by Dani Collins
“No, you didn’t,” he said flatly. “I did.” And he was so filled with self-contempt, with shame, he didn’t know how to deal with it.
“What?”
He looked away, regretting he’d said anything. But he couldn’t let her think he was calling her out for drawing that man’s attention when he was the one who’d put her in the actor’s line of sight in the first place.
Inhaling to gather his composure, he stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the penthouse, folding his arms and bracing his feet as he faced her. The elevator began to climb.
“I don’t typically care if the women I take to these things choose to leave with someone else. That guy knows it. Hell, most of the women I date come on to me for an introduction to a crowd like that. I don’t care,” he insisted, because until this evening, he genuinely hadn’t.
“But tonight you did?” She was very somber, looking up at him with something that approached concern. As though she sensed he was facing a demon, which was as painful as actually looking into the hard light of self-reflection.
“Tonight I saw how tawdry it is,” he acknowledged.
The elevator stopped at her floor, making her take a half step for balance. The doors opened, but they stayed in the suspended elevator, the air so thick with tension it held no oxygen.
“He embarrassed me,” Demitri admitted, teeth locked and trying to hold in the uncomfortable revelation. “He made me embarrassed of myself. You said you weren’t in the same league as the women I usually date, and that’s true.”
She flinched, taken aback.
“You’re well beyond anything they could aspire to,” he expounded. “Not as worldly, I’ll give you that, but you have the kind of standards the people I call friends wouldn’t even begin to understand.”
“That’s not true,” she argued. Glancing out to the hall, she motioned that he should release the door. She seemed embarrassed, as though she wanted privacy.
As he allowed the doors to close again, she clasped her hands before her, shoulders hunched and defensive, brow crinkled and looking mortified.
The elevator began the rest of its climb.
“I’m not worldly, that’s dead-on. But I don’t have any kind of great standards. I came to France kind of fantasizing about having an affair, just like you accused me this afternoon. I mean, obviously not really expecting anything to happen,” she stammered, wringing her hands. “But as I was dancing, I was letting myself think it could. I’m sure I gave him the wrong impression.”
His brain went supernova, exploding in his head, sweeping out any other thought but that he could have her.
“If you want an affair, Natalie, I’m your man.” His voice plummeted into throaty depravity, the want in him so quick and intense it tightened his airway.
Her lashes quivered and her pupils expanded. “I... It was just a fantasy,” she insisted—voice, tone, protest thin and insubstantial.
The elevator stopped again.
He pinned the door automatically with the well-practiced step of his foot into the sensor and the rest of him in her space.
She was off balance, breasts rising in a startled gasp as her hand went behind her, searching blindly for the rail.
He braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head and took his time gazing on her wary expression, letting her get used to the idea. Some primal part of him deliberately forgot why he’d meant to let her go home alone.
“The first time I saw you I thought you would have such soft skin.” He leaned close enough to draw in the scent of her flushed cheek, letting their body heat build in the tiny space he allowed between them. Seduction was about giving a woman time to feel the want, then providing the relief.
“I’m not sure,” she whispered, but her gaze was on his mouth. Yearning parted her lips. “I didn’t mean for you to think...”
Patience, he warned himself, practically trembling with the avalanche of desire building behind his wall of self-control.
“I want this...” she whispered.
He moved in with the skill of a man who always got what he wanted, not by force, but persuasion.
Her mouth was a tender morsel that made his breath hiss out in gratification as he nuzzled it with his own. She responded hesitantly, then with openness, inviting his full possession, letting him guide her toward the sensual world he longed to explore with her. She was delightful, shy yet generous, eyes closed tight in pained pleasure. When a little sob of capitulation left her, when she brought her hands from behind her back to his chest and splayed them in a promising caress, he drew back just enough to speak.
“Come with me.”
CHAPTER THREE
DON’T, SHE THOUGHT.
But in the back of her mind, she asked herself, What’s holding you back? She had mentally allowed for something like this to happen. Heck, she’d actually bought condoms, thinking at the time that it was a ridiculous prospect, but secretly dreaming of being swept off her feet by a suave foreigner. Demitri was a prime example of the sophisticated man she’d hoped to meet. Plus, he actually knew how these situations worked.
But she hadn’t expected an affair to actually happen. She was normal, boring, run-of-the-mill Natalie. Not some irresistible, exciting woman who captivated a man.
Demitri looked at her as if she was that and more. He made her feel beautiful and alluring, as though she was the kind of woman who deserved a man to love and cherish her. That fantasy was as seductive as the genuine tingles of arousal he provoked in her.
When he closed his hand around hers and backed out of the elevator, drawing her with him, she let it happen.
Knees weak, heart pounding, lips still burning, she allowed him to lead her down the hallway, half convinced this was a dream because things like this didn’t really happen. Not to her.
They passed recessed doors that led to private suites. She’d only been in one Makricosta penthouse ever, to resolve a Wi-Fi issue for a client she hadn’t even seen. She knew of the family suites in each of the hotels, but hadn’t ever expected to see the interior of one.
Demitri let her in a door marked Private Residence.
She took in the overstuffed semicircle couch and round coffee table, the dining area and table for twelve, the marble mantel and matching accent tables. Table lamps provided soft light against the draped windows. The art on the walls looked expensive. The suite was tasteful and welcoming, if cold. Not as generic as a hotel room, but not really lived in.
“Take your coat?” he offered.
She set her pocketbook on the chest beside the door and offered her back, nerves strummed by the brush of his fingertips as he lowered her coat off her shoulders. The brush of silk lining down her arms caused her to shiver, making her nipples pull tight. Everything in her tensed with anticipation while nerves had her heart hammering in her throat.
Was she really doing this? She ought to tell him that she didn’t do this. It wasn’t her. He’d be disappointed.
Working up her courage, she turned, hands clasped before her.
He was looking at her legs, coat suspended from his hand. As she turned, he lifted his gaze to hers, locking her in a heated stare, not looking away as he tossed her wet coat toward the leather sofa.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she protested, taking an automatic step to fetch it.
He stepped into her space. The air between them thinned like smoke, leaving a vacuum that pulled them into the space, energy sizzling and popping with sexual awareness.
He was so gorgeous. Not just that sculpted jaw and his intense dark eyes, but the kissable shape of his lips and the scope of his shoulders. His wide chest and flat abdomen and long legs.
I don’t know what I’m doing. She tried to find the words, tried to make her throat work, but he touched a fingertip under her chin.
The brush was feathery and gentle. She hadn’t expected finesse, but honestly, a man didn’t rack up a conquest list like his by being a brute. He was showing her all hi
s best moves, she reminded herself, but she still felt deliciously branded by his fingerprint. Lifting her gaze, she wound up fascinated by his mouth again, and it was coming closer...
Oh.
When had she even been kissed since having Zoey? Really kissed?
And so well?
He really knew what he was doing, persuading her with varying pressures and parted lips to follow him. Open. Let it deepen. Rock and soothe and moan involuntarily because it felt so good.
Seductive.
His arm hooked behind her and drew her into the hard wall of his chest. So good. And why? Why did the sheer hardness of him, the tension of strong muscles and flat breastbone and firm flesh, make her soften and weaken and melt into surrender?
So much strength harnessed and held in check for her.
He stroked his hands up and down her spine and she kept leaning closer and more fully, giving up more of herself until she was plastered to him, completely undone. Then he slid one hand down to clasp over her buttock and a heated zing of pleasure pierced deep in her belly, sending a flood of sexual awakening into her erogenous zones.
This was what she’d wanted. Sexual feelings. Womanly feelings. To be seduced so she wouldn’t have to think about right and wrong. Grateful to him for making this easy, she wound her arms around his neck and licked into his mouth, letting him know she was utterly receptive.
He grunted, hips jerking into her in a way that spoke of his excitement, which excited her in turn. With a bolder touch, he cupped her backside and found her breast, possessed it, stimulated her through the fabric of her dress so she wriggled against him with impatient desire.
They were breathing heavily, barely breaking to gasp before diving into another long kiss. She ran her hands over him, greedily taking her fill of his physique, not letting herself think about how to make this count. Rather, she steeped herself in the moment and savored every sensation, drinking in his heady scent, peppery and spicy, but musky and exciting at the same time. She bumped her thighs into his iron-hard ones, liking the sense he was undentable. Impervious.
Their tongues tangled and she groaned in sheer luxury, letting herself burn alive in the bonfire of desire building between them. His implacable strength seemed to overwhelm her for a moment, making her stumble, then she felt something against her bottom.
He lifted her, dress riding up at the same time, and sat her on the cold marble of the table by the door.
Before she could decide what she thought of that, he pushed her legs apart and stepped between them so they were eye to eye, mouth to mouth...
Kissing again. Deeply. Unreservedly.
The fine lace of her new Parisian panties snapped.
She gasped and closed her teeth on his bottom lip, waiting... There. He touched her, stroking lightly, just a tantalizing caress that made her flesh pulse for more. After a long, breathless moment he easily deepened his caress into her slippery folds.
Encouraging him with moans of pleasure, she inched forward and layered on openmouthed kisses, letting him know how good he was making her feel as he caressed her. Velvety waves of pleasure rolled outward from his touch, making her limbs weak and tingly, her core tight and eager.
With clumsy fingers, she undid his shirt buttons, wanting to taste his skin.
He took his hands off her long enough to yank his shirt open, revealing his muscled chest. Natalie couldn’t help but gasp and hook her heels against the backs of his thighs, urging him back into her space so she could splay her hands on him and take in all that burnished skin.
He resisted long enough to take something from his pocket, then he opened his pants. Despite how aroused and excited she was, a tiny niggle of nerves hit her as he revealed himself. They were doing this. Now. Here.
Jerking her gaze up from the condom he was applying to his very admirable erection, she looked into his face and saw a kind of blind passion that made her heart skip, as if a bucket of water had hit her, but it was hot enough to scald. He was as hungry as she was. Barely holding on to control. It was heady and exciting.
“Demitri,” she managed weakly.
“You’re incredible,” he muttered, hooking one arm behind her to draw her to the edge of the table. Then his gaze caught hers and something like panic edged into his. “You’re not with me?”
“No, I am. I want you. This. Now. Please.”
His breath flowed over her lips as he released it in an expulsion of jagged humor and relief. Firm pressure nudged at her opening and she closed her eyes, not wanting him to see how desperate she was right now. Aching with need.
He pushed with inexorable power into her. A smarting sting took her by surprise, making her catch her breath and set a hand on his shoulder.
Rearing back slightly, he said, “You’re not a virgin.”
“No!” Her gasping laugh came out as a papery husk. “It’s just been a long time. Please don’t stop. I really want this.”
He made a noise between frustration and despair as he covered her mouth, kissing her with hungry desire, trying to persuade her body into softness.
She enfolded him with her limbs, drawing him in, making the penetration happen despite the discomfort so they were locked tight, both pulsing in expectation. Yes. She’d needed so badly to be held tight against a warm body, a man’s hands caressing her as though she was treasure, his hardness filling her where she’d felt empty forever.
His head tipped back and he groaned at the ceiling. “You’re killing me.”
She smiled, easing her tight grip on him, but squeezing internally, signaling that she was ready. Needy. Scraping her nails against his sides, she bit his pecs, inciting him.
He drew in his breath as a fierce hiss, slitted eyes staring deeply into hers as he practically pulled her off the table and onto his firmly planted, hard body. Then he caged her with hard arms, one hand low enough on her tailbone to brace her on the edge of the table, the other hooked behind her knee, holding her open. From there it was primal, but so good. Basic he might be, but selfish he was not. Each thrust was possessive, controlled and deliberate. And he watched her the entire time, as though he was willing her to lose herself in their lovemaking.
She couldn’t hang on to control, not when the crashes of their hips sent detonations of joy splashing through her. Feverish and acutely sensitive, she felt everything from the friction of her silk slip to the damp sheen on his hot skin. He ducked his head to set his teeth against her neck. She knew a love bite would be bad, but she arched to make it easier for him to mark her. She’d never felt so glorious, so sexy or desired or alive.
They made love with lusty groans and fevered gasps as she greedily fought orgasm, loving the way he made her feel, filling her up and stroking his hand restlessly up her inner thigh, under her dress. Swearing gruffly against her cheek, he found her mouth with his own and her breast with his hand, pushing her bra cup up so he could pinch her nipple, seeming to shake with need as he quickened his pace and claimed her mouth as though she was his last meal.
“Now, Natalie,” he broke away to demand. “Now.”
His voice sent prickling sensations down her spine. The coiled sensation where he moved inside her deepened to a kind of tension she couldn’t resist. This was good, but the other side would be better. When he thrust deep and held himself there, held her tight to him, nudging her through the door of ecstasy right along with him, she gave herself up to it, clinging as though they were falling from an airplane into the sky.
For a blind second it was that fathomless. Then the tumble of orgasm struck, near wrenching in its power. The release and contraction inside her redoubled as Demitri pulsed and rocked, his body arched against hers in ecstasy, his cries triumphant, extending her sensation so she could only gasp and tremble, utterly helpless to their combined climax. He held her so tightly she was sure she’d bruise, but she didn’t care. Nothing hurt. All the dark spaces inside her glowed hotly. Her entire being flooded with bliss and perfection. She never wanted it to end.
&nb
sp; But the quivering pulses eventually died away. Her awareness returned to their ragged breaths and the hard marble under her bottom and the coat of sweat on his skin against her own layer of perspiration.
Embarrassment struck like a hammer. She’d been so easy. She’d just had a one-night stand—literally with him on his feet.
Lifting his head, Demitri stole a few tissues from the box near her hip and eased from her. When he stepped away and turned his back, she forced her weak legs together and prayed they’d hold her as she unsteadily found her feet.
He walked into the first door down the hall. A powder room, she imagined, but didn’t stick around to find out.
Mortified, she grabbed her purse and left without a word.
* * *
Demitri was barely forming thoughts. Deep in the back of his mind he knew what had happened with Natalie was wrong, but that wasn’t why he’d sought a moment to pull himself together. He was fairly shameless when it came to right and wrong, but not usually so audacious as to take a woman inside the door like a sailor with a doxy. He might get his date into the mood in the lounge, but he never lost control there, not so completely.
That loss of sense made him uneasy. He loved sex, loved the escape and pleasure a woman’s body offered him, but what he’d just done with Natalie had been the wrong kind of mindlessness. As impulsive as he was accused of being, he typically knew exactly what he was doing at all times. How much damage and why.
In this case he’d cast any sense of consequence to the wind. She’d waved him in and he’d slid home.
And he wanted to do it again. In a bed this time. Again and again.
That was unsettling. He had a very healthy appetite for sex, but sex was sex and women were women. He never, ever thought things like, I want her.
Probably best to walk her back to her room and cut this short.
Avoiding his own gaze in the mirror, he closed his pants, but left his shirt open. One damp hand lifted to rub away the itch of drying sweat on his chest as he walked back to the lounge. His muscles still felt quivery and weak...