This Changes Everything

by Gretchen Galway

  She tunneled her fingers through his hair, fisted the thick locks, and kissed him deeper. Their tongues tangled. A low moan escaped him, filling her with a sense of her own power. He wanted her, he wanted to kiss her, he wanted to make love to her. Before now, she’d been shoving it aside as humorous and unlikely, a comic accident of biology and bad timing. She couldn’t remember why she’d thought any of this was funny. She couldn’t remember anything.

  His hand roved across her body, snaked around her waist, and was hauling her on top of him when the driver’s voice drifted back to them.

  “We’re here, folks,” he said cheerfully. “Sorry to rush you, but I’ve got another party waiting.”

  Not registering what he was saying, Cleo slid her hand around Sly’s neck and played with the wavy hair behind his ears. Sometimes, when they watched TV and he sat on the floor and she sprawled above him on the couch, she’d stared at this spot, wondering what it felt like.

  Now she knew. It felt excellent.

  “Cleo.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss on the mouth before pushing her away. “We have to get out.”

  The door opened, sending in cool air. With effort, she moved away from Sly, tugging her dress over her thighs, and clambered out of the low seat, grateful the driver averted his eyes.

  “Thanks,” she said, stifling a giggle. A giggle? Her? Lord. “Great driving.” She watched Sly to make sure he tipped the old guy before walking unsteadily toward the huge ornamental doorway into their hotel. The valets greeted her, and she waved at them, hoping she looked like a fun-loving party girl, because that’s what she needed to feel like to keep going. Not a woman who was fighting the instinct to run and hide. No. Just a party girl without a care in the world.

  “Careful,” Sly said, capturing her hand. “You’re weaving.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I’ve never weaved in my life. A little crochet, that’s it.”

  He pulled her against his side as they walked, his hand stroking the side of her waist. She knew she wasn’t herself when she didn’t adjust her underwear to smooth out the soft rolls that formed where the elastic dug into her. He was feeling her, rolls and all. Cinnabon had nothing on her.

  Oh God. She wanted him so bad. She wanted him to touch her everywhere and she didn’t care what he thought, what he saw, what he felt, just that he would do it and keep doing it all night. All night. Right now. Right here. Sly. Her strong, sexy friend with the bedroom eyes and dimpled chin and talented fingers.

  Sly tightened his hold around her waist. “Are you OK, sweetheart?” he whispered in her ear. “Let’s sit down for a minute.”

  Tucked off to their left was a seating area with red velvet sofas and leather club chairs. He guided her over to it and pushed her down in one of the chairs while remaining standing himself. He bent over to kiss her on the forehead, lingering there a moment with his lips brushing her skin, then turned as if to go.

  She gripped his wrist. “Where are you going?”

  “Wait right here.” He caressed her cheek, dragging her hand with him. “I need to do something.”

  “Do what? Check your email? What?”

  “No. Nothing like that. It’s a surprise. Will you wait for me?”

  “You’re just going to leave me here?”

  “Only a few minutes,” he said.

  “Will I like this surprise?”

  “Stop asking me questions. It’s a surprise.”

  She looked up at the chandelier over their heads. It didn’t look familiar. “Are you sure this is our hotel?”

  “I wish you’d had more to eat tonight. You’d be handling the liquor a little better.”

  “So much better I wouldn’t be doing this,” she said, staring at him as she licked her lips, slow and seductive. Or she hoped it was.

  “Don’t say that.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

  The lights in the chandelier were blue, she realized. Not all of them, just some of them. She wondered where you could find blue chandelier lights or if it was a custom-made kind of thing.

  Sly said, “I don’t think you’re going anywhere,” and strode out of sight. Head spinning, she pondered the lights some more. When she got home, she’d go shopping for lights. They were so sparkly. These little ones twinkled like the high notes of a harpsichord.

  “Here you go.”

  She lifted her head to see a paper cup with a plastic lid and a familiar green logo hovering in front of her. No, not hovering. Sly had returned. The cup was connected to his arm.

  “You need to sober up a little,” he said. “Before we go on.”

  “You have the totally wrong idea about that.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked at her raspberry-neon toes. Lights in a pink color like that would be pretty too. “I don’t drink caffeine after six.”

  “Because it keeps you up all night,” he said in a low, gravelly voice.

  She met his gaze. His left eyebrow was arched in a way that, several months ago, she would’ve called obnoxious. But now it was hopelessly, frantically sexy. She wanted to kiss it.

  “Good point.” She took the cup with both hands and brought it to her lips.

  “While you drink that, I’ve got one more thing to do.”

  “This is very anticlimactic.”

  “Just drink that, will you?”

  “You’re so bossy. Are you always this bossy with your women?”

  Not smiling, he leaned down and kissed her. Hot and hard. Just as she was feeling a trickle of hot coffee burn through the polyester of her dress, scalding her thigh, he drew back, righting the cup, and said, “You’re my only woman, Cleo. Only you.”

  Holy mother of Beethoven. Was this really happening? She felt as hot as the coffee.

  His hand brushed her cheek. “Drink it,” he said, then disappeared again.

  She craned her neck around to see where he was going. God, that arrogance. That stride. That ass. He was headed toward reception. When the fountain blocked her line of sight, she turned back to her coffee with a long, lusty sigh.

  This city needed a warning label. She’d already become a gambling addict, an alcoholic, and a sex fiend. What vices had she missed? Cigarettes had killed her grandparents, which was unforgivable, and she was too conscientious to become a criminal. She was trying to remember the Ten Commandments, a little hung up on the coveting your neighbor’s wife part, which reminded her of her failed marriage, when her date returned.

  He took the cup away from her and shook it a little. “You didn’t drink it.”

  “It was as hot as your ass,” she said, then smiled at him.

  “God.”

  “I forgot that one! But I already do that.” She hauled herself out of her seat and wrapped her arms around his waist. Because she could.

  “Lots of people forget God here.”

  “Taking the Lord’s name in vain,” she said. “I was trying to think of new sins I could commit.”

  He moved both hands down her spine and cupped her bottom, right there in the lobby. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said into her hair, “and I’ll help you with that.”

  ♢ ♡ ♤

  This wasn’t how he imagined their first night together. The smart, capable Cleo he knew didn’t act like a drunken teenager who groped his crotch in the elevator and then broke down giggling. He wanted her to lose control, but not like this. If they had sex when she was in this condition, he’d be taking advantage of her.

  The elevator passed the floor for the room Hugo and Trixie had given them and kept going. She was too busy trying to cop another feel and collapsing with laughter to notice they were going somewhere else. Unrequited lust was making him tense, and her behavior annoyed him. He blamed himself, of course. She hadn’t kept the drinks coming, he had. Now he had her lush, inviting body in his arms and he was going to have to push her away until she’d sobered up. Which could be hours. By then s
he might change her mind.

  He couldn’t bear to get this close to having her and then lose her. But if she woke up feeling ill-used, she’d never forgive him.

  She stopped groping him and stared, eyes wide. Unfocused, but wide. “What’s the matter?”

  Her sweet face knocked the breath out of him. He bent his head and kissed her lightly, then stood there, inhaling her scent, heart pounding with wanting her, until the doors opened at the top floor. He gathered his wits and led her off the elevator to a door at the end of the hallway.

  She didn’t notice they were in a new suite until they were inside. “This isn’t our room.”

  “It is now.”

  The suite cost him more than he’d ever spent on a hotel room before in his life, and he’d traveled around the world with an expense account for over a decade. Of course, as an entrepreneur, he’d never enjoyed draining the company’s coffers and had been known to be thrifty on occasion. In fact, Mark had always accused him of being cheap.

  Well, he wasn’t being cheap now. “Chocolate?” Holding her hand, he walked over to the plate of truffles waiting for them under a vase of red roses.

  “You got us another room?”

  He picked up a cocoa-dusted pyramid, pulled her against him, and pushed it between her lips. While she chewed, moaning, he pressed his hips into her soft curves and told himself he could resist tearing her clothes off as long as he got to hold her.

  “There’s champagne too.” Her hands found his ass again and squeezed, inspiring another round of giggles.

  “None for you,” he said.

  She pulled away, eyebrow arching. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m waiting for you to sober up.”

  “I’m waiting for you to pull that stick out of your ass.” She lunged, as if going for the stick, and he twisted out of reach. Her humor faded. “Come on, you’ve got to be kidding me. I’m finally ready to go, and you’re saying no?”

  “I’m saying let’s take it slow.”

  She closed her eyes, dropping mascara-darkened lashes over her cheeks. Nostrils flaring, she took a deep breath, then spun away from him and strode into the room. As she walked past the wet bar with the chocolates and champagne, her arm swung out and caught the bottle. She took it with her through the sunken living room to the sliding balcony doors, where she stood with her back to him, hand on the window, looking out on the view. The flashing city lights put her hourglass figure into stunning silhouette.

  “We can’t wait,” she said, setting the champagne bottle on the floor. “We have to do it now.” She turned, leaning against the glass, and reached up to the neckline of her dress. With a tug, one side fell down her arm, exposing a red bra strap and a pale, creamy shoulder.

  He hurried over. “It’s not a chore to get over with.” Breathing hard, he grabbed the dress and yanked it back up, trying to tune out the feel of her velvety skin under his fingers and the seductive way she leaned into him. The scent of her perfume. The memory of her taste, sweet and forbidden.

  Tilting her head, she touched the hollow of his throat, then trailed a featherlight finger up to his chin, across his jaw, his lips. He froze, struggling to hold himself back, trying not to show how her touch undid him, but his heart was pounding and he was aching hard for her. If she didn’t stop, he’d have to leave. He’d have to. He’d have to. He closed his eyes.

  “So beautiful you are,” she said, mockingly, a hint of Yoda in her voice.

  He felt her chest press against his as she drew closer. “So drunk you are,” he managed to say, his voice unsteady. “Sober up you must.”

  He opened his eyes just as she kissed him, light and teasing, on his chin. “But then I won’t be happy fun girl. I might remember we can’t do this.”

  “We can.”

  She began pulling his shirttails out from his pants. “Yes we can, yes we can,” she chanted between giggles, hooking her fingers around his belt. Powerless for a moment to stop her, he froze, indulging in the fantasy of her fumbling to unfasten the leather, unfasten his pants, and touch him.

  She withdrew her hands suddenly and reached down for the champagne. “You’re wrong about me, you know.”

  He swallowed over his dry throat. “Am I?”

  “I’m not nearly drunk enough to do this.” She tore off the foil and began untwisting the wire over the cork.

  Not nearly drunk enough. Not nearly.

  He ducked his head. “Neither am I.” Hardly believing he had the willpower to move, he pivoted and headed for the door.

  20

  “Where are you going?”

  Hearing the vulnerability in her voice, Sly paused at the door, not able to make himself open it. “I’ll leave the extra key next to the roses. There are spare toothbrushes in the bathroom.” He’d arranged for all the amenities, wanting it to be special.

  She came up behind him. “That’s it? You’re just going to walk away?”

  “I can’t do this.” Slowly, he turned to face her. “Not if the thought of having sex with me is so repulsive to you that you need to be semiconscious to do it.”

  Her mouth fell open. “No, wait. Please. I thought you wanted…” She looked down at herself. “To do this.”

  “I do want this. I do.” He shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching for her. “You have no idea. But I can’t be the only one.”

  Her voice fell to a whisper. “You don’t understand.”

  “Sure I do. We’ve known each other a long time.” He thought of the long, happy years of platonic camaraderie. “Maybe it’s just too late.”

  She made a sound that might’ve been a laugh.

  “I can’t be here with you and not want you, Cleo. I can’t do it. I could before, but now that we…” He turned and reached for the door handle.

  She lunged past him, arms out like an airplane, and flung herself in front of him. “You can’t leave now,” she gasped, bracing her back on the door. Her chest heaved with exertion, and he forced himself not to look at the way her breasts were spilling out of her dress. “Just trust me on that. It’s OK, OK? Totally OK. Better than OK. Great.”

  “If you still feel that way tomorrow, and I really, really hope you do—”

  “No!” Her eyes widened with panic. “I mean, I will. Yes. If you still, I mean after we… oh, God. I should’ve told you before. Now I can’t. But I have to.”

  “Told me what?”

  She pushed part of her dress off her shoulder again and reached behind her back to undo the zipper. “First I’ll strip. Then we’ll do it. After that, I’ll tell you everything.”

  He strode forward and caught her hands in his wrists, pinning her to the door. “Nobody’s stripping.”

  With a choked giggle, she went limp and dropped her head, hiding her face behind a curtain of shimmering blond hair. After a tense silence, during which he tried to release her wrists but couldn’t make himself, she said, “But I want to.”

  He looked away, drawing her scent into his lungs. “I have to go.”

  “Please,” she said, and then her voice dropped, suddenly cool and sober. “This isn’t alcohol doing this to me. I wish it were.”

  What game was she playing now? He didn’t release her, afraid of what she might do. “I’m listening.”

  She didn’t lift her head. “I’m nervous.”

  Hope began pounding in his chest. Some parts of him softened; other parts, quite the opposite. “Don’t be,” he said softly.

  “I haven’t… it’s been a long time.”

  He knew she hadn’t dated anyone more than a few times since the divorce. “I understand.” He stepped closer so their bodies were touching. But he couldn’t let go of her hands.

  “A really long time,” she whispered.

  After a deep breath, he kissed the top of her head. “Nobody since Dylan?”

  She shook her head.

  Moving closer, he breathed in a lungful of her perfume. “We’ll go slow.”

  She nodded.
<
br />   He caressed the pulse in her wrist with his thumb, glad she couldn’t see him smile. The silence between them became tighter, more pleasurable. “I understand,” he said.

  “You… don’t quite. God. This is embarrassing.” Finally, she lifted her head, bumping it against the door, and looked into his eyes. “I’ve never been very good at this.”

  He brushed his lips across the soft hairs at her temple. “I’ll be the judge of—”

  “Not before Dylan and not after.” She leaned away from him and caught his gaze. “Listen to what I’m saying. Please.”

  The tone of her voice broke through his renewed lust. Belatedly, the implications sank in. “You’ve never slept with anyone else?”

  She closed her eyes with a long exhale and nodded.

  “Never?” He couldn’t believe it. “What about in college? I dropped out, but you were there for, what, six years—”

  “Tease me and I’ll kill you.”

  The arguing, the giggling, the inconsistent behavior all made sense now. “I wish you’d told me.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Sure I would.”

  “With all those girlfriends, so many years, a grown man like you?” She leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. “How could you possibly?”

  “I would try.” He pushed her against the door, pinning her soft, sexy body under his. “Really, really hard.”

  Their rapid breathing filled the silence.

  “That’s what I was hoping,” she said quietly.

  Oh, baby. He released one of her wrists to caress her arm, her cheek, the silky skin where the fabric of her dress arched over her shoulder. “Kiss me, Cleo. I’m dying here.”

  “I’m not stopping you.”

  “Show me you want it.” He released her other hand, lowered both of his arms to his sides. “Show me you want me.”