by Sybil Bartel
“I’m still waiting.” He caressed my arm.
Gooseflesh raced up my skin and tickled my neck. “For?”
“The punch line after your admission.”
He was so much more mature than I had been at his age. “This isn’t a joke.”
“It’s just a turn of phrase. I’m being serious.”
“There’s not a single part of you that’s concerned about our age difference or that I have an eighteen-year-old daughter who dates men older than you?”
“No.”
No idea what to say or do next, I asked the last thing I should have. “What do you want from me?”
He gently caressed my cheek. “How honest of an answer do you want?”
My body stilled, but my nerves pinged around in heated anticipation. “All the way honest,” I dared.
Closing the mere inches of space between us, he grasped my hip and his huge, muscular body curved around me as his fingers threaded into my hair. Tilting my head, bringing his lips to my ear, he whispered, “I want to take you upstairs and fuck you until your voice is hoarse from saying my name. Then I want to keep you up all night, making love to every inch of your sweet body until you fall asleep in my arms from sheer exhaustion. When you wake up, I want to look in your eyes and see a smile I put there.”
My whole body shivered as his mouth covered the soft flesh below my ear, and he swirled his tongue.
“And I am going to make you smile, sweetheart.” He took my ear between his teeth. “Right after I make you scream.”
I never had a chance.
“Take me upstairs,” I begged.
“TAKE ME UPSTAIRS,” SHE WHISPERED.
I didn’t hesitate. Grasping her hand, I led her down the hall, across the lobby and to the elevators. The woman at the front desk looked surprised, and a dick in a suit stared at Fallon as we passed.
I didn’t give a shit about any of it.
My heart was beating out of my fucking chest, and I was praying she didn’t change her mind.
Her gaze averted, she kept her hand in mine and stepped onto the elevator.
I swiped the room key and pressed the button for the top floor.
The doors slid shut, and she glanced up at me, looking nervous as hell. “You already had a room?”
“Do you really want to know the answer to that?”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Do you live in Miami?”
“Yes.”
“Yes,” she countered. “I want to know.”
I told her the truth. “I got the room while you were in the restroom.”
Her eyes widened. “You—” She stopped talking as the elevator doors opened.
Not letting go of her hand, I led her down the hall, but before I opened the door to the suite, I stopped and turned toward her. “Listen, sweetheart, this night is all you. No pressure. No expectations. Understand? Where this goes is up to you.” She was so damn shy, I felt like any sudden move could scare her.
Inhaling, she averted her eyes. Then she shocked the hell out of me. “Maybe I don’t want it to be all up to me.”
“Fallon, look at me.” I wasn’t going to screw this up. No damn way.
Hesitant, she looked up.
Holding only her hand, I purposely didn’t touch her anywhere else. “I’m not sure what that means.”
Her cheeks flamed, and I got it.
I smiled. “I’m not asking you to take the lead, darlin’.” My expression sobered. “I’m talking about consent.”
“I already asked you to take me upstairs.”
“That you did, and I’m thrilled as hell, but I’m just checking in again, understand?” I didn’t want her regretting a damn second with me.
“Understood.”
I rubbed my thumb over the back of her hand, then I asked again, because goddamn, I still couldn’t believe it. “You want to join me for the night?”
This time, she didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
I fucking smiled. Then I swiped the room key.
The door unlocked, and I pushed it open. “After you.”
Pulling her hand out of my grasp, she gracefully moved past me like the model she once was and strode into the suite.
The nighttime Miami skyline framed every perfect inch of her as she walked to the windows.
Closing the door, I threw the safety latch and hit a light, glancing around the spacious suite. “Drink?”
Turning, she looked at me. “How does a bodyguard afford this?”
Shit. “Did I say I was a bodyguard?”
“You said you work in security.”
Opening the fridge in the galley kitchen, I pulled out two waters, and for a second, I contemplated fessing the fuck up about the past five years before I shut that shit down. I didn’t talk about working for the cartel, not with anyone. I’d made bank, and I’d socked that shit away where the IRS couldn’t find it. I had the kind of breathing room seven figures in an offshore account could afford you, but that’s where my security ended if I ever opened my mouth about any of it.
Walking toward her, I offered her a water. “Would it bother you if I was a bodyguard?”
“No.” She took the water.
The second of hesitation before she answered told a different story. Buying myself a moment, wondering how much to tell her, wondering how much she would hate me if I said nothing about her daughter until tomorrow, I opened the water and drank.
Then I decided to give her a partial truth. “I made money in a different field before working security.” I half smiled at her. “I can afford the suite, sweetheart.”
“I wasn’t trying to offend you.”
No, she was busting my balls about my age again. Which, fine, I fucking got it. I wasn’t her prick of an ex. I didn’t own a company, and I wasn’t thirty years her senior.
Standing next to her, staring out at the view, I changed the subject. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Pardon?”
I spared her a glance. “Favorite color.”
She frowned. “Green.”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, darlin’.” Grass, trees, open fields—green was my favorite color too. “Favorite day of the week?”
She looked up at me, but I kept my gaze straight ahead. Holding her water, she looked back at the skyline. “Monday.”
“Really?”
She stood perfectly still. “Yes.”
“Why?” She was more intriguing by the minute.
“It’s the start of a fresh week.”
“I admire your perspective, sweetheart.” But I didn’t like the stiffness to her shoulders. “Favorite movie?”
“I don’t watch many movies.”
I didn’t either. “Favorite TV show?”
Relaxing marginally, she shrugged. “I don’t watch much television either.”
“Favorite pastime then.”
“Reading.”
Books. It suited her. “Favorite book?” I didn’t tell her I liked to read.
“Listing only one would be like asking a mother of multiple children who her favorite child is.”
I smiled because I got it. “Fair enough. Favorite season.”
“Winter.”
“Here in Miami or where you grew up?” I couldn’t remember the name.
“In Marstrand.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted.
“Rock or country?”
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Music,” I clarified.
“Jazz.”
She was so fucking out of my league. “Favorite thing to do on a rainy day?”
She turned and looked at me like I was crazy. “Seriously?”
Gorgeous eyes, perfect lips, soft skin—goddamn I wanted to put my mouth on her again. “Yeah. Rainy day?” It was taking an act of God not to touch her.
“Stay inside and make pannkakor,” she rattled off the answer like she was irritated.
I fought a smile. I liked her this way. “Pannkakor?”
“Swedish pancakes, like a crepe, with jam inside.”
“Sounds good.” With half a smile, I winked. “You gonna make them for me one day?”
“I…” Closing her mouth, she pressed her lips together. “I don’t know.”
She was lying. “You don’t want to share another meal with me?” She knew. She just didn’t want to say it. She was looking at tonight as a one-off.
Her hands twisted. “Look, I don’t—”
I cut her off. “We’ll come back to that.” I wasn’t gonna let her slam on the brakes at the possibility of more, not yet. “Favorite thing to do on a sunny day?”
Pulling her lips into her sweet mouth once before releasing them, she inhaled and the determined look spread across her face again. “Swim.”
Fuck, I’d love to have her naked and wet in my arms. “Ocean or pool?”
More relaxed again, she shrugged. “Either.”
I threw in a wild card question. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”
“Ridden, no. Sat on one, yes.”
It was my turn to look confused. “How do you sit on a horse and not ride it?”
She turned back to the view. “When you’re posing for a picture.”
“Fair enough.” I steered the next question away from her modeling career. “Favorite childhood memory.” I was fucked if she asked mine.
“Watching my father pilot the ferry that carried visitors to Marstrand.” She paused, then added, “He is deceased now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shrugged, and I catalogued all of it. Her answers, her body language, her expressions. I filed it away for a rainy day. Pulling out my cell phone, I brought up a music subscription app and set it to a classic jazz station before placing my phone in a docking station by the TV.
Soft jazz filled the suite, and I turned to her, reaching for her water and the purse she was still clutching under her arm. “May I?”
A single tip of her chin and she released her hold on both. “You put music on.”
“I did.” I set them on the side table, then took her hand.
She looked up at me. “It’s jazz.”
“It is.”
“Do you pay attention to everything I say?”
“I do.” How could I not?
“What now?” she blurted out nervously.
“Come sit with me.” I led her to the couch.
She sat. Properly. Ass barely touching the cushion, ankles crossed, hands clasped in her lap.
I took my keys, wallet and phone out of my pocket and tossed them on the coffee table. Then I sat down next to her and picked her ankles up.
She let out a surprised breath as I put her feet on my lap.
“Shoes are coming off, sweetheart.” I grasped first one high-as-fuck heel and pulled it off, then went after the other.
Like a child, she wiggled her narrow feet.
“Better?” Her painted pink toenails were fucking cute.
Shy, demure, she nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Still holding her legs on my lap, I kicked off my boots and leaned back. Holding one of her feet, I skimmed my other hand up her leg to her knee and took in her delicate features. Jesus, she was incredible. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
She looked out at the view. “Beauty is an accident of birth.”
“In part,” I agreed. “But I’m talking about more than that.”
Her eyes met mine again. “Are you’re trying to tell me it was my winning personality that landed me here, practically on your lap?”
I smiled. “I like you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I like your eyes.” Ignoring her comment, I ran my hand halfway up her thigh to the edge of her dress. “I like your smile.” I caressed the inside of her leg with my thumb. “I like having my mouth on yours.” I cupped the back of her neck.
“Thomas,” she whispered, letting out a sharp inhale as I stroked her soft skin.
“Yeah, baby?”
Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“This?” I stroked her thigh and neck, putting pressure on both. “Or this?” I tipped my chin at the suite.
“All of it.” Her eyes closed, and she dropped her head as I massaged her neck. “But oh my God, that feels good.”
“Come here.” Setting her legs down and turning her so her back was to me, I pushed her forward so I could get behind her.
Letting me maneuver her like she trusted me, she tucked her legs to the side and let out a deep breath.
I brushed her long, thick hair over her shoulder and started massaging her. Not gonna lie, being here with her was fucking surreal. More than that, this woman felt like she fit under my hands. She was slight and fragile as hell, but I could also feel the strength in her.
Every fantasy I’d ever had of Fallon had been playing in my head since she’d walked into the bar, but now they were going into overdrive. Her body under me, my mouth on her, taking her every damn way I could think of, all of it was rushing through my thoughts, fighting for purchase.
Sweet Jesus, I wanted this woman.
The first real woman I’d ever crushed on.
“You’re being quiet.”
Her sexy-as-hell voice, a cross between bedroom seductive and money-bred politeness, brought me out of my thoughts. “Just enjoying the moment, darlin’.”
“You use a lot of terms of endearment.”
“Do I?” I ran my hands down her back and gently kneaded at the base of her spine as I kissed her shoulder. “As gorgeous as you look in it, I could get at you better without this dress in the way, sweetheart.” Jesus, her skin smelled incredible.
Her shoulders shook with a quick, short laugh that was more of a vocal exhale. “You did it again.”
Pressing my lips to her other shoulder, acutely aware she’d avoided my comment, I slowly pushed the thin strap of her dress down. “Did what?” I knew what.
“Sweetheart, darling, woman. You use them all.”
I smiled at the way she said darlin’ as I rubbed her neck. “Say that second word again.”
“What, darling?”
I ran my hands over the soft skin of her neck and back before fingering the other strap to her dress and pushing it down. Her dress dipped, revealing the gray lace of her bra. “The way you say it sounds like those black-and-white movies on TV late at night.” I kissed the side of her neck, then whispered, “You’re the one with an accent.” Fuck, I wanted her naked.
Holding the front of her dress over her breasts so it didn’t fall, she shivered. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do, and I love your Yankee accent, darlin’. Like purebred Hollywood from films back in the day.” I ran a finger under her strapless bra.
She didn’t pull away, but her back stiffened. “Are you saying I’m old?”
I half laughed. “Have you looked in the mirror?”
She didn’t respond.
I sobered. “Never. You’re perfect.” I kissed her temple. “Every inch. Even the way you sound.”
“I first learned to speak English from old Hollywood films when I was young,” she quietly admitted, still clutching her dress in front of her.
“No shit?” I traced an invisible line across her back and under her bra.
Chill bumps raced across her skin. “No shit,” she countered.
I laughed. “Sexy, sweetheart, sexy.” I fingered the clasp of her bra. “Trust me?”
“Yes,” she answered quietly after a beat.
Covering her back with my chest, I put my arms around her. “You hesitated.”
“I’m nervous,” she admitted.
I brought my lips to her neck. “You’re beautiful.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Telling you again.” I lowered my voice. “You’re so damn beautiful.” And I was lucky as hell.
&nbs
p; She leaned closer into me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I rubbed my hands over her crossed arms. “You remember what I said in the hall?”
“Yes,” she replied quietly.
“Still stands.”
“Okay,” she said even quieter.
“I want to take this dress off of you.” I held my damn breath.
“All right,” she breathed.
Sweet fucking victory. Grasping her throat, I pushed her head back to my shoulder and covered her mouth with mine.
FIRE AND ICE.
Whiskey and summer peaches.
Dominant and sweet.
Young but confident beyond his years.
He was everything opposite and so much all at once, I didn’t know how to surface. I was drowning, but I was flying, and sensations I didn’t know I could feel were swirling haphazardly around my body like a swarm of dragonflies in summer.
His touch, my body, it was a recipe for everything I never knew I so desperately wanted.
And the anticipation was making me crazy.
Impatient, I didn’t want him to ask. I didn’t want him to make me give him permission. But at the same time, I was terrified of my emotions. I’d never felt this way around any man. Let alone someone I’d just met.
And, as if he knew my thoughts better than I knew them myself, he did ask.
He did check in.
He did everything right, and holy hell, was it sexy. He was sexy.
I may have been drowning in him, but at the same time, the relentless anxiety I felt every time I had to deal with my ex or stepdaughter was gone. I wasn’t anxious in a dreadful way. I was excited.
So very excited, I could feel the pull of his touch between my legs and low in my belly. I didn’t care that I didn’t know him or that I didn’t do this sort of thing, I wanted him.
And I wanted to show him I wanted him.
With his hand on my throat, and his kiss deep and seductive, my body responded to him as if he were the air I needed to breathe. I melted into his touch. His hard, strong arms around me, his unyielding chest at my back—it was everything I’d never had.
But it wasn’t enough.
Starved, desperate for more, I turned in his grasp. On my knees between his legs, my bra exposed, the thin spaghetti straps of my silk dress falling down my arms, I fisted his soft T-shirt.