoulders, almost as though she were bracing for a tackle. He grinned at her. “A little dancing never hurt anyone.”
“It might hurt you,” she pointed out.
“You dance. I’ll watch.”
She started to protest.
“Just joking, darlin’. This will be easier than a pirouette.”
“Okay, Baryshnikov,” she said with a wry smile.
As they walked into the VIP room, the full volume of the music crashed into them, and he felt her hesitate. Putting his arm around her waist, he swept her through the crowd to the dance floor. Taking her fragile little wrist in one hand, he pulled her arm up over her head and twirled her around to face him.
That motion cost him a burn of agony. He placed her hand on his shoulder and moved her close as he picked up the beat of the music. A slow dance. Luck was with him.
She stood on tiptoe and spoke over the music. “I don’t want to hurt you by moving the wrong way.”
“Follow my lead and it won’t be a problem,” he said, drawing her in closer.
For the first time in his life, being injured paid off.
Miranda had a hard time finding the flow of the music with Luke’s nearness and touch setting off little explosions of sensation all through her body. His hands were wrapped around her waist, holding her so close that the fabric of her trousers and his jeans brushed every time they moved. He had lifted her hand onto his shoulder, where she could feel the ridge of muscle shifting under his T-shirt. She held her other hand awkwardly at her side. If she tried to put it on his shoulder, she would have to move even nearer to him because of his height.
As another dancer bumped against them, Luke ended her debate by pulling her in so her thighs were between his as they swayed to the insidiously seductive beat. She gave in and raised her free hand to his shoulder. That put her nose almost against his chest, another awkward position. She allowed herself to do what she had wanted all evening, turning her head to rest her cheek against the cotton of his T-shirt. It held the warm, male scent that was simply Luke. She could feel his breath riffling the hair on top of her head, making her scalp tingle.
Enveloped by the heat and power of his body, her own throbbed with awareness. He surprised her by being completely in sync with the music, his movement and the sound amplifying each other. The room was dark, lit only by colored lights along the walls, and they were surrounded by couples locked in each other’s arms. No one was paying any attention to them, so she relaxed, letting his body carry hers into their own private rhythm.
He responded by moving his hands to press against the upper curves of her behind, sending ropes of heat searing through her. They coiled low inside her, stoking the growing ache of arousal. She sucked in a breath as she willed him to move lower, to cup her with his hard, warm palms.
Instead, he rubbed his thumbs in circles over her lower back in time with the music, so the yearning within her pulsed with every movement.
It was a strangely primitive end to what was supposed to be a day of high culture. Maybe this was what he needed to balance it, something wholly physical.
The thought made her stiffen, and he flexed his fingers into her flesh to bring her more firmly against him.
She let go of her resistance. She hadn’t been held like this by a man in too long. In fact, she’d never been held by a man like Luke Archer.
After all, they were only dancing.
And then he shifted so that one of his knees drove between her legs, his thigh hitting just where her yearning was most concentrated. She gasped against him and dug her fingers into his shoulders as a shock of hot desire ripped through her.
Feeling rather than hearing a vibration in his chest, she dropped her head back to look up at him, trying to hear what he said. Another wave of arousal flooded her when she met the blaze of his eyes under their half-closed lids. The planes of his face were taut with tension, and his hold on her grew almost harsh as he shifted his thigh against her again. The friction sent her arching back against his hands.
His mouth came down on hers, his tongue stroking her lower lip in time with the music. The same rhythm was repeated in the thrust of his thigh between hers and the glide of his thumbs on her back.
She tried to change the angle of her hips to reduce the friction, but Luke gave her what she’d wished for. He moved his powerful hands down to grip her bottom and bring her in hard against his thigh. The extra pressure detonated the arousal that had been building inside her all day, her orgasm exploding in a blast of heat and sensation. She jerked and shuddered in his arms as the delicious shocks rolled through her, her groans swallowed by his mouth and the relentless sound of the music.
As the spasms subsided into tiny rippling quivers, she turned her head away from his kiss and buried her face against his chest in embarrassment, hoping he would mistake her climax for a new dance move. Pleasure still throbbed low inside her, and she wanted to fold up into a boneless heap on the floor.
Instead, she felt him moving them both toward the edge of the dance floor. She didn’t want to look him in the eye right now, so she kept her face plastered against his T-shirt and tried to slow their progress without being obvious about it. All too quickly, however, they were in the dimly lit hallway through which they’d entered the club.
Luke took her shoulders and peeled her away from his chest, so she straightened her spine and raised her eyes to his. If she’d thought his gaze was hot before, it had become positively blistering.
“Was that what I think it was?” he asked.
She could feel the blush radiati
ng over her neck and cheeks. She swallowed. “I . . .”
“Did you just come on the dance floor?” His fingers tightened on her shoulders, and he stepped into her, sandwiching her between his body and the wall. She could feel his erection against her stomach as he leaned in, his mouth closing on hers. Her breasts were so sensitized that the pressure of his hard muscles against her nipples sent streaks of fire through her as he teased her with his tongue.
He pulled away an inch to say, “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I couldn’t stop it,” she managed to murmur, inhaling as he slid his hands between the wall and her behind, curling his fingers to pull her even closer. He bent his knees and flexed his hips, making her moan as the ridge under his jeans pressed between her legs.
He huffed out a laugh that sounded almost like he was in pain. “We need to leave. Now.” He stepped back and spun her against his side, holding her there as he headed for the exit at a near jog.
Nerves and longing twisted together in her gut. How could she feel shy about being alone with him in the limo when she’d climaxed in the middle of the dance floor?
The bouncer opened the club’s back door for them, telling them to have a good night. Luke jerked the door of the limo open before the driver could straighten away from the hood, where he’d been having a smoke.
“Take us home,” Luke called out before helping Miranda onto the leather seat with a courtesy that contrasted with the devouring hunger in his eyes. He lunged in beside her and hit the button that closed the privacy screen between them and the driver. His gaze was locked on her face, and the set of his jaw showed tension. “You didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect this. But I say we go with it. Come back to my place,” he said in what was more a command than a request.
She hesitated as the implications of what he wanted sank in. He dated the most beautiful women on earth. And the most sexually experienced. Miranda had slept with exactly three men in her life, and two had been at college. She couldn’t begin to imagine what someone like Luke Archer would expect in bed.
The All-Star Antes Up (Wager of Hearts #2) Page 13
