More than Fashion

4

“Los Angeles? Sounds glamorous.”

I had to laugh at that. “Not really.”

“I’m from London. Well, Mum’s from Wales and Dad’s from the States, but that’s where I grew up.”

“I can tell from the accent. But you talk too much.” Enough chit-chat. It was obvious he wanted me, and I wasn’t exactly being coy either.

He gave a sharp laugh. “No one’s told me that before. I thought Americans loved the accent.”

“Oh, we do.” I played with his shirt, inching up his chest with my fingers. “But what I want to do? Doesn’t involve talking.”

“Is that so?” He rested the hand with the rose tattoo on my thigh, his fingers dipping under the hem of my skirt. “What is it you want to do, then?”

I gripped his shirt’s collar, pulling him down to my mouth. Our lips touched with a fierce heat that sent warmth through my entire body. A little moan escaped me as his tongue met mine and stroked it slowly. He tasted of rum and coke, bitter and sweet, spicy and smooth.

“That,” I said, “is what I want to do. And a lot more.”

CHAPTER TWO

His gray eyes stared into mine, as though trying to search out all my secrets. “Tell me your name.”

“No names,” I repeated.

He claimed me in a deep kiss, hands gripping my hips and possessing my body right there in the middle of the bar. That familiar numbness washed over me, blocking out every worry, every thought other than this moment with him. Yes, this was exactly what I’d been aching for all night. Or, at least, this was a good start.

“Let’s go to my room,” I begged, breathing faster, heart pounding, my entire body warm from the alcohol and his touch. I wanted him now. Without all those clothes on. Or maybe with those clothes on. That would be hot, too. I could just unzip his pants, yank up my skirt, and let him have his way with me…

He gave me a slow smile, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. He paid the bartender for both our drinks, and while we waited, I ran a dark red nail up and down his neck until he shivered. He grabbed my hand and slipped my finger into his mouth, sucking on it with sinful eyes that promised me more to come. I sighed, desire burning through me, wishing we could hurry it up and get to my room already.

We left the bar and stumbled across the hotel lobby to the elevator. Or at least, I stumbled, from a combination of all those martinis and my tall heels. But every time I swayed, he held me with those tattooed arms and firm hands, and I didn’t mind one bit.

The elevator doors shut, and we were alone. He pinned me back against the mirrored wall, hands pressed to the glass on either side of my head, caging me with his body and his intense gaze.

“Tell me your name,” he demanded again in that sexy accent.

“No names.” I began unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’ve already told you mine.”

“I’ve already forgotten,” I lied.

I buried my mouth in the spot of skin I uncovered below his collarbone, tasting him there. He groaned and pressed his firm body against me, and I wanted, wanted, wanted. One of my legs went up around him, and he caressed my thigh, dipping under my skirt, inching closer and closer along my bare skin.

“I have to call you something,” he said into my neck, nipping and kissing in a way that made my head spin. And made the room spin. Had he said something? I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was the feel of his lips on my neck and his fingers on my thigh and the aching between my legs.

We tumbled out of the elevator and onto my floor. I tripped on the carpet as we walked to my room and lost one of my heels, which made me giggle. He picked the lost shoe up and dangled it in front of me with a grin. I kicked off the other shoe, and he snatched that one up, too.

Barefoot and laughing, I scampered down the hall to find my room. What was the number again? I soon found the right door, but then I couldn’t locate the keycard in my purse. He came up behind me, holding my heels in one hand, looking impossibly sexy with his shirt half-unbuttoned. His fitted black jeans hung low on his hips, hugging his long, lean legs, and his hair was messy from me running my fingers through it.

Forget the room. I pushed him against my door and kissed him there in the hotel hallway. Hard. Intense. Sliding my body against his. He wanted me. I could feel the evidence of it pressed against my stomach. My hand fumbled at his waist, seeking the front of his jeans. No one would notice if we did a little something right here…

He took my hand, stopping me. “Let’s go inside first.”

Oh, fine. I redoubled my search for the key and then remembered—aha! I’d shoved it in my bra. Totally his fault. If he’d been going to town on that area, we would have found it already. I pulled the card out of my breasts triumphantly and shoved it into the slot. Or tried, anyway. It took me three attempts before I finally got it open. Okay, maaaaybe I’d had a little too much to drink tonight.

He followed me into the room, dropping my shoes on a side table. I tried to reach for him, but he walked all the way in to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Maybe he was suddenly nervous or something. I’d seen that before. I’d pick up a guy in a bar, and they’d seem all gung-ho to get in my pants, then panic as soon as they got to my room. I’d have to give him a little help.