by Bird, Peggy
His question startled her. “Do you always doubt the motives of the women who come to your room?”
“I don’t ask women back to my hotel room. Ever. I guard my reputation like it was my livelihood, which it is. So your question is moot.”
She licked her lips and saw the shadows in his eyes darken. “Okay. Then I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”
“Deal. What do you want to know?”
“Why me? Why break your rule for me?”
“Easy answer. You’re a mystery. I knew from the first time I saw you in the airport I wanted to find out more about you.”
“I guess any man would who saw a woman dressed like I was.”
“Yes, it was the way you were dressed that intrigued me but not the way you’re thinking. You looked like you were wearing a costume. Like the clothes you had on weren’t what you usually wore. You walked cautiously, like you didn’t wear those stilettos every day. And you kept pulling at your skirt as though you thought it was too short.”
“It was.” She remembered only too well how uncomfortable the damn skirt had made her.
“Not from where I was sitting, it wasn’t. There was one other thing. You don’t need these.” He picked up the glasses he’d taken from her a few minutes before, tried them on, and laughed. “Aha. As I thought. Clear glass.”
It was getting too uncomfortable for her. He was chipping away at her April Mayes persona, getting way too close to what was underneath, and she didn’t like it.
She reached for him. “We’re sitting here—well, you’re sitting, I’m lying down—naked, wasting a perfectly good bed, chatting about glasses and miniskirts. I thought you had some ideas about what you wanted to do when we got in bed.”
He gestured for her to move over, and when she did, he joined her. “I definitely do. As soon as you answer my question. Why did you agree to be here?”
She drew his mouth to hers. The kiss tingled from her mouth to her chest through her belly down to her toes. It was better than anything she’d read or written because it was happening to her, not to a fictional character. From his reaction, it was as good for him as it was for her. Breathless, she broke from the kiss. “That’s why. Did I give a good enough answer?”
He groaned. “The best.”
For a few anxious moments, she’d been afraid he was more interested in unraveling the mystery of her glasses and her clothes than he was in delivering on his promise of what he planned to do with her body. But now he was back on track. At least, the track she was interested in. She was flat on her back with all of his gorgeous muscles pinning her to the mattress while his lips thoroughly and systematically took possession of her mouth, then her throat, and finally, thank you, God, her breasts.
His hands were magic, too. While one breast was being suckled and nibbled, the other was massaged, the nipple tweaked as if to prepare it for attention from his mouth. She was close to coming only from what he was doing to her mouth and her breasts.
She opened her legs to give him a space to cradle an impressive erection. As if they had a mind of their own, her hips canted up and rubbed against him. “Oh, God, Brad. That feels so good.”
“You haven’t begun to feel good yet, lovely.”
He pushed himself up onto his elbows and began to trace a line of kisses from her breast to her navel then down to the now damp curls at the junction of her thighs. He breathed on her sex, and she thought she’d melt. When he licked open her lower lips, she did melt. Or at least she thought she had. His talented mouth licked and sucked and nibbled at her until she didn’t think she could bear it any longer.
“Please, Brad. I need you inside me.”
“Soon, lovely, soon. But first I want to watch you come like this.”
After one more suck on her now sensitive clitoris, as if he had ordered her to do so, she flew apart. The universe contracted to only what he was doing to her as she saw stars and galaxies and felt her body give up every ounce of control.
It took a few moments for her to come back to earth again. When she opened her eyes, he was beside her, stroking her hair, his breathing as ragged and rapid as hers. “That was amazing,” she said.
“Not as amazing as it’s about to get.” He reached over her and grabbed the condom. “Help me get this on.”
• • •
He wasn’t sure they were ever going to get the damn condom wrapper open. Both of them were fumbling with the thing, both still feeling the effects of the orgasm she’d had. He couldn’t remember being so shaken by a partner’s climax before, but when she’d arched her back and pulled at his hair as he tongued her clitoris, he swore he could feel the same orgasm rip through him.
When they finally got the condom on his erection, he rolled her under him, their legs tangling as she made room for his aching cock. Her hands were all over his back and shoulders as she pressed her body against him. He wanted the moment to last forever. Wanted to memorize the image of her with a flushed face, her breath coming quickly, her eager hands roaming all over his body.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice tight with desire.
“Please, please, Brad.” She was moving restlessly under him as she pleaded with him. “I want you. Now.”
He entered her slowly, carefully, not wanting to hurry even though his body was telling him to bury himself in her as deep as he could. When she gasped, he stopped moving, afraid he had hurt her. “Claire? Are you okay?”
“Oh, God, please don’t stop.” She slid her hands down his back and squeezed his ass. He was sure he’d have fingernail marks there the next day. Marks he’d be happy to have, given how incredibly hot and tight and wet she was. And how happy his cock was inside her.
He started moving again, taking long, slow strokes, pulling almost all the way out then entering her again. Then again. And again. Their bodies moved easily, slipping and sliding on the sweat they were generating as well as the wetness of her sex.
“Harder. Please.” She arched up, and he obliged, driving deeper than he thought possible. He wasn’t sure he could tell where he ended and she began.
She began to whimper and angled her hips against him. He could feel her internal muscles begin to tighten. She called his name, and he lost all control. Surging into her, he yelled, “Claire” and he let go as his orgasm ripped through him.
Chapter 8
After their second round of sex, which was even better than the first one, Brad had dozed off, but his leg was still over Claudia’s and his arm was across her chest. She lay there not sure what to do. She knew she should go back to her room. But she was sated—boneless, as romance writers inevitably described it—from the best sex she’d ever had. Never had making love been such a wild and satisfying experience. It was more like the sex she wrote about than the sex she’d actually experienced.
It must be Brad. The man was simply amazing. He knew more about what to do with his own body and hers than anyone she’d ever been with. From their first kiss, they’d clicked like lovers of long standing, not like two people who barely knew each other. Every part of their bodies had fit perfectly. Fit and functioned better than anything she’d experienced before.
Of course, she’d been different, too—wilder, freer, more passionate than ever before. Maybe inhabiting her April Mayes persona was something she should have done years ago if it gave her the chance to have the experience she’d had with Brad.
Her only regret was he had called out her fake name when he climaxed. Part of her had apparently held on to the hope he really could see through her disguise and would say “Claudia” at the right moment.
While she was sorting it out, she felt him stirring—all parts of him. Could he really be ready for round three?
“Mmm,” he began as he nuzzled her neck. “If I’d known sex with a notorious romance writer would be so good, I might have tried to track one down and seduce her before tonight.” He slid his hand up her rib cage, but before he could reach her breast, she caught it, brought it to her lip
s, and kissed it.
“Time for me to leave. I may be a notorious writer but I don’t like gossip about my personal life. And I don’t know who else is on this floor. There might be someone who’s very interested in seeing me emerge from your room in the middle of the night.”
He shook off her hand and returned to working his way up her body. “No one would be surprised, would they? Not if they’ve read anything you’ve written.”
She inched her way back toward the side of the bed. “I thought you’d never read my work.”
His hand continued its exploration as he laughed and said, “Oh, right. Busted. I’ve already confessed to that, haven’t I?”
“So you’re going on my reputation.”
“Partly. Partly hearing the panel you were on this afternoon.”
“I didn’t see you there.” She cocked her head. “Are you sure you’re not trying to convince me to make love with you again by claiming you heard me?”
“I was the first person to applaud after you put that jerk in his place, although I was disappointed you left Agatha Christie, my personal favorite, off your list of women mystery writers who have probably never murdered anyone. I almost stood up and, instead of applauding, mentioned the name of one female mystery writer who actually had killed someone. Just to see if I could throw you off.”
“Okay, you were there. And thank you for not bringing up Anne Perry.” She ran her hands over his shoulders, suddenly remembering the man in the shadows in the last row. “Were you in the back of the room, by any chance?”
“Yup. I waited for you to finish up so I could introduce myself to you, but you ran out the side door before I could grab you. I had to wait until the book signing to get you to stand still.”
Continuing to caress his shoulders, she said, “Ah, yes. I thought I recognized these. I couldn’t really see your face, only the outline of your body. But your gorgeous shoulders give you away. You must have played football in high school or college.”
“Football in high school; rugby in college. Happy they got put to good use by attracting your attention.” He started kissing his way up her arm. “Sure I can’t convince you to stay for a while?”
“Positive.”
“Then tell me when we can see each other again. Even if we live at opposite ends of I-5, surely we can figure it out.”
Of course. He thinks I live in Seattle. “Or maybe we can write this off as a convention hookup.”
“Is that what this has been? Or is it what you want it to be?”
He sounded worried, which made her happy for some reason she’d think about later. “I don’t think so. But can I think about it? I’ve never been good at long-distance relationships.”
“Have you had a lot of experience with them?”
“Once. It didn’t work out.” How could she keep this up? It wouldn’t really be long distance. All she had to do was walk a couple blocks, and she could trip over him. Which was the problem.
Before she could decide what to say next, he hopped out of bed, giving her the chance to admire, once again, the sculpted muscles of his body. Her attention distracted, she sighed with pleasure.
“That was a good sound. Does it mean you’ve thought about it long enough and want to meet me someplace after we’re home?”
Damn. Discovered again. “I haven’t decided yet, although I’m feeling pretty good right about now.”
He was rummaging around in his messenger bag as he replied. “You want to flatter my ego a bit and tell me why?” A cocky grin appeared.
“I very much doubt your ego needs flattering. With the way you look,” she nodded toward him, “teaching at a girls’ school, I imagine you get more than enough ego inflation on a regular basis.”
“As much as I appreciate your compliment, I would lose my job, and probably get arrested, if I wandered around St. Mary’s like this.”
The flush turning her face bright red, she hoped, was hidden in the dimly lit room. “You know I didn’t mean to suggest you teach in the nude.”
“Of course you didn’t. But making you think I understood it that way made you blush in the nicest way.” He pulled a business card out of his messenger bag and, returning to the bed, sat down on her side before handing it to her. “This is my card. It has my e-mail address and phone number on it. When you decide what you want to do, call me. I’ll meet you anywhere, anytime.”
• • •
An hour later, Claudia was tossing from side to side, plumping pillows, pulling up then throwing off blankets and comforters, unable to settle down to sleep. It was absurd. She needed to rest. She didn’t have a speech the next day, but she was on a morning panel of NYT and USA Today bestselling authors responding to a keynote speech about the future of romance writing. She hadn’t needed to prepare remarks. And she doubted it would be hard for her to respond. She’d read the speaker’s article in the RWA magazine and was sure she knew what she’d be hearing.
Still, she needed to be sharp so she could continue to pull off her April Mayes masquerade, which meant looking fresh and rested.
At least until she got to the plane. Then she could relax, maybe even sleep. No one on her flight home would care if she looked tired. But her flight wasn’t until the afternoon although she was sure Mary Lynn would want to skip the lunch and go to the airport early. However, she was committed to going to the lunch where Brad was speaking. In a weak moment, she’d promised him she’d critique his speech. Of course, she’d made the promise in between rounds of sex when it would have been impossible to deny him any request.
The problem with trying to get some sleep was, instead of thinking about her day tomorrow, all she could think about was the evening she’d spent with Brad. The man was a superb lover. She’d actually made notes when she first got back to her room so she could use some of his moves in her next book. The sex scenes between her heroine and hero would be easy to write thanks to Brad Davis and the way he took possession of her body and made it sing. That wasn’t an exaggeration. If anyone had been listening, they would certainly have heard the music. Of course if she didn’t get some sleep, the bags under her eyes and the pasty color of her skin would let everyone in on the secret. No listening would be required.
Maybe if she replayed some of the highlights of their evening, she might drift off into a racy, steamy dream. Maybe her dreams would bring some color to her cheeks.
• • •
Claire looked startled to see Brad when he knocked on her door at seven thirty the next morning. “Good morning. I didn’t expect to see you at …” She looked over her shoulder but couldn’t seem to see the clock. “… At this hour. Did we make plans for this morning?”
Brad ducked his head and lightly kissed her cheek. “Nope. No plans. Just had the need to see you again. Are you going down for breakfast?” It registered that she was dressed but hadn’t put on any makeup or her fake glasses. She looked sweeter, less sophisticated than she did in full April Mayes mode, but still lovely. This morning, she seemed to have color in her cheeks even without blusher. He hoped he knew why.
“I was but I’m not quite ready.”
“I’ll wait for you, if you don’t mind.” He settled in the chair nearest the TV, which she had turned on to CNN. “What’s going on in the world this morning?”
“The usual bad weather, civil wars, and political pontifications. Nothing out of the ordinary.” As she walked past him, headed for the bathroom, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap. “Hey, I’ll never be ready for breakfast if you do things like that.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “I’m suddenly less interested in breakfast than I am in kissing you. Do you mind?” He didn’t wait for an answer but claimed her mouth in a kiss that started out sweet but moved quickly to hot and possessive.
She pulled back long before he was ready to give up the kiss. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I mean, kissing you is a great idea. But not now. I have a workshop right after breakfast, and you have your after-lunch
speech to prep for. If we keep going …”
“We’ll blow off the whole convention and give everyone attending a great piece of gossip to take home to their RWA chapter meetings.”
His comment seemed to startle her. She jumped up from his lap and, without looking back, headed for the bathroom, closing the door firmly when she got there.
He laughed and lounged back in the chair. The news, as April … or Claire … said, wasn’t very interesting. It held his attention for all of two minutes before he began to scan the room. Her suitcase was on the luggage stand, the top up so he could see the neat row of shoes in the bottom of the bag. A white plastic bag was visible in the mesh compartment in the top. There was no evidence of other clothes. She was obviously someone who unpacked everything, unlike his approach, which was to live out of the suitcase, his clothing getting messier and more wrinkled as the week went on.
A messenger bag, two books, and the materials from the conference goodie bag were in neat piles on the table next to him. Another book was next to her bed. All three were literary bestsellers.
Most interesting, however, was the tangled mess of sheets on the bed. Had she had as restless a night as he had? He hoped so. He’d had one hell of a night wondering when he’d have the chance to repeat their evening together. It had been the most amazing night of his life. He didn’t care if she was a natural at sex, if she’d researched it for her books, or if she’d had enough experience to make her so good at it. Frankly, all he cared about was figuring a way to make it happen again. Preferably as soon as he could. Like tonight.
When she reappeared, she was made up and had her glasses on. “I’m ready, if you are,” she said as she picked up her messenger bag and slung it over her shoulder.
If only she knew what he was ready for, she might not be so willing to give him such a big, warm smile.
• • •
“I see you made up for not knowing who he was.” For the second time in less than two hours, Claudia was startled by the appearance of someone she didn’t expect. She had just finished breakfast with Brad and was headed for the room where the panel she was on would be when her agent snuck up behind her.