by Alison Kent
Lessons hadn’t taught her to anticipate his every move and nothing had taught either of them to move so effortlessly together. Beneath his hand he felt the shift and flow of her back muscles, the strength and suppleness of her spine. He didn’t have to push and pull to guide her around the room, so he relaxed and enjoyed himself.
A woman who moved so gracefully and instinctively with him on the dance floor would be amazing in bed. Even as the thought occurred he forced it away before he embarrassed himself and her by getting an erection while dancing.
He tried to think about something else, but this close he could smell her light fragrance, see the color variations of platinum and gold in her pale hair.
There was a tiny chicken-pox scar to the left of her eyebrow on her otherwise flawless face.
“Arianne, you are so beautiful tonight.”
She didn’t answer with words, but he felt her body shift slightly closer. There was a lot of communication going on between them—more than words could express.
Maybe his compliment was shopworn, but she was beautiful tonight. More so than ever before. Through the slits in the mask, her eyes glinted with heat, like a hot spring under a frozen surface.
Her body temperature must be a couple of degrees lower than his, for her skin felt cool to the touch while he seemed to be burning.
They twirled a last time to the music, and he found himself short of breath. And it wasn’t from the exertion of waltzing, but from the erotic sensations caused by holding this particular woman in his arms.
The music ended, yet he didn’t let her go, but stared down at her as she held his gaze for a long, searching moment. He felt as though something momentous was taking place. Amid the noise and laugher, the music and the spilled champagne, the perfect food and perfect bodies, something new and imperfect was happening between him and Arianne.
His tux seemed stifling suddenly. He tried to think of what he wanted to say, how he wanted to phrase it. “Arianne, I…” But he couldn’t find the words.
She broke the spell by stepping back and breaking eye contact. “That was great, Rafe. Thanks. I’ll see you later.” Then, while he stood there, Arianne all but sprinted out of range before he could articulate what he really wanted to say to her.
While he watched her go, he wondered. Now he’d finally seen beneath her cool professionalism to discover the woman inside. At last he knew she was as aware of him as a man as he was of her as a woman. What would happen next?
He cast a quick glance at his watch and blinked. Only ten minutes until midnight.
Hmm.
ARIANNE WET A TOWEL at the gold faucet and pressed it to her burning cheeks and the back of her neck. Something very peculiar was happening to her.
Rafe was…It seemed as though he wanted her.
Longing pulled at her belly. She’d always considered him as out of reach as a gorgeous movie actor on the screen. Tonight, however, he seemed to want her in the most basic way. One that had nothing to do with his finances.
Oh, how she wanted to respond. But he was…risky.
She pulled out her wallet and stared at the photo of Charlie’s baby for a long moment. She could be living a pleasant suburban life right this minute. That baby, or one very like it, would be hers. She’d be a young wife and mother, shopping for sleepers, God help her, maybe even driving a minivan and going to bed with Charlie every night for the rest of her life.
She’d broken her engagement not because of geography, but because when it came right down to it, she realized she didn’t love Charlie.
It would have been safe to marry him, as expected. Everyone from her parents to her friends had been shocked when she backed out of the engagement.
But she hadn’t chosen the safe road when it had been offered her. She’d said no and taken the risk.
Damn it, living in New York, a woman alone, was a risk.
Being alive was a risk.
Spontaneous sex with an important client was closer to skydiving with no parachute than risky, but she couldn’t think of a more dramatic way to demonstrate to Rafe and everyone that she was as much of a spontaneous risk taker as anyone.
She freshened her lipstick, took a deep breath and decided to jump.
The hell with the parachute.
According to her watch, there was five minutes until midnight. In fairy tales, the princesses ran away at midnight or turned back into drudges. In her version, the princess came into her woman’s power at the stroke of twelve.
She straightened her mask in the mirror, enjoying the Mona Lisa curve of her lips. Rafe wanted spontaneous? He was going to get spontaneous, all right. Spontaneous combustion.
She strolled into the ballroom at three minutes to midnight and immediately searched for him.
Waiters were once more circling with champagne. Her excitement dimmed somewhat when she finally spotted Rafe in the middle of an animated group, far too many of whom were wearing skirts.
Well, she’d had her chance, hadn’t she?
She shook her head when a waiter offered her a flute from a tray filled with glasses of champagne and glittering noisemakers. She didn’t want champagne any more than she wanted to blow some garish paper-and-glitz horn.
Water would suit her mood better. And not sparkling water, either. Flat, tepid tap water. And instead of a noisemaker, a little contemplative silence.
She wandered to the bar set up at the back of the ballroom and had a painful moment of déjà vu. She’d done this same thing last year.
Of course, that’s where she’d met Natalie and Isabel, so it had turned out great. A quick glance showed her no Isabel, no Natalie, no one at all at the bar. Everyone had moved forward for the big countdown.
“Water please,” she said to the bartender, who brightened a bit when she plonked herself on a bar stool. Poor guy, it must be lonely back here.
Still, when he handed her the water, she rose again. She didn’t want to end up necking with him just because it was New Year’s Eve and only the two of them were down here in the loser zone.
She’d barely taken a sip when warm, warm fingers curled around her bicep. “Come on,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Let’s get out of here.”
5
SHE DIDN’T SAY A WORD, simply let him pull her by the arm to one of the big French doors that led to a stone patio.
They were outside almost before she realized where he was taking her. He’d left the door ajar and they could hear the countdown begin.
Ten, Nine, Eight. He stared at her as though she were a rocket about to launch. Come to think of it, he wasn’t far off. Still, it was the middle of winter and nearly midnight.
“Rafe, it’s freezing out here.”
He had his jacket off and around her before they got to the count of three. She felt his warmth, his scent, and stared up into his dark, dark eyes and stepped closer.
Two…one… All the noisemakers went off at once along with shouts of “Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year, Arianne,” Rafe said, his voice low and husky.
She tipped her face up, waiting for the New Year’s kiss to end all New Year’s kisses. Her eyes drifted shut, and she felt his fingers at the back of her head. He removed her mask…ooh, yes, transformation time.
Her foolishness in the bathroom came back to her and her lips curved as she felt the rush of cold air against her skin where the mask had been.
“You’re releasing my female power, you know,” she warned him.
“Damn, I hope so,” he said, and then his mouth came down on hers.
How could the man’s lips be so hot when it was so cold out here? She didn’t know, but they were, pulling her in, as the winter night air pushed her closer to his heat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his tuxedo jacket fell to the ground, but she didn’t notice.
His arms were wrapped around her, his lips so hot and demanding against hers. She opened to him, needing more, and his tongue teased her, knowing what she needed, just about knocking her off l
ast year’s black Monticellos.
“What do you want, Arianne?” he asked when he pulled away on a ragged breath.
His mouth was wet from kissing her, his eyes feverish.
“You, tonight,” she said, throwing all caution to the cold wind that snapped around the patio.
Being spontaneous was like that. No tomorrow, no thought to consequences, no checks and balances, debits and credits. No bottom line.
“Are you sure?”
Her answer was to lick his throat.
He didn’t ask a second time, but led her rapidly across the patio and through another French door.
This one led to the dining room where a cold buffet was already laid out. Soon, everyone would be eating a midnight supper, but for now it was deserted except for a couple of waiters standing ready to carve beef and ham. Platters of antipasto, salmon, pastas of all sorts, salads and breads covered banquet tables waiting for the post-midnight supper.
They sped through the room, with something other than food on their minds, the waiters remaining as impassive as Buckingham Palace guards.
He led her, not out the main entrance, but through the kitchen, where the catering staff were busy at work.
Her heart was hammering. This was it. How long had she wanted Rafe? Her desire for him must have been flickering like a pilot light for it to burst into flaming life so suddenly.
Oh, she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything, or anyone.
They emerged into a hallway that was at once more modern and far less opulent than the parts of the house she’d seen before.
“The old servants’ quarters,” he explained, as they ran up a flight of stairs. “I had them made over into my quarters.”
Contemporary, high-tech, sleek, but still luxurious, is what she thought when he pushed a security code, and they entered his private area.
She had only the vaguest impression of a comfortable living area, an entire wall of computer, TV and music stuff before he dragged her through another door and into his bedroom.
“When you say spontaneous, you mean spontaneous,” she said, short of breath. She’d never seen him so lacking in manners or restraint and she really liked his lack of control now.
Her female power was so high and so potent she tingled with it. Obviously, he was under her spell. Probably, like most spells, this one would wear off along with the champagne or darkness.
Daylight would return, as would her senses. She’d spend the rest of her life living down her indiscretion. When she tried to imagine how she’d feel, she decided she didn’t care.
She’d have the memories. She’d know that once in her life she’d been as wild and spontaneous as she had it in her to be.
Rafe turned to her and stared at her as though he didn’t quite know how to begin. He was always in control, so she found his momentary awkwardness rather touching.
His bedroom was surprisingly simple. Austere almost. There was the bed, a huge affair with a simple cotton duvet in a silvery gray color, a night table on which a half-read thriller novel sat, and a hardcover in Italian.
The bedside lamp was sleek and clearly designed for reading rather than ornamentation. Instead of a clothes closet, he had built-in cupboards and drawers, and through a half-open door she glimpsed a bathroom done in black-and-white.
He took one step closer to her and halted, yanking at his bow tie as though it were choking him. He had it open in no time, the ends dangling over his crisp white shirt like untied shoelaces.
Then awkwardness deserted him and he pulled her into his arms once more.
Oh, the heat that punched through her system was immediate and, if anything, stronger than out on the patio.
His hands slid over her back, warm and sure, while she pulled his head down to hers for another deep, wet kiss.
“I knew when we danced together it was going to be like this,” she said when they stopped to breathe.
“How is it going to be?” he asked, his voice husky.
She smiled. “Amazing.”
“I always knew it would be amazing with you,” he said, so softly he could have been speaking to himself.
He had? He’d thought about this before? Well, she supposed she had felt…something, but she’d always assumed it was just the result of his charm and that it happened to all the women he met.
Pushing the thought of all the women he…met out of her mind with great firmness, she went back to kissing him.
There were shirt studs to deal with, a cummerbund to remove. She couldn’t waste her energy on anything but what was happening right now in this room.
She sighed as she went to work, enjoying the act of undressing him, of taking him from the epitome of civilized in his tuxedo, to naked and animal.
Beneath the crisp whiteness of the shirt, his chest hair emerged as soft as a wolf’s pelt.
Off came his shirt, and she touched him everywhere, glorying in muscles that had both climbed mountains and dived beneath the ocean. She buried her face against his chest and caressed him with the tip of her tongue.
“Mmm,” she said. “You smell Italian.”
He chuckled, the muscles quivering beneath her lips. “What does Italian smell like?”
She breathed in again, closing her eyes. “Like olive oil, and herbs drying in the sun. Basil and rosemary.”
“You make me sound like a pizza.”
She licked again, finding a flat brown nipple and teasing it. “I love pizza.”
He ran his hands through her hair, down her back, until his fingers were working the closure at the back of her dress. “And you smell like something cool and fresh. A layer of fresh snow on a mountaintop.”
She frowned slightly. “Snow is awfully cold.”
“Until it melts.” And with a flick of his wrist, he released her dress and it slipped down her front. Without any nice shapely hips to stop it, the dress picked up speed and slid to the floor like a toboggan down that mountain slope he’d likened her to.
He didn’t seem to mind her lack of curves, though. The sound he made as he gazed at her body, naked but for a pair of black silk panties, made any hesitation she felt disappear. It was as if the breath had been knocked out of him.
Feeling desire bubble beneath the surface of her skin, she moaned softly when he palmed her breasts. Once more she was assailed by heat. His hands were leathery from gripping climbing ropes, ski poles, horse reins and bike handlebars. They’d fought rapids and mountain heights and they’d picked up his mother’s shoes and turned a business into an empire.
He slid those amazing hands down her torso, hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties and pulled them off.
She shivered, but not from cold. He was so warm, she didn’t think she’d ever feel cold when they were together. She trembled from the knowledge that this was different.
If anyone ever asked her again about wild, spontaneous sex she knew she wouldn’t have to reach into her fantasy bank for a story.
Not that she planned to share this one. It was going to be hers alone.
He set her on the bed and knelt, kissing her ankle before undoing her shoe. “Your feet were made for our shoes,” he said.
She smiled at his foolishness and offered him the other, which he removed with just as much ceremony.
She moved up the bed until she could flip the duvet back and slip onto rich linen sheets. She didn’t jump right in and cover herself as she might on another occasion. Since this was only going to last a short time, she figured she ought to enjoy the moment to its fullest.
“You’re wearing entirely too many clothes,” she informed him.
One side of his mouth kicked up as he stared down at her stretched out for him like a smorgasbord as though he couldn’t believe her lack of shyness.
She couldn’t believe it, either, but in that moment, she felt feminine modesty was overrated.
There was no need for a second hint. His slacks, briefs, socks and shoes all came off in under five seconds. Then he ros
e and took a step toward the bed.
“Wait,” she commanded. “I haven’t finished looking.”
She wanted to study him the way an art student might study a famous sculpture. A famous sculpture of a tongue-drippingly gorgeous naked man.
Even though her fingers itched to touch him and discover whether his muscles felt as elastic as they looked, his skin as smooth as it appeared, his erection as thick, for a moment she just wanted to look. She’d always suspected he’d look fantastic naked, and he did. He looked better than fantastic.
His shoulders were broad, his arms defined, his belly taut, his chest hair curled provocatively around terra-cotta-colored nipples, and lower down the hair was a shade darker, making his erection appear pale as marble.
Not white marble, though, more like gold-colored Siena marble. It looked as hard as marble, too. All her womanly parts softened and opened, already anticipating that hardness within her. Oh, how she wanted it.
She’d managed to drag her gaze down to his thighs, which were very nice as thighs went but nowhere near as exciting as his groin area, when he made a tiny sound.
Glancing at his face she discovered heightened color across his cheekbones. “Are you finished? I feel like a damned science experiment.”
He was blushing.
She was so surprised, she laughed and held out her hand. Of course, his momentary discomfort hadn’t stopped him from staring at her as avidly as she’d stared at him.
Her skin felt warmed by his gaze. Her blood heated by it.
He joined her on the bed, and she was glad she’d looked when she had the chance, for he immediately pulled her tight against him, and she might as well have been blind for all she could see.
She shut her eyes anyway, so it didn’t matter. The sense that dominated now was touch.
Everywhere their bodies brushed, she felt heat penetrating, building.
He surrounded her in warmth, and she felt as though she were melting.
“I want to touch you all over,” he murmured, as his lips cruised her throat and headed for her breasts. “I want to taste you everywhere,” he added, and then took a nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue before pulling with gentle suction.
