by Alison Kent
“Just one,” she agreed. As much as she might have liked, she simply didn’t possess enough willpower to say no to that cocky half grin two degrees shy of wicked.
He may have only suggested a few turns around the dance floor rather than slipping away somewhere private for something a whole lot more interesting, but since she’d had a brief taste of what making love to Joe could be like, that’s exactly where her deprived libido took her. After practically living like a nun, she was more than ready for a little cha-cha beneath the sheets. Besides, she reasoned, if all went as planned, she’d be scratching two goals off her list tonight: satisfy the sadly ignored needs of her body and exact a little payback in the process. A real two-for-one deal.
She stifled a smile. Arianne would be so impressed by her bargaining skills.
The hint of a dimple, half hidden behind his mask, winked at her when he smiled. With their fingers laced together, palm to palm, he led her onto the dance floor. As the band started a slow, sultry jazz tune, she glanced around and spied Isabel heading toward the ornate staircase with a man wearing a gold Venetian lion’s mask.
One guess where they’re headed. A brief stab of envy pierced Natalie. Oh how she wished she possessed her friend’s ability to do what she wanted, when she wanted and with whomever she chose. Natalie might’ve talked a big game in front of Isabel earlier, but deep down, absolute terror gripped her that her plan would backfire and she’d end up nursing a wounded ego—again.
No, she thought with renewed determination as Joe eased her into his arms. He could only wound her pride if she let him, and she did not intend to allow him anywhere near her emotional boundaries. For once in her love life, she planned to live for the moment. Now there was a motto she could get used to. Damn it, she would be impulsive without getting burned.
His big, warm hand glanced down her back to rest at the base of her spine as he drew her close. Sensation rippled beneath her skin where he touched, sending spirals of warmth through her limbs. She could literally count the days since she’d felt anything remotely sexual, and she welcomed the first stirring of honest-to-goodness arousal. In fact, she wanted more. A whole lot more.
Joe kept her left hand clasped in his, holding their joined hands between their bodies. With her gold bag clasped firmly in her other hand, she lightly rested her wrist over his wide shoulder. She tried to think of something witty and carefree to say, but her mind went blank. Maybe she should just blurt out that she wanted to have hot, sweaty, mindless sex. That ought to melt a polar ice cap or two.
“Natalie?”
The odd note in his voice had her spine stiffening. She looked up and nearly cringed at the guilt filling his eyes.
“I want to apo—”
She quickly tugged her hand from his and placed her finger over his lips. If he said he was sorry for taking off on her last year, she wasn’t certain she could continue with her flimsy charade. So long as she kept the illusion alive, regardless of how much they both knew otherwise, she held the power to keep him from crossing the invisible line in her sandbox.
“Don’t say anything,” she told him. “This is New Year’s Eve. It’s a time to explore new and exciting possibilities.”
He searched what he could see of her face, his gaze intent. “As opposed to righting old wrongs?”
“Why? To ease a guilty conscience?” She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter.
“No.” Regret laced his voice. “To explain.”
“What’s the point?” She lifted one shoulder slightly in the kind of careless shrug she’d seen Isabel perform countless times. “Especially if it changes nothing.”
“I disagree. An explanation can provide valuable facts.”
“Maybe,” she said airily, ignoring the twinge of hope attempting to nudge her romantic notions out from under dead bolt and key. Could he really be sorry for pulling a Houdini on her, or was he hoping to lure her into bed? A man would say just about anything if he thought it increased his chances of having sex. She wasn’t about to enlighten him quite yet that tonight was a sure thing. Why ruin a potentially interesting seduction?
“Or maybe not,” she added in the same casual tone. “But I’d prefer to concentrate on the present rather than waste time with things that never mattered in the first place.”
She looked away and inched closer, effectively putting an end to the discussion. The problem with being a romantic meant she didn’t have it in her to hold a grudge for very long. Tonight she wanted her grudges, if only for the false sense of security they gave her. She needed an edge; something to protect herself from believing the potential prince holding her in his arms wasn’t a frog after all.
She pushed unwanted fairy-tale endings from her mind, determined to concentrate on the moment, like breathing in his warm, tangy scent. He smelled fresh, like soap and citrus, and more intoxicating than the champagne she’d been drinking like water since her arrival at the party.
With the midnight hour approaching, more couples filled the dance floor, forcing her closer to Joe. Her breasts brushed against his chest. The slight pressure he applied to her back told her he’d definitely been paying attention. Her nipples puckered tight and rasped enticingly against the silk lining of her dress. The gold-beaded thong she wore teased her, and she instantly imagined him caressing her intimately. Arousal filled her, then settled low in the pit of her belly. Dampness collected between her legs before the next downbeat of the music.
She suspected her reaction stemmed from going too long without sex, but she still marveled at the delicious, insistent pulsing need. Warmth filled her, making her tight and so overly sensitive she felt the length of each of his fingers pressed against her back like a brand on her skin. Even the way his breath fanned her temple as they danced made her hot.
She wanted him. The attraction between them defied logic, but she refused to care. So what if they were virtual strangers who’d shared one sexy encounter a year ago? Okay, so maybe she had foolishly believed she’d fallen in love at first sight. She’d grown since then and would not be making the same mistake twice. All that mattered was the present, and that she’d be ringing in the New Year as a sated woman. And the sooner the better.
TEN.
Nine.
Joe struggled to maintain an even flow of breath when Natalie tipped her head back to look into his eyes. Desire brightened her gaze, leaving him with little room for doubt as to where this night was headed. But not until he made amends.
He’d been raised by a single mother who’d taught him to always treat women with respect. What he’d pulled on Natalie last year hardly qualified. Sure, he hadn’t been given a choice, but that didn’t excuse the disrespect he’d shown her.
Until tonight, his thoughts of her were filled with lusty images of what could’ve been. Since seeing her again, guilt ate at him. The sweet sensuality he remembered had changed. The sexiness was still more than evident, but he sensed a cynicism about her now. Whether or not she was merely putting on another act to shield herself from being hurt or if the hardened edge was legit, he couldn’t say. Either way, he blamed himself.
Eight.
More guests hurried into the ballroom for the countdown. The crush of people brought them even closer together. With her body plastered firmly against his, he felt every curve.
Seven.
He kept his arms around her, unwilling to release her and risk losing her in the throng of revelers. The warmth of her body fueled the slow, simmering heat that had need clawing hard in his gut.
Six.
Five.
She held his gaze as she moistened her plump bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. His good intentions evaporated like steam rising from the boiler room on his last ship.
Four. Three. Two.
He couldn’t wait the last second to taste her fantasy-inspiring mouth. “Happy New Year, Natalie,” he said, then dipped his head to capture her lips.
One.
His tongue swept urgently past her lips into her hot,
moist mouth. His libido exploded. Around them, the chaotic shouts and cheers of the other guests faded into “Auld Lang Syne.” She deepened the kiss, her tongue teasing and mating impatiently with his. She thrust and retreated, encouraging his hopes of having her beneath him before the night ended.
She shifted in his arms and rocked her hips, pressing her sex against his thigh. He groaned into her mouth. His cock throbbed painfully in the confines of his tux when she repeated the movement. The images he’d been plagued with the past year came back to haunt him, only more colorful and vivid. He could practically see and feel Natalie’s delicate hands smoothing over his torso. Her fingernails raking his back as he thrust into her moist sheath. Her pink glossy lips poised over the head of his cock as her tongue lapped slowly over the dewy tip.
An odd sensation like hard, smooth pebbles, pressed against his thigh. He ended the kiss to look down at her questioningly. “What was that?” He sounded out of breath, as if he’d just climbed K2 in record time.
A slow, teasing smile turned up the corners of her mouth. “A very special thong.”
That explained the lack of panty lines he’d been considering earlier. “Why special?”
She touched the tip of her tongue to the center of her bottom lip as she pressed against him again, then applied pressure to the back of his neck. He lowered his head and she whispered hotly in his ear. “A gold beaded thong.”
Just the thought of her tender backside cupping the thong, of the string of those round gold beads teasing and rubbing against her slick center as she throbbed and swelled in anticipation of his touch, of his mouth, had his libido redlining. His hands shook as he reached up to cup her face in his palms. “Show me.”
Her smile deepened as she took a step back. She laughed, the sound filled with sinful promise. “Later. Dance with me.”
“Take off your mask.” The words were more an order than a request. He wanted her to take off her clothes, but considering they were in the middle of a crowded ballroom, he’d save that for later.
“Maybe I prefer a little mystery tonight.”
Screw mystery. He wanted to know all of her secrets.
She turned to walk away, but he snagged her hand before she could escape into the crowd. Gently, he urged her back around to face him. “What about tomorrow?” he asked. What about the rest of your life?
The blue of her eyes deepened as she closed in on him. Her breasts pressed enticingly against his chest, her nipples beading into hard little peaks waiting for his touch. “I’m not thinking that far ahead.”
“How far ahead are you thinking?” He had more than enough ideas on that score to satisfy them both.
She stared up at him for a moment before she slowly reached up to unfasten the clasp holding her gold-sequined mask in place. With great care, she removed it, revealing a sensually wicked expression on her exquisite face. “About as far as the closest bed.”
4
AS FAR AS NATALIE WAS concerned, outright brazen behavior definitely had its perks. It was liberating, for one, but even more exhilarating was the total sensual power she had quickly discovered she held over Joe. With one crook of her finger, the man would follow her anywhere. And she was loving every second of it.
Of course, she wasn’t immune to him, either, and was more than ready to start playing cavewoman by dragging his ass upstairs to have her way with him. Repeatedly.
She let out a quiet sigh, rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Their bodies were perfectly in tune as they swayed gently to the soft, romantic music, filling her with a sense of contentment. Beneath the jacket of his tux, her fingers strummed the granite-hard muscle along his back.
The song ended just as someone tapped her on the shoulder. With more reluctance than she imagined possible, she pulled back, instantly missing the direct contact of Joe’s body against hers.
She turned to find Arianne, her pale Scandinavian skin high with color. “Listen, I’ve got a headache,” Arianne told her, the misery in her voice matching the despair in her eyes. “I think I’ll grab a cab home now.”
“Everything okay?” Natalie asked, concerned. Arianne had already been dealt one emotional blow today thanks to a late-delivered Christmas card from her ex-boyfriend, complete with a photograph of his new family. She looked as if she’d just been handed another. Did something happen with Rafe? Natalie wondered. Although Arianne had yet to admit it, Natalie and Isabel suspected their friend’s interest extended beyond Rafe’s debits and credits.
Natalie knew Arianne well enough to recognize a brittle smile when she saw one. “Yes, of course,” Arianne said, sounding a little too fragile to quell Natalie’s concern. “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow at Isabel’s.”
She’d been so wrapped up in her plans for Joe, she nearly forgot about their traditional brunch at Isabel’s loft on New Year’s Day, and that she was supposed to bring the fresh bagels. Not a good sign for a woman out to even the score and rediscovering her sexual independence in the bargain.
“Tell Isabel goodbye for me when she surfaces,” Arianne said. “And Happy New Year.”
Natalie gave her friend a hug. “Same to you,” she said. She caught sight of Rafe nodding absently while a new hotshot clothing designer spoke animatedly with his hands. Rafe frowned deeply at Arianne as she headed toward the exit without so much as looking in his direction.
Interesting, Natalie thought, turning back to Joe. At least she’d have something to talk about with her friends tomorrow besides counting Isabel’s conquests for the night.
“Let’s get out of here,” Joe said suddenly.
She looked up at him, and her heart started thumping. He’d been mysteriously handsome hidden behind his mask. Without the black leather shielding so much of his face, Joe Sebastian was one sexy dude, hands down. The black-as-onyx hair, soft gray eyes and strong square jaw were already a major turn-on for her, but the sheer perfection of his straight patrician nose combined with high cheekbones seemingly chiseled from marble made her knees weak just looking at him. He had the sort of lightly polished but still rough enough around the edges appeal that young and hungry fashion photographers clamored to have in their portfolios.
“Excuse me?” she stalled. Her once crystal-clear vision suddenly became shadowed by indecision. Yes, she wanted him. And she desperately needed to deep-six her ridiculous sexual sabbatical. So why on earth was she hesitating?
“Trust me, Natalie.”
She hated that he apparently possessed the ability to read her mind. But trust him? How could she when she barely trusted herself not to do something stupid, like fall for him all over again?
She could do this, she thought firmly. She could be the kind of woman that made love to a man then walked away afterward without her emotions cluttering the issue. No, she corrected, not make love. Sex. Only sex. The fabulous, mind-blowing, sweaty kind. All she wanted was a piece of ass, and the one hugged quite nicely in Armani would do perfectly.
Get laid and move on—no regrets.
“Let’s go,” she said, before her conscience rallied in an attempt to change her mind.
Screw the consequences, she reminded herself.
She took his hand and led him away from the ballroom toward the elegantly carved, winding staircase that would take them to the upper floors of the mansion. She remembered the alcove they’d slipped away to last year to share a bottle of champagne and headed in that direction.
“This way,” Joe said when they reached the landing. He guided her away from the alcove with private chaise lounges and high-priced works of art, leading her down a thick-carpeted corridor to another hallway until he finally came to a halt in front of a heavy wood door in the private area of the residence.
She admired the elegant wallpaper and the intricately carved moldings. Her entire apartment would fit inside the width of the corridor, with room to spare. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.”
His hand rested on the antique-brass knob. “I’m a gu
est, remember?”
“Hmm,” she murmured. “Friend of the family?” She couldn’t help but be mildly impressed. Her acquaintance with Rafe was strictly professional, as was Isabel’s now that Monticello Shoes had licensed some of her fabric designs. Arianne’s association with Rafe might appear professional, but after what Natalie had witnessed tonight as Arianne was leaving, she had her suspicions on that score.
“Rafe and I went to college together,” he said, swinging the door open for her.
Harvard MBAs didn’t come cheap and that put Joe Sebastian way out of her league. Her current address might be just off Park Avenue, but once upon a time it’d been the wrong side of town. Girls from trailer parks with drunken fathers weren’t allowed to play in the Ivory Tower. Just as well, she mused as she walked past him into the bedroom. Especially if their social differences helped in keeping her from confusing forever fantasies with one-night-stand realities.
She’d expected a standard run-of-the-mill mansion-esque bedroom, and she wasn’t disappointed by any stretch of the imagination. A low-burning fire flickered in the imposing marble fireplace, which dominated close to half of one wall. Probably imported from Italy, she thought. She crossed the thick sapphire-colored carpet to inspect the neoclassical painting above the mantel. The piece wasn’t one she instantly recognized, but she bet the painting was one hundred percent authentic early Renaissance.
She turned to face Joe as he closed and locked the door, sealing them in absolute privacy. “Didn’t you say you had an apartment in the city?”
“I’ve been away for a while,” he said. “My place won’t be ready for at least another week, so Lucia insisted I stay here in the meantime.”
“Oh?” She smoothed her hand along the wood trim on the back of the tapestry love seat positioned across from a pair of matching wing chairs. “And how long have you been here?” she asked, admiring an antique tea table beside the love seat.
He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and walked toward the rear of the bedroom, then stopped beside a monstrous carved four-poster bed worthy of Augustus Caesar himself, complete with sapphire velvet draperies and gold corded ties.
