by Lavinia Kent
She pulled back her shoulders.
There was a quiet rap on the door. Who knocked on a public bathroom door? It was a push door. There wasn’t even a lock.
Before her thoughts could form further, the door pushed open, and Clay stepped in.
“I wanted to check on you. You’ve been in here awhile.” His gaze swept over her. “Are you all right? You look a little ill.”
Well, didn’t that just complete her evening? “I’m fine. You can’t be in here. It’s the ladies’ room. You’ll make people talk.”
“Somehow I doubt that. I saw Lydia leave. Did she say something?”
And unbelievably, it got worse as a thought came to her mind. “So, you’re seeing her?” If he was seeing Lydia now, then that probably meant he had been doing so a week ago and that meant…
Clay stopped. He looked slightly embarrassed. “Well, I don’t know if you could call it that. We’ve hooked up several times in the past few months, but we never made any commitment. And it’s over. It’s been over since I saw you a week ago. Before that even.”
Was that supposed to make it better? “But as far as she knew you were still seeing her until tonight?”
“I said that I wouldn’t call it that. And no. I’ve done my best to make it clear to her how things are. It’s not my fault if she refuses to listen.”
Jordan closed her eyes. Now she was getting a headache. Perhaps none of this was happening and she just had a bad case of the flu, hallucinations. “You know you’re sounding kind of like a jerk.”
His lips drew tight. “I really did try not to hurt her, to let her know how things were.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Okay, I knew she wanted more, but I was always very clear. Anything real between us was only in her mind. I never pretended, never said what she wanted to hear, even when I knew she wanted to be my girlfriend after the first drink.”
“The first drink or the first fuck?”
Now it was his turn not to answer.
“Hell, it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving. I’m going to call my car. Please make my excuses if anyone asks. You can tell them I wasn’t feeling well. It won’t be a lie. I can feel the beginning of a migraine.”
* * *
—
Fuck. That hadn’t gone as he’d planned. He’d followed her thinking he might be able to persuade her to have a little bathroom fun. The marble counters were just crying to be used. He hadn’t expected it would be easy, but he couldn’t have predicted this.
“Wait,” he said.
“Why?”
What did he say to that? He’d known he was in trouble the moment he saw Lydia leaving, but this was beyond his worst expectations. “Let me explain.”
“I think you’ve explained enough.” She took another step toward the door.
“I never meant to hurt you, Jordan.”
That made her turn back. “And what makes you think you hurt me? That you have the power to hurt me?”
“I see it in your face. I know you, Jordan.”
He expected her to deny it. He had no idea what he was going to do then or why he cared so much. Maybe if he grabbed her and kissed her…
Her laugh had a bitter edge. “You didn’t really know me ten years ago, why do you think you know me now? You were still a boy. Hell, I didn’t even recognize you at first. I remember little about you beyond how you looked at prom and how destroyed Amelia felt after you two broke up.”
He was not going to touch the last part of that, not right now. And he wasn’t even going to think about her not having recognized him. “I know how I felt. I knew who you were. I saw how you cared for Amelia even though she wasn’t your own. I watched you with her. I saw you laugh and cry together. I saw you with your husband, the little gestures, the sweet kisses. I did know you, Jordan.” He leaned forward, letting his eyes move over her.
She held herself still, but quivered slightly. “It was all in your head, Clay. You didn’t really know me, know what I cared about, what I worried about, what kept me up at night, what made me smile in the morning. I was far more than the cool stepmom who hung out by the pool and didn’t call the other moms when somebody snuck a beer.”
“I know that. But if all that is true, tell me, what happened a week ago? Why did you have sex with me?”
Chapter 8
How did she answer that when she wasn’t sure herself? She’d never in her entire life done anything like that. And she’d known she shouldn’t have, known that little good could come of it, but…“It was a mistake,” she answered after a moment, trying to keep the anger in her tone, trying to remember Lydia, trying not to give in to what her body was deciding it wanted, needed.
“Then why are your eyes growing deep with passion now? Why can I smell the musk on you? Why are you dreaming that I’ll pick you up, set you on the counter and have my way with you?”
“I’m not.” That was true, at least about the last. She hadn’t even thought of it; now images began to fill her mind. She clenched her legs. She could not let him do this to her, not again.
Not that she thought he had the power to do anything she didn’t wish. No, the problem was that, no matter what her mind was saying, her body was screaming exactly what it wanted. Clay. Right now.
“Don’t lie,” he said.
“I’m not lying. I’ve never had sex in a bathroom, and I’m not going to start now.”
“You’ve been missing out. Wait. You’ve never had shower sex?”
Instantly she could picture him naked, wet and glistening. Her fingernails dug into her palms. “I’ve never had sex in a public restroom.”
He smirked.
Deep breath in. “And,” she added, “you’ve managed to move the conversation far from where it began. You haven’t fully explained about Lydia and why you were having sex with me if you were dating her.”
He held her gaze. “She was always available to hook up but we certainly never talked about being exclusive. If she hoped for more, I’m quite sure that had something to do with my wallet.”
“And your tongue.” The words flew from her mouth before her brain could catch up.
His eyes widened. “My tongue?”
Shit. “She may have mentioned it when she didn’t know I was here.”
“You were eavesdropping?”
“Do you normally announce your presence when you’re in a stall?”
He laughed, the mood shifting. “I can’t say that I do. Still, my tongue?” It was impossible to miss his suppressed laughter.
“Yes. She mentioned you were quite skilled with it.” She turned to look at herself in the mirror. It was hard to mistake the red in her cheeks.
“And what do you think?”
How did she keep losing control of the conversation? “I think I don’t talk about such things even with my dear friends and certainly not with you.”
He stepped closer. “I seem to remember that you liked my tongue.”
She closed her eyes. It was impossible not to remember his tongue behind her knee, moving up her thigh, working hard at her clit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “We are not going to go there.”
“I believe we’ve already been there. If it makes you feel better, I quite like your tongue, too. Sometimes I still feel it in my mouth or drawing a long line up my—”
“I said we were not going to go there. Now, I believe I was in the process of leaving. As I said, I’m getting a migraine.” Only she wasn’t anymore. Her head was remarkably ache free—if anything was aching, it was her…No. No. Not going to think that way.
She turned back to the door.
“Let me walk you to your car, at least. Those diamonds in your ears are probably worth enough to buy a car or two or three. And I can loan you my coat, unless you’re planning to go back for yours? It is chilly out there.”
“I haven’t called for the car yet. There is no need for you to wait with me. I’ll be fine.”
“There is every need, and if you haven’t called yet, that means you’ll be alone even longer.”
She bit down on her lip. “If I let you, will you then let me leave in peace?”
“Of course.”
Jordan didn’t trust him, but she also wanted this done with. The longer they were here, the more likely it was that somebody else would need to use the ladies’ room. She was hardly going to cram into a stall with him, but she also couldn’t imagine the talk if she was found hiding out with him. “Fine. Follow me. I don’t want to go back to the party. The guard will let me into the back corridor, and then we can go out one of the side doors.”
“Lead on,” he replied.
* * *
—
He’d never been in an empty museum before, not that this one was truly empty. The marble foyer was full of guests and Jordan strode before him, the blue silk of her gown shimmering in the faint light. But it certainly felt empty, dark and mysterious, with many black doorways leading off the faintly lit corridor.
“Damn,” she said.
He turned his head. “What?”
She lifted hers from her phone. “The car’s stuck in traffic, something about a water main.”
He turned his head away to hide his smile. Sometimes the fates truly were on his side. “Should we go back to the party?” he asked, knowing that she would say no.
“Perhaps I’ll wait outside,” she answered.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll wait with you.”
She took another step along the hallway, her round hips swaying beneath the silk. God, he wanted to fuck her again.
Stopping, she turned and looked into one of the empty galleries. “Maybe we should look around for a few minutes. There’s nothing like seeing it empty, even if only the security lights are on.” She stepped in.
“I can’t believe they leave you alone here.”
“It’s amazing what a donation of a few multimillion-dollar pieces of artwork will do.” She shrugged. “Mark’s will was quite generous, and I was never much for abstract expressionists. I confess it’s one of the few perks of his lifestyle I still fully take advantage of, the private tours and after-hours visits.”
She smiled and walked farther into the gallery, a rebuilt Egyptian temple. He vaguely remembered being here on a school trip. He had to admit it had been a good decade since he’d been here for anything but a fundraiser.
“I’ve always liked this room, the sense of history.” She spun in a slow circle. “It’s like stepping back in time. I can imagine a much simpler world.”
He understood what she meant, even if he’d never been so fanciful. “Do you think life was ever simple?”
She turned to look at him, her hazel gaze holding his own. “I do. No, I don’t believe it was ever simple, but simpler, yes. I think the more the world has expanded, the more there is to worry about. Although I guess I don’t have to worry about my babies—not that I have any—being sacrificed to a pagan god.”
He turned and looked around the room, at the gray stone walls. There was not an altar, as such, but at her words, his mind created a picture of her lying spread across cold stone. “It’s not babies I’d be sacrificing.”
“What?” Then he saw comprehension fill her.
He stepped closer, let the heat of her body surround him. He reached out, trailed a finger down a delicate cheek. She did not pull away. Her eyes grew dark. He should not have been able to see so clearly in the dim light, but everything about her stood out clearly.
He felt her stop breathing, felt time stop moving. His head lowered, inch by inch. She did not pull away. Their lips touched. Soft. Gentle. Sweet. He waited. She did not move beyond the slightest shiver.
He stepped closer; they were barely separated. Her perfume surrounded him. Flowers and vanilla filled his nostrils. He’d missed her. It had only been a week, but until this moment he had not realized how empty he’d felt.
He pressed his lips harder. Hers opened beneath his. His tongue swept in, delicacy and sweetness forgotten. This was victory. This was conquest. He was the Roman general with his foreign queen.
She held herself stiff, still not moving. He pushed even more. His tongue demanding.
And she submitted.
He felt her give way, felt her surrender, not to him, but to herself.
Still, the only thing touching was their lips—and the occasional brush of noses. He wanted to speed things along but sensed this was not the moment to push her. He moved his lips against hers, let his tongue play as it desired, enjoyed the taste of her, the crisp taste of gin and a flavor that was all her.
His dick was stiff against his leg, eager and willing. He wanted to push her against the wall, to yank up that gown, to feel her wetness, her warmth, to know that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
She was breathing heavy now, each deep inhale pushing her breasts against him, not hard, but enough to make his eager dick press even more. He let one hand slide lower, lightly slipping about her to cup her ass, plump and firm. Women were so gorgeous. No, Jordan was so gorgeous.
There had never been anybody like her.
That was almost enough to slow him. Nobody like her. That was far too dangerous a thought.
Instead, he pulled her tighter, needing more, his fingers beginning to gather up her skirt, needing to be under it.
Her hands reached up, tangling in his hair, holding him firmly. It pulled slightly, but the edge of pain only added to his excitement. He could have swallowed her whole.
If she didn’t swallow him first. Somewhere he’d lost control of the kiss, and she’d grabbed the reins tight. Now it was her tongue that searched his mouth, running over the sensitive line between teeth and gum, sweeping along his inner cheeks, and tangling with his tongue in a dance as old as humanity.
His hips pressed forward, grinding against her, granting him relief while torturing him further.
Fuck, he was going to come before things even began if he wasn’t careful. He needed to slow this down, to take more care—for both their sakes.
Instead, his other hand found her shoulder and the thin piece of fabric holding the gown up. He slid it over the curve and down, needing to feel her flesh. The dress did not fall completely, but he slipped his fingers under, skating up below the curve of her breast and teasing the tight nipple.
She moaned into his mouth, her head falling back.
And the reins were his again.
He squeezed his fingers, and her body trembled. And so did his.
He pulled away, staring down at her, head back, long white throat exposed, the upper curves of creamy breasts, the arched spine, the blue silk hiding and revealing at the same time. She really could have been a sacrifice to the gods. Keeping his eyes on her, he lowered his lips to her throat, nibbling at the delicate flesh.
She arched farther. Another low moan.
His hand reluctantly moved from her ass to her lower back, supporting her. Her breasts pushed hard against the silk, the fabric barely clinging to cover her left nipple.
His mouth watered even as his lips trailed down her throat, nibbling and tasting. Sweet. So sweet. He’d never really considered the flavor of a woman’s skin beyond salt and perfume, but there was something about Jordan that drew him on, made him want to sample and savor.
He couldn’t wait to lock his lips about her nipple, but he also couldn’t bear to move from this perfect spot at the base of her neck. His tongue swirled and tasted, her body quivering in response.
He forced himself onward, up the graceful curve of softest skin. He let his mouth slide over the silk, sucking her nipple deep through the fabric, using his tongue to push it against her, feeling her jerk as the fabric gently abraded
. Deeper, deeper he pulled, his lips spread wide.
He let his teeth touch her, let her feel their threat and then pulled away.
He might need to taste, but he also needed to see—and the damp fabric let him see every bump. He blinked, fixing the image in his mind for later. She was his. His.
Her head rose slightly, her eyes blurred with pleasure. Her hands had fallen to her sides, but now she lifted them. Lightly caressing his cheek, a soft gesture, but still filled with passion and need.
He looked up, glanced about, slipped his hands to her hips, then lifted her and backed her into one of the gray stone pillars.
She shivered. “Brrr, cold.”
He started to move her away, but she stopped him. Smiled, lips lush and pink.
He bent in for another kiss, and suddenly nothing else mattered. Their teeth clicked. A gentle giggle. Then she pushed against him, and he pressed back, settling her against the pillar. One hand slipped to her hip, gathering her skirt. He reached up, tugged at the other side of her dress. He needed to see her. His mind was filled with the picture of her breasts as she lay spread on his bed, but that was not enough. His eyes needed to see her. Now.
He tugged and pulled. A small tearing sound and at last she was bare above the waist.
He could hardly breathe. His memory was crap. She was beyond all he had recalled. Perfection and more. Dainty shadowed tips he knew to be rosy red. Enough to fill his hands—and his mouth.
Wishing he could see all of her, but unwilling to step away, he bent his head and licked one hard tip.
That shiver.
Another lick.
That tremor.
His tongue circled the left nipple. Moved over to the right.
Her whole body was stiff with tension, she arched, offering herself to him, breasts thrusting forward, as eager for his touch as he was to taste.
Still, he held back, prolonging the moment.
