by Kat Faitour
He flopped onto one of the sofas, long legs splayed out in front of him. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, except maybe for Liam and Ruby.
Lust? Sure.
He reached forward to toy with some of the creamy blossoms in a floral arrangement that sat on his coffee table. Their perfume wafted upward, and he sniffed, appreciatively.
They were beautiful. And Mason could admit he had a weakness for beauty.
Margaux was certainly, exceptionally beautiful.
But that was it. Or, at least, that was the sum of his true knowledge of her, except for the business she worked in. He slapped his hands on his knees, barking out a laugh. For a second, his well-hidden romantic nature had its way with him, filling his head with all sorts of fanciful, ridiculous notions.
He certainly hadn’t lost his head or heart. At worse, he’d been momentarily infatuated. That was all. And infatuations passed as easily and quickly as the seasons. Sometimes as fast as a sunrise.
There was a knock on the door and he rose, still chortling at his silly foray into fairytales. Since it was probably the hotel staff, coming to clean up, he took hold of the breakfast cart, rolling it with him.
But when he opened the door, it wasn’t an employee who faced him.
It was Margaux Taylor.
* * *
Rather than pinning it up, Margaux had left her hair down to curl over her shoulders and back. A tan trench coat was tightly cinched at her waist.
Cliché? Possibly.
Over the top? Certainly.
Effective? Hopefully.
Mason stood staring at her, his stubbled jaw dropped. He was still wearing what looked like gray, linen pajama bottoms with one of the hotel’s terry robes tied loosely at his waist.
Dark, curling hair dusted his bare chest, which was as deeply tanned as his face. His feet were bare, his toes long and lean like the rest of him. Beyond the faint smell of bacon coming from the cart beside him, she caught his scent.
Pine and oak moss, overlaid with confidence and piqued male interest.
A small bud of need unfurled itself deep inside Margaux. And a fire was sparked.
She braced one hand on the doorjamb. “Hi, Mason. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
He continued to stare, obviously surprised to see her at all, let alone this early in the morning.
But for Margaux, and what she had in mind, mornings were the absolute best.
She reached out with one perfectly manicured index finger to touch the skin right below his Adam’s apple. A pulse beat furiously there, confirming her impression of unbridled, unrestrained desire. He jolted a little, a tiny response to the electricity coursing between the two of them.
My God, they were going to burn each other alive.
She pushed a little, and he stepped back. Margaux took advantage by stepping over the threshold and moving into his suite.
“Nice,” she purred.
“You found me.” His voice sounded husky, as if he’d only just woken, although the empty breakfast cart said otherwise. A dull red flush stained his cheekbones, and he cleared his throat. “Where I was staying, I mean.”
She smiled, strolling the main salon while keeping Mason in her peripheral vision. “You told me where to find you.” There were a lot of flowers, more than she would have expected in a man’s rooms. She found she liked it.
“I hope you didn’t change your mind?” She bent, delicately sniffing the blooms on one of his tables. Her trench gaped, revealing a sliver of breast. A small, strangled sound came from Mason. Margaux hid her smile as she continued her explorations.
Pocket French doors led to his bedroom and were pulled slightly apart. She glimpsed a king bed with cream linens still rumpled from where he’d lain.
“You must be a restless sleeper.” She nodded to the bed then adroitly stepped through the gap in the doors. Looking back toward Mason, she braced her arms on each side and pushed them wider as she gifted him with her most practiced, most effective sultry stare.
“Margaux, why are you here?” Mason husked. He took a step toward her then stopped. “Not that I’m not glad to see you.” His throat worked, and a muscle tightened in his jaw. “But I should apologize for the way I left last night. I know you didn’t want to be alone.”
Margaux toyed with the belt of her coat, enjoying the way Mason’s eyes followed her fingers. “That was very unchivalrous of you, Mason.” She liked saying his name, and the reaction in him when he heard it. “Luckily, I heard Julian return sometime shortly after you left, so I knew I wasn’t alone in the apartment.”
Mason’s eyes were a little glazed from staring unblinkingly at her hands as she continued to caress the trench coat’s belt, sliding its length through her hands before almost letting it slip.
“Julian?”
Now she was working the knot, loosening it more and more. “Yes, Julian. Remember? He’s my assistant.”
His eyes met hers, level. “Only your assistant?”
A smile of pure, feminine satisfaction curved her lips upward. She liked a possessive man. “Yes, only. And never anything more.” The knot was nearly undone. “I don’t like mixing business with pleasure, Mason.”
He swallowed. “That’s good practice.”
“Neither do I like mixing men.” His eyes, that striking shade of olive green, darkened until they were nearly black. “Nor do I approve of men who juggle women. Do we understand each other?”
He stepped forward until she detected his delicious scent again. And who knew that a lean, rangy body topped by somewhat standard good looks could be so damn sexy? None of the individual pieces of him would have turned her head.
But added together, the sum resulted in a man who took her breath away. Heat flooded her pelvis as desire struck with uncommon force. What had been a spark rose into a powerful inferno.
Margaux moistened her dry lips. She wanted him. More than she’d wanted any man for a long time.
It was time to find out if he felt the same.
The knot slipped and the ends of the belt slipped free. It wasn’t fastened in any other way, and she let the sides of the coat fall open.
Mason gaped.
She wasn’t naked. That would have been beyond cliché. Vulgar.
Margaux was never vulgar.
She wore a slip dress of pure, raw silk in a deep shade of burnished gold. Gossamer straps held up the bodice, and its length skimmed her slender thighs. Her only accessory was a pear-shaped, yellow diamond pendant on a platinum chain that lay nestled between her breasts.
Mason finished closing the distance between them in strides that reminded her of one of the big cats on the African savanna. He prowled to within inches of her, his eyes dark and fixed on hers.
When she thought he might touch her, she preempted him by holding her palm flat against his chest. Her fingers itched to sneak under the terry cloth to explore the fascinating man beneath. But first, she needed to make sure of something.
It was a hard line rule for her. No messing about with someone else’s man.
“Do we understand each other?” At his look of confusion, she elaborated. “Are you involved with anyone else? Even casually?” There were plenty of men out there, and she could easily choose from the pool of those who were unattached.
Of course, it was a lie.
She held her breath, refusing to examine why she couldn’t conjure an image of anyone but Mason Graff.
This was the man she wanted.
He laid his hand over hers, trapping it between the heat of his body and his palm. “I wouldn’t be standing here if there was someone else.” The lines near his eyes creased. “I think we understand each other perfectly, Margaux.”
He reached to cup her shoulders, pushing the coat to pool on the floor around her feet. She started to remove her nude, strappy sandals, but Mason pulled her to him, effectively stopping her. “Leave those on.” His lips hovered over hers before darting to brush her cheek, eyelid, and earlobe. He gave th
e other side of her face equal treatment before dropping a kiss onto her forehead.
Margaux opened her eyes, not realizing she’d even closed them. She tugged at his robe’s lapels. “Kiss me.”
He laughed, the sound deep and wholly male. “I am kissing you.”
She tugged harder, falling further under his spell. The man was clearly a sorcerer, determined to undo her. “No. Really kiss me.” She barely finished her demand before he angled his mouth over hers. His lips were soft and sensual. He used his teeth to tug at her bottom lip, and when she opened her mouth, he slid in the tip of his tongue.
Heat pooled in her abdomen as he explored her mouth, tasting and teasing. But his endless patience sparked the opposite in Margaux. She was desperate for more of him. All of him.
She tore at the terrycloth sash that belted his robe. Infuriatingly, he laid his hands over hers to still them, then deftly untied the knot and slipped the robe off to join her coat on the floor.
As soon as his torso was bare, she allowed her hands to race over him, learning the planes and valleys of his lean build. A fine sheen of sweat gave his skin a healthy patina. She could count his ribs, although they weren’t protruding. When she reached the ridges of his abdomen, she raked her nails over him, gratified when she heard his sharp intake of breath.
Suddenly, her legs were out from under her as he swept her into his arms. Margaux threw her head back and laughed, utterly enthralled. Mason was equal parts solemn and sexy. And the combination went straight to her head, intoxicating her.
He laid her on the bed, in the place where he’d slept. His scent rose up from the sheets and combined with the faint musk of his arousal. Margaux unconsciously arched her feet, digging the heels of her shoes into the mattress. She was equally restless yet weak. When he stood straight, peering down at her with unshakable focus, she nearly swooned from the power he projected. It would have been unsettling, except it was so damn satisfying.
She reached up to trace his waistband with her fingertips. Pausing on the drawstring knot, she looked up at him with a question in her eyes.
His lips tilted in a crooked smile before he leaned down to pull the covers to the end of the bed. Then he was beside her, his body stretched out next to hers.
He was tall but then so was she. Standing, she was nearly on eye level with him. Now, lying in his bed, she guessed they’d make a perfect fit.
She reached down and slipped her hand inside his linen pants. He wore no underwear, so she was free to explore the solid, aroused length of him. He was satiny smooth yet hard as hell. Impatiently, she rolled toward him and locked her lips over his.
Later, she would swear they kissed and caressed each other for what seemed like hours. She memorized the taste of him—coffee combined with mint. His urgency more than matched hers, and their hands and mouths mated in an erotic display of wanting and lust.
He shifted to his back and lifted her to sit astride his hips. She undulated, catching him against her before shifting in a provocative move to increase the pressure building inside her. Mason groaned, his hands hardening over her hips to raise and lower her in a rhythm designed to maximize the delicious friction created between them.
Margaux thought she might combust. His pants and her lacy panties were the only barriers to having him fully seated within her. And while the anticipation itself was exquisite, she wanted more.
She reached between them, frantically tugging until the string tying his pants came loose. He raised his hips, and she tugged down the linen until he was bared to her, his erection springing free between them.
She gripped him, fisting as much as would fit in her smaller hands. Up and down she rubbed, enjoying the contrast of smooth, soft skin over his rock-hardness. With a light touch, she smoothed the broad head, paying particular attention to the small slit in the crown.
He bucked and groaned, straining against her.
“Slow down,” he gasped.
“No,” she said. Leaning down, she licked him, lapping at the small bead of moisture that escaped. She was rewarded when Mason nearly shot off the bed, a low growl coming from deep in his throat.
He arched his torso and removed Margaux’s slip dress without ceremony. With a flick of his wrist, it landed somewhere beside the bed. Next came her panties, which he tore at each side and tossed the fragments.
Mouth open, she stared in surprise.
“I’ll buy you another pair.” With a practiced hand at her back, he pressed her down so their mouths could meet. Margaux smiled against his lips.
Their mouths mated until their bodies could no longer wait to do the same. And when he slipped inside her, Margaux reveled in the perfect fit they made, just as she’d thought. Without awkwardness or hesitation, their hips caught a rhythm, moving in flawless accord.
A fine sheen of perspiration coated Margaux’s face. Suddenly, she was close, so very close. With a shift of her pelvis, she bore down hard, aching and desperate to climax.
Sensing her need, Mason pistoned inside her, pushing himself until the hard root of him pressed against her clitoris. Reaching between them, he lightly thumbed the tight bundle of throbbing nerves, sending Margaux into an abrupt and earth-shattering climax.
She threw back her head, and her keening cry of satisfaction echoed in the room. Mason slowed his movements while caressing her back in long, soothing strokes. After several long moments, her head cleared, and she looked down at him.
His length still strained inside her. She swore she could feel him throbbing in time with her pounding heartbeat.
He reached up and wiped the sweat from her brow. In a gesture that was as innocent as it was erotic, he licked his fingers.
“Okay?”
She smiled widely. “More than. You?”
His pelvis twitched, his girth stretching her even further. “Not quite, darling.” He gripped her hips. “Hold on.”
She gasped as he effortlessly switched their positions and pulled her knees up high. Margaux locked her ankles around his back while he thrust inside her, fast and hard.
Unbelievably, another climax rushed over her, and her muscles clenched and spasmed around him, bringing him to his own peak. Margaux smiled against the rough hairs of his chest as Mason’s heart thundered and his body pulsed.
Several long minutes passed where he remained on top and inside of her. The only sounds in the room were their harsh breathing and the occasional moans as their bodies continued to spasm and shudder.
Finally, with a carnal grunt, Mason withdrew. He was still slightly engorged, so the movement caused Margaux’s over sensitized nerves to convulse. Self-conscious, she drew the sheet over her nakedness in an attempt to put some distance between herself and the man who’d just destroyed her with unimaginable pleasure.
He went to the restroom and returned a few moments later with a warm washcloth. With an evil smirk, he took hold of the edge of the sheet.
“Hiding, Margaux?”
“No,” she lied. Her face warmed, and she knew she was blushing like some schoolgirl after her first date.
Mason’s face softened. “Let me.” He tugged at the sheet a little but waited for her permission. “Please?”
She sighed, accepting the fact that he had the power to completely undo her. Thank God this was temporary, or she’d be tossing her heart at his feet as he inevitably walked out the door.
She released the linen, and he pulled the bed covers away to silently, gently bathe her with the warm cloth.
It was several endless, intimate minutes before he looked up from his ministrations to meet her eyes.
“Better?”
She nodded, feeling completely out of her depth. Luckily, she also couldn’t help but notice Mason was aroused again. His penis jutted upward from his thighs in eager invitation.
Well, Margaux wasn’t about to resist. Wrecking each other could go both ways, after all. She curled her hand around him and tugged.
She would adjust her schedule. Reschedule her flight.
“You don’t think I’ve finished with you, do you?”
Mason threw his head back and laughed, then crushed his mouth to hers.
* * *
Mason ignored the laptop that sat open on the desk in favor of staring at the woman who lay sleeping in his bed. An entire day and night had passed. The early morning sun, so like yesterday’s, crept through the opened drapes, slanting across the floor and bed.
The big difference today, of course, was Margaux Taylor. She was sprawled on her stomach, one arm draped over the side of the bed, her fingertips skimming the plush carpet. The weak sunlight angled across her golden skin, highlighting the dips and valleys of her back. Her buttocks rose softly beneath the sheet he’d draped over her earlier in an effort to keep her warm, comfortable, and asleep a little while longer.
Mason needed all the time he could muster. Steepling his fingers beneath his chin, he admired her leanly muscled form. She was surprisingly strong and firm, yet softly supple. Her body had yielded to his in perfect harmony. Yet he knew her spirit remained aloof and independent.
It hardly mattered. This was only sex.
Mason had been reminding himself of that since he’d woken, his body and mind all wrapped around Margaux.
It was only sex.
He sighed, shifting in his chair and running a hand through his still damp hair. He’d showered as soon as he rose, but he could swear the scent of her remained overlaid on his skin, mingling with the woodsy pine of his own fragrance.
If he were a romantic man, he might worry she’d embedded herself as a permanent part of him. Mason shook his head.
No. It was just sex. It had been fabulous and incredible, but in the end, still nothing more than sex.
A small sigh escaped the woman in question, and she rolled and stretched, taking the sheet along with her. Even covered, she was the most alluring, dazzling woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
Mostly covered, anyway.
A tawny nipple peeked out from above the sheet. Her breasts were modest, even understated, much like her style. Dear God, she was perfect.
He rose to pace over to the window. He had to stop thinking like that, dammit. Whether Margaux Taylor was perfect or not was irrelevant. She was absolutely, completely wrong for him.
