He scrubs a hand over his jaw, then he sighs. “Whatever you decide for a date is fine.” He clears his throat, spreads his hands on the table, and leans closer. His eyes lock with mine, and my breath escapes my chest. For a split second, he glances at the ceiling and shakes his head, then he seems ready. “All I want is to find someone I connect with. The setting doesn’t matter. Hell, we could get cheap tacos, sit on a park bench, or sample salsa, and it would be fine.”
He lets his gaze linger on mine longer than I expect, and his words feel important. As if he’s trying to tell me something beyond what’s been spoken. My stomach flips, and tingles launch an all-out butterfly assault on my body. Is he saying he’s liked these un-dates? That he feels the same connection? And what the hell do I do about it? Do I report myself to the international matchmaker consortium for committing the unspeakable violation of falling for a client?
Fine, fine. It’s not technically a violation. Only I can’t help but think I’ve been dipping into the kitty and skimming off the top. Even if he likes spending time with me, that doesn’t mean I should ask him to date me, only me.
Or does it?
Choose me, I want to say.
I want to sweep my hand across the table of all the other women and knock them to the ground like spilled dishes.
This possessiveness is wholly new to me.
Another thing is, too.
A desire to make more time for him.
To carve out another hour here, another hour there. To make him a priority. I haven’t felt this way for anyone in ages, and I don’t know what to do next. Since he seems to be speaking from the heart, I follow his lead. “Or those delicious tapioca tea balls that you never thought you’d like.”
The corner of his lips twitch. “It’s good to experience new things, don’t you think?”
Heat flows through me, unfurling and warming me everywhere. “I like experiencing new things,” I say and my voice sounds breathless to my own ears.
I wonder how it must sound to him. If he can tell I’m burning up across from him. I cast my gaze to the exit, my mind leaping ahead. Then I look back at Dylan, where his eyes are dark, even behind his lenses.
I draw a breath, and my lips part. They’re an invitation, and he has to know. He has to be able to tell I’m ready to launch myself at him.
He reads my body language. He stands up, moves to my side, and slides next to me, brushing a strand of hair over my ear. I shudder. He dips his face near mine. “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”
All the tension, all the hoping, unspools. All I can do is whisper yes to him.
His lips are on mine, and I melt into the sweetest kiss. It’s soft, but confident. It says he’ll take his time, that he wants this. He wants me. He slides his lips over mine, savoring, and for a flash I can see how he’d undress me, run his hands down my skin, kiss me all over—sensually, seductively, as if I’m the treat he’s been waiting patiently to eat. His hand runs up the bare skin of my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He reaches my shoulder, gliding over the curve and up my neck.
I shiver. Oh God, how I shiver from his touch. Then his fingers dive into my hair at the nape of my neck, and he holds me as he kisses more deeply. I moan into his mouth, my body turning to jelly under his touch.
He stops, and I catch my breath, blinking. He reaches for his wallet and grabs several bills, tossing them on the table. “Want to get out of here?”
I don’t know where we’re going but the only answer is yes.
And here turns out to be the lobby. His eyes stray to the elevators, then the front desk, then me.
He raises one eyebrow. “I love a well-made bed. Do you?”
Chapter Fifteen
Dylan
She falls back on the bed once more. Just like she did the first time we entered room 521. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking when you showed off the bed’s best features the other day,” I tell her, my voice huskier than it’s been before.
“What are the bed’s best features?”
“You on it. But ideally, undressed.”
She tugs at the hem of her skirt, her eyelashes fluttering, saying come and get it.
I offer a hand, tug her up, and unzip the dress. “Just so you know, the sound of the metal teeth separating turns me on.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” I say, pressing my hard-on against her hip. “Since it means you’ll be naked soon.”
She moans, and I push against her. “I wanted to take your clothes off so badly the other day,” I mutter.
“The thought might have crossed my mind,” she says, and she’s wearing this sexy grin, but she also seems more relaxed than she has before. As if she’s letting go. Giving in to us.
It’s a look she wears well.
I push the shoulder straps down her arms and watch as the dress falls to the floor, pooling in a silky blue pile on the plush carpet. She wears a matching bra and panties—light blue with a butterfly in the middle of the cups. “Did you…?”
I’m not sure if I should finish the thought. It’s too presumptuous. Did you wear this for me? Yet I know the saying—if her bra and panties match, you didn’t make the decision to have sex. She did. But this is Evie. She probably matches every day.
“Yes, I wore them for you. Do you like?”
“I fucking love them, and I love that answer, too,” I say, and my hands are on her breasts in seconds. I groan my appreciation as I cup her tits through the lace, and she gasps. I run my hands around to her back, unhooking the bra, and gently tossing it on the bed.
And then I step back, admiring the view. “Jesus. You’re so gorgeous.”
She lifts her hands to my hair. “So are you.”
I run my fingers from her breasts, to her belly, to her hips. “So unbelievably gorgeous.”
She shudders as I touch her, then bites her lip, as if she’s holding something in. I tuck a finger under her chin, lift her face to meet my eyes. “What is it?”
She angles her hips closer, pushing against my pelvis, rubbing against my hard-on. A sexy, needy sigh greets my ears. She bites her lip again.
“Just tell me, Evie. What is it?”
She nibbles on my earlobe and whispers, “I’d really like you to be inside me right now.”
I groan so fucking loudly. “That’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I say, and work on the buttons on my shirt as her hands expertly undo the button on my jeans.
Soon, my shirt is off, and she whistles her appreciation.
“Why, thank you,” I say playfully.
“I want to nibble you all over,” she says as she drags her nails down my pecs. “But I also really want this.”
She pushes my jeans down my hips, and I help her along, the rest of my clothes landing in a pile on the floor.
“Can I touch?”
“I was hoping you would,” I say, deadpan, and she wraps a soft hand around my cock, and my body does its best imitation of a forest fire.
Holy fuck.
Evie’s touching my dick, and it’s extraordinary. This woman I never thought I’d fall for has her hands on my second-favorite organ, with the brain always getting top billing.
“Too bad you’re still wearing these pesky panties. But fortunately, I can solve that.”
I tug them down, and when they’re off I want to sing hallelujah. She’s so pretty everywhere. Every inch of her body. Her soft, pale skin. Her small, perky breasts. Her trim waist, and this sexy blond landing strip I’d like to spend time getting to know tonight.
I bend to my jeans to grab a condom from my wallet. Then I toss it on the bed, and lower her to the covers. “I promise I’ll be inside you in like ten seconds, but I need to do one thing first.”
“What’s that?” she whispers.
I take off my glasses, and set them on the nightstand. “That. And now this.” I return to her, spread her legs, and my mouth fucking waters. Jesus. She’s glistening. I bring my face between her
thighs, and I lick.
She arches into me instantly, as she gasps, “Oh God.”
I moan as I lick her, and her wetness spreads all over my tongue, my lips, my chin.
“But I want you inside me,” she mutters as her fingers thread through my hair, and she tugs me closer, then rocks up against me.
And it doesn’t take long.
Not long at all.
Thirty seconds, maybe a minute, and Evie is moaning my name over and over. She curls her hands tighter around my head, and digs her nails in. I swear they’re clawing into my skull, and I love it. I love this wild, greedy, needy side of her.
She lets her knees fall open more, and she’s spread for me on the hotel bed. Wide open and wanton, her back bowed, her hips bucking, until she cries out, “Oh my God.”
And that’s all she says. The rest is noise—noises that make me ache for her. Moans and groans and incoherent sounds as she comes on my mouth, a delicious feast of sensual woman.
I move up, wiping a hand across my mouth, and grab the condom. She’s still sighing in pleasure as I open the wrapper and roll the condom down my hard length.
Her eyes flutter open. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
“That was fast.”
“I’ll take that as a good sign.” I position myself between her legs and sink inside her, her wetness gripping me as I groan, sparks flying across my body. Because…this. Her. “Feels so good.”
“So incredibly good,” she says, meeting my gaze. The look in her eyes reminds me I’m going to want to do this for a long time, for many nights, because this woman… She’s the one I want.
Chapter Sixteen
Evie
It’s been so long, but I don’t think that’s why it feels so incredibly good. Sex feels this good because it’s him.
I haven’t felt this way for a man in a long time. I haven’t felt as if I’m falling under in ages. But I feel that with Dylan, and as he pushes deep inside me, the most intense sensations ripple through my body. Tingle all over. Desire everywhere. Wanting in every molecule.
I look at him, almost afraid of what I’ll see, but it’s there in his eyes. This sense that he’s in this with me. That the time we’ve spent together has been as fantastic for him as it’s been for me.
I want to say something—something about how he makes me feel. But I’m afraid if I speak, I’ll say way too much. And right now, I want to feel.
As he strokes inside me, I feel so much. Every single delicious sensation tears through me. My toes curl as his hips swivel, and he pushes deeper. I run my hands up his chest, loving the feel of his smooth skin under my hands. I arch into him, and I moan so loudly as his length slides exquisitely over the most sensitive part of me. It’s so good.
But…
It would be even better if I changed one thing.
“Dylan,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I have to tell you something.”
He slows, stills. “What is it?”
I whisper like I have a dark, dirty secret. “I really like being on top.”
A laugh bursts from his lips. Amused, he grabs my ass and expertly rolls us over. “I thought you were going to tell me something I didn’t want to hear.”
I laugh, too, as I straighten, straddling him, adjusting myself to the extraordinary feel of him deep inside me. Slowly, languidly, I roll my hips, and I moan. It’s a long, delicious moan, because I love this position.
“I love this,” I murmur. “I can take you so deep.”
His eyes blaze with heat as his hands curl tight around my hips. His fingers dig into my bones. “Funny, I like every position with you so far.”
“Ditto.”
I also like that we can laugh while we screw. That we can tease as we fuck. And I like that we both know when it’s time to go silent. Because as I circle my hips, there’s nothing more to say. There’s only the sheer honesty of this moment. When you finally give in. When you finally admit. When you finally know.
I want this man. I want him so much.
And I’m having him.
I ride him as the pleasure rises inside me. I find my rhythm as my muscles tighten. My hands push hard against his chest as heat coils low in my belly, then lower still, until all this desire bursts inside me.
And I’m coming.
And crying out.
Saying his name.
Collapsing onto him, and he’s right here with me, following me as he groans my name in my ear, joining me on the other side.
* * * *
Dylan brushes his fingertips along my arm. “I wasn’t sure I liked you.”
I swat his chest. “Your pillow talk is amazing.”
He laughs and nibbles on my shoulder. “I mean it.”
I roll my eyes. “And I doubly mean it now about your pillow talk.”
He tugs me closer, wrapping an arm around me. “I thought we’d be too different. That’s what I mean.”
“I know. I thought that, too.”
He lifts my hand, brings my fingers to his mouth, and presses kisses to my knuckles. “But then I got to know you.”
“And you realized you really didn’t like me still?” I tease.
He laughs and grabs me, pulling me closer. “Who’s the difficult one now?”
I laugh. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He presses a kiss to my lips, and even though he sent me soaring twenty minutes ago, I’m ready to go again. “By the way, did we break your third-date rule about sleeping together?” he asks.
“Did tonight seem like a first date?”
He shakes his head. “Technically it wasn’t even an official date.”
“Then we’ve botched everything.”
He laughs. “But seriously, it feels like our fourth, to be honest.”
I nod, smiling. “It kind of does. So we’re right on track then, since my rule is wait until after the third date. But I also think the third time might be a charm, so we should do it a second and third time.”
“I’m game.”
This time he puts me on all fours and takes me hard, and I couldn’t be happier, because sometimes a hard-working city girl needs to be fucked harder at night.
And this man, that’s what he does to me, making me come in under three minutes.
It seems he’s quite good at that.
* * * *
My phone beeps. One of those oh-so-innocent bell sounds. An I-couldn’t-possibly-bother-you-so-I-sound-like-a-sweet-little-ding.
I glance at Dylan. He’s sleeping like a rock.
I grab my phone and unlock the screen.
A text from Olivia glares at me. “What’s the name of the nail polish? I forgot! Also, I’m going wedding dress shopping soon. Want to come?”
My stomach churns.
I love dress shopping.
I do, I do, I do.
But I’m naked in bed with her brother, and something feels wrong about replying to this message.
I click to my email and see if there are any work fires I need to extinguish.
The first email is from the athletic woman at the ad agency. I sent her a note a few days ago, asking if she might be interested in a date with a client.
Hi Evie! I received your email. So good to hear from you! I’m doing well and working hard, and I’m thrilled you thought of me. I’m out of town for work but would love to hear more about this guy. So hard to meet a smart, successful, good-looking one these days, who’s also honest!
And the guilt triples. I’m screwing my friend’s brother, and I’m skimming off the top.
At least I haven’t taken his money yet.
Right now, though, I need to fix this problem.
Gently, I brush Dylan’s shoulder. He rolls to his side. “Dylan,” I whisper.
No response.
“Dylan,” I say at a normal volume.
He snores louder.
I sigh heavily, swing my feet out of bed, and rise. After I pee, wash my face, and brus
h my teeth, I return to the room, expecting to find him awake.
But he’s pulled a pillow over his head, and he’s nowhere near opening his eyes. My chest aches as I stare at him. I want to run my fingers through his hair. I want to pepper kisses on his cheek. I want to talk to him, laugh with him, spend the whole entire day with him.
Somehow, some way, this handsome pain-in-the-butt man has worked his way into my heart.
And that means I have to deal with the consequences.
I grab the hotel stationery and dash off a note. Then I leave.
Chapter Seventeen
Dylan
The air conditioner hums gently. I rub my eyes, then reach for Evie. The sheets are empty. I blink, sit up, grab my glasses from the nightstand. The curtains are closed, and the clock flashes ten thirty at me.
Holy shit.
I slept in like I haven’t done in ages.
“Hey,” I call out in case she’s in the bathroom. But when I get out of bed, turn on the light, and pad around the corner, there’s no sign of the woman I spent the night with. I return to the bed, picking up my clothes along the way, and tugging on my boxer briefs. Then I notice a sheet of white paper by the TV.
My shoulders sag, and my chest feels hollow before I pick it up. But I swallow hard, steeling for the worst.
Especially since it starts with Dear Dylan. Who starts letters that way that don’t end in bad news?
I had an amazing time with you. Everything has been so unexpected, and unexpectedly wonderful. But I can’t work with you anymore, and I feel terrible that I broke the cardinal rule of being a matchmaker.
I will call you later.
Evie
I take a deep breath, drag a hand through my hair, and decide it’s time to call a translator. I don’t know what the hell this means.
Mia answers on the first ring. “Hey there, hot stuff.”
“Hey. Are you free?”
“Free for lunch? No. I’m just finishing brunch with your sister. Free for you to take me for A, coffee, or B, mystery shopping, yes.”
Stud Finder (1001 Dark Nights) Page 8
