by Virna DePaul
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Dara Brennan.”
“Dara. That’s pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m Alder. Now, are you ready for me to collect my fee?”
Dara had been leaning back against the elevator wall, her arms relaxed at her sides, but at his words, she straightened. “More than ready,” she said, her voice thick with anticipation.
He stepped right up to her. Braced his hands on either side of her head.
Then waited until she stood on tiptoes before he bent down slightly and kissed her. Instantly, he knew this kiss was going to be more than worth whatever he was going to have to do to earn it.
Her lips were as soft as silk. He placed his hands on her waist, noting how she sighed and immediately threaded her arms around his neck. All the blood from his head was in his pants now and damn, he wished she was sober because then this kiss could be a prelude to much more. When she pressed herself against him, he groaned at the feel of her soft curves. He pressed his tongue against the seam of her lips and gently demanded entrance. She gave it to him, and he kissed her deeply for several seconds before pulling back slightly.
“You taste like peaches,” he said. “And I love peaches.” Then he dropped his head and kissed her again. He cupped her face this time, but he’d barely started to taste her before the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
When he pulled back, her cheeks were flushed and her pink lips were bright red. “I’m not sure who’s paying who here.”
Alder grinned and led her out of the elevator with his arm still around her. “Maybe we can discuss that when the party’s over.” Maybe by then she’ll have sobered up, he thought hopefully. Then again, they were going to a bachelorette party, so he told himself not to get his hopes high, even when she sighed and said, “Maybe we can.”
CHAPTER TWO
Dara was only working on her third drink of the night, but maybe she was more intoxicated than she’d thought. Sipping her mojito—she hadn’t been in charge of the drinks; if she had been, she would have served Bushmills 21 Year Single Malt Irish Whiskey, a favorite of hers when she’d worked at her father’s pub–she watched as the man she’d picked up in the lobby smiled like he’d been stripping for years and years. He appeared completely comfortable in front of a crowd, even one made up of the dozen wild women crammed into the hotel suite to attend Megan’s bachelorette party. R&B music played in the background, setting the mood.
“Ladies,” the man—Alder was his name, Dara remembered—said with a laconic drawl that sent shivers down her spine. “How are we this evening?” He turned toward Megan, dressed in the requisite bachelorette veil and holding the I’M GETTING MARRIED goblet in her hand. “You must be the lucky bride.”
Megan giggled, which made Dara’s eyeballs almost fall out of her head. Megan never giggled—she was an accountant, just like Stuart, and for all her talk of wanting a lap dance from a sexy stripper, she never wore any color wilder than navy, and she thought tax season was exciting. But now, plied with plenty of alcohol, she acted like a teenager with her first crush.
Or maybe it wasn’t the alcohol at all.
Maybe it was just Alder’s sheer magnetism.
God knew she’d felt mesmerized from the moment she’d first seen him. He was larger than life. Big of frame, yes, with his muscles and tattoos, but it was more than that. He had an energy about him, too, one that screamed vitality and boldness and pure sex appeal. He was confident without taking himself too seriously, and though Dara had once dated another man with that appealing characteristic, even Irish wastrel Conor O’Neill had never inspired the butterflies Dara felt when looking at Alder.
“Yep, that’s me. Gettin’ married,” Megan replied. Reaching out, she traced a finger down Alder’s abdomen. “But not for a few days, you know.”
He caught her roving hand. “Ah ah ah, you know the rules. You can watch, but not touch.” But he said it with a light laugh, and Dara could see Megan blushing, starry-eyed.
Dara took another long drink of her mojito. And then when Alder lowered himself so he was on his knees in front of the bride-to-be, Dara slugged her mojito so fast she felt a little dizzy afterward. Everything felt fuzzy, warm, but when she looked at Alder, a frisson of heat trailed down her spine and her mind crackled with vivid memories of their conversation in the elevator.
“Are you ready for me to collect my fee?”
Dara tipped her head up, her back to the elevator wall. He was so much taller than her: masculine and hard and confident. Dark eyes and dark hair, eyelashes so long and dusky they were patently unfair, and she could see his rippling muscles underneath his cotton T-shirt. Desire pooled low in her belly. “More than ready.”
When she straightened from the elevator wall, he walked up to her and braced his thick, muscular arms on either side of her. Caging her in. Making her feel trapped and free all at the same time. When he didn’t kiss her, she stood on her tiptoes, encouraging him.
Wanting him.
And sighing with pleasure when his lips touched hers.
“Take your shirt off!” Anne shouted from the corner.
Dara shook off the memory, suddenly forced back into the present with a jolt.
“Yeah, take your shirt off!” the three other bridesmaids called out, giggling like schoolgirls at their antics.
Alcohol flowed freely, and everyone here was either drunk or getting there very quickly. Most of these women were career women or stay-at-home moms but tonight, they wanted to let their “freak flags fly”—as Anne had called it—and as Dara watched Alder, she had to agree.
Thank God for letting the freak flag fly.
Alder’s mouth tilted at the corners. He stood slowly, his crotch only a foot from Megan’s face, and the women hooted. He stepped back—but only to reach down, take hold of the hem of his shirt, and slowly, slowly, slowly, strip it off of his torso. Inch by inch, he revealed the tanned deliciousness of his stomach, his rippling abs with a light trail of hair dovetailing into his jeans. Then he bared his pecs, more hair dusting his chest, and he flexed as he pulled his shirt off.
Dara gripped her mojito glass until she had to loosen her fingers, fearing she’d break it. God, he was yummy. That was the only word that came to mind: like a chocolate sundae in human flesh, she wanted to eat him up and lick the bowl afterward. She blushed at the thought—what had come over her?—but when he tossed his shirt at Megan, Dara wasn’t the only one hollering.
That’s when “Pony” by Ginuwine came on, and Dara had to laugh out loud. God, could this night get any more ridiculous? But she hadn’t had this much fun in a long time.
She hadn’t had sex in an even longer time.
She’d dated Conor after he and his brother Quinn had first moved from Ireland to her hometown of Forestville, California, but after they’d broken up over nine months ago, she’d been busy helping her parents adjust to a life in which they no longer ran the tavern they’d sold to the O’Neill boys. Then she’d enrolled in hospitality school in San Francisco, thinking that living in the city would be a nice change of pace, but to her surprise she’d hated it. She’d always been an adventurous girl, but it turned out she’d missed small town life. Maybe it was the Irish in her, but she’d been unwilling to exchange green hills and community for skyscrapers or the hustle and bustle of the city.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t enjoying the heck out of her time in Vegas, and right now that had a lot to do with the hunky fighter teasing her friends. She laughed again at seeing how much fun Megan was having. But her laugh quickly turned into a stifled moan when Alder began dancing, twisting his hips and thrusting subtly. The dance—despite the music and the…thrusting—managed to stay on the sexy side, without going full-on raunchy. Dara’s body heated as she watched him: he sidled up to Megan, bending down low until they were face-to-face, before straightening while undulating his lower body. Sensuous and seductive. His dark eyes flashed at th
e female response around him, and he played up his sexiness to the nth degree.
Once again, her mind went to their time in the elevator.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Dara Brennan,” she breathed.
“Dara,” he repeated, his tongue seeming to caress the name. “That’s pretty.”
“Thank you.”
He stared at her, taking in her face. His eyes roved, and she shivered at the onslaught. He seemed so intense. And intent. Like he wanted to memorize every detail about her to take home with him later.
Dara swallowed hard and couldn’t help wishing that she and Alder were alone and that he was dancing only for her.
As Alder backed away from Megan again, continuing to dance, Dara realized with a jolt that he was looking straight at her. His eyes were dark, and there seemed to be a slight flush on his sharp cheekbones. The music and the hollering drifted away, and it was as if they were the only two people in the room. He twisted his hips and drifted his hands down his torso, just brushing the top of his belt. But she got the message, and images of them in bed together flooded her mind. Slow and sensual, that tiger’s smile on his face, as he touched her with languid, unbearable strokes.
She closed her eyes, finishing off her drink. She didn’t know if it was the alcohol, or the memory of their kiss, or her vivid fantasies, or a combination of all three, but she felt like she was floating. Heat zipped through her body from head to toe. When she opened her eyes again, Alder still watched her, like she was prey he wanted to pounce on the moment he had a chance.
He pressed his mouth to hers, and she moaned before he even moved his lips. He tasted like beer, and his stubble scraped at her chin. He didn’t go slowly—no, he gently thrust his tongue inside her mouth, licking and stroking, and she had to grab onto his upper arms to stay upright.
He pulled back slightly. “You taste like peaches,” he murmured. “And I love peaches.”
He lowered his head to kiss her again, his hands cupping her face, smoothing his thumbs against her cheeks. Sensation swamped her, she was a pure ball of it, but at the lurch and stop of the elevator he pulled away.
She’d wanted to shout out in frustration.
Command that he keep kissing her, without a care for who might see them.
The song changed, and a few of the girls were refilling their drinks at the bar. Alder leaned down, his mouth against her ear.
“You sitting here, biting your lip, makes me want another payment.”
She sucked in a breath. Her body trembled, and it was all she could do not to turn and kiss him again. Then he kissed her ear very lightly, touching the lobe with the tip of his tongue, before he moved away.
Thinking of all the ways she could pay him, Dara reached for another drink, hoping it would cool her down.
It didn’t.
If anything, it acted like an accelerant, fanning the fires of her desire for Alder, and filling her head with visions of everything she wanted to do for him, and everything she wanted him to do for her.
Starting with him stripping completely naked and doing another dance for her, this one for her eyes (and mouth and tongue and hands) only.
CHAPTER THREE
“You saved my life.”
Dara clung to Alder’s arm as he walked her to her hotel room. When she leaned into him to thank him, he breathed in the fresh floral scent of her hair. The party had finally fizzled out since most of the ladies had been drinking all day. Dara was over her own limit and Alder hadn’t wanted her wandering around the resort on her own.
He grinned. “You might be exaggerating just a little bit. I didn’t even take off my pants.”
“Your arms and chest were enough. The girls loved you. That little thing you did with your hips was…” She pulled away, swiveled her hips to demonstrate, and almost careened into the wall. Alder caught her.
“Careful there.”
She just laughed. He liked the sound of it, sweet and melodious. As a matter of fact, he was finding a lot about her that he liked since they’d met downstairs only a few hours ago. She was gorgeous and he couldn’t stop thinking about how her lips had felt pressed into his. She was also bold, with a fun-loving nature. He’d love to have her in his bed, but not like this. She was too drunk to consent and although he’d been accused of being a man-whore more than once in his life, he had scruples. Dara wasn’t making it easy on him though. She gripped his shirt as he held her up, her beautiful green eyes shining under the bright lights in the hallway. It was taking everything he had not to kiss her again.
“Your arms and chest feel as good as they look.” She kneaded his bicep and he imagined what it would feel like to have those soft hands on other parts of his body.
She’s way too drunk, he reminded himself.
He straightened her so she was firmly on her own two feet again. “Come on now and let’s get you to bed.”
“Will you do a private show for me?”
“What?”
“Strip for me. I want to see what you didn’t show us at the party.”
He laughed. “You do know I’m not really a stripper, right?”
She smiled seductively and pressed her palms into his chest. Letting her fingers lightly trace the muscles there she said, “You don’t have to be a professional to impress me. Your show already left me wanting more.”
Feeling every word she was saying in the erection that had been steadily pulsing in his pants all night, he said, “You want to watch me swivel my hips again?”
“Mm hmm, but without pants this time.” She stood on her toes and got closer to his face. He told himself he was holding her closer to keep her from falling over. “I’ll even pay you upfront,” she whispered.
She looked like she wanted to eat him up and it sent shivers down his spine. He’d had countless women check him out over the years thanks to a career where shirts weren’t part of the uniform, but with Dara it actually felt like her sexy green eyes were touching him.
His self-control was waning and he slid closer to her, trapping her between his hard body and the wall. He heard her sharp intake of breath and he let his lips lightly slide across hers.
God, kissing her is incredible. I could do this all night.
When her tongue lightly traced the outline of his lips, he opened his mouth, and she didn’t hesitate. Alder loved it.
He wrapped his fingers up in her silky dark hair and encouraged her by holding her head in place so their mouths stayed firmly connected. He was thinking once again about how badly he wanted to make love to her. When he realized he was suddenly thinking of it as “making love” he mentally recoiled. He’d never thought about sex as “making love.” What was this woman doing to him?
A moan escaped him when she began to lightly suck on his lower lip. She gave it a soft nip and then her warm tongue was back in his mouth like an invasion, taking what she wanted. His head felt like it was about to explode. But as sweet as she tasted, he could also taste the alcohol she’d been drinking all night, and that caused him to pull back.
She stuck her bottom lip out in an adorable pout. “You don’t like kissing me?”
“I don’t just like it, I love it. But you’ve been drinking, and we need to get you into bed.”
“Mmm, that sounds promising,” she said with a wicked smile.
God, she was killing him.
Laughing softly again he said, “We’re going to tuck you in all alone and when you wake up in the morning, if you’re still in the mood, you can call me.”
When they arrived at her door, she took her key card out and slid it through the little slot. It took her three tries to get it right, then she pressed down on the door handle and leaned into it. It opened and once again Alder had to catch her to keep her from falling down. This time when he wrapped his arms around her, she pressed her chest into him. He could feel her hard nipples through her blouse as they pressed up against his chest.
With more self-control than he ever thought he posse
ssed, he peeled her off and closed the hotel door. Then he took her by the hand and led her over to the bed. He turned his back to her to pull down the covers and when he looked back up she’d stripped off her blouse and was standing in front of him in a sheer lace bra that did nothing to hide her hard, dark nipples. He tried to swallow but there was no moisture left in his mouth. She reached back to unhook the bra and that’s when he reacted. He grabbed her arms gently and lowered them to her sides. “I think that’ll do,” he said. “Go ahead and lay down.”
She stood on her toes, her mouth so close to his he could almost taste her. “You lie down first and I’ll climb on top.”
He groaned. Taking her by the shoulders he guided her down to the bed.
When he straightened, however, she whimpered. “You’re really going to leave me here all alone?”
He opened his mouth and nothing came out but a croak. While he was trying to clear the frog from his throat, she cupped his erection through his pants. He jumped back and the sound that came out of him then sounded like a thirteen-year-old boy.
He closed his eyes. Groaned. And despite his best intentions, arched his hips to relish more of her touch. Then he forced himself to step back. “You’re going to kill me. I have to go.”
“Please don’t leave me. Please?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “Okay, tell you what,” he said in a shaky voice he didn’t recognize. “If you promise to abide by my no nookie rule and go to sleep, I’ll stay with you. If you still have fun on your mind in the morning, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” She smiled then stood, unzipping her skirt. She let it fall to the floor, leaving her in a thong that matched her bra. “Take off your clothes, too,” she said. “That way they’ll be out of the way when we wake up.” He watched her lie down and turn her back to him, and he’d never wanted to touch anyone so badly in his life.