by Lori Foster
“I just decided this was going to happen while I was in the shower. Sex definitely wasn’t on the table before that.”
“Sure it was,” he countered, placing her on the mattress. “Ask Spider.”
Chloe’s laugh was full and rich as she scooted up on the bed so she could recline on the pillows. “I can’t believe you just said that! I share my tragic past with you and you use it against me?”
He pulled off her socks. “Face it, Chloe. This was meant to be. The plane? The hotel mix-up? Fate’s practically begging us to have sex.”
Her smile was decadent. “I think you may have misunderstood the difference between fate and hormones.”
“No way. This is definitely fate.” Ben joined her on the bed. “I mean they don’t call it a layover for nothing.”
“Stop that,” she said with a breathy giggle that drove him wild. Ben was enchanted, no doubt about it. And very turned on. “Stop what?”
“Stop making me laugh.”
He kissed her collarbone. “Why?”
“Because one-night stands aren’t supposed to be funny, they’re supposed to be torrid and sexy and raw.”
“Oh, I can do torrid.”
* * *
COULD HE EVER.
His expression darkened seconds before he caught her mouth in a scorching, wet kiss that convinced her they were both wearing way too many clothes.
She reached for the buttons on his dress shirt, fumbling them open with lust-clumsy fingers. When she’d finally popped the last one, he rewarded her with a shift of his hips that brought their bodies into perfect alignment, and the pleasure that streaked through her made her gasp.
Damn he felt good. Hot and hard. Her fingers curled against his skin, and her hips bucked to get closer. He groaned, grinding harder against her, squeezing her breast with a large, warm hand. She wanted Ben, naked and panting, thrusting inside her until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t care less about her mother’s disappointment, or her sister’s wedding, or her exile in Chicago.
She felt alive. And sexy. And desperate for more.
She ran her palms across his beautiful shoulders and down his back. When she reached the waistband of his pants, she let her fingers follow the material around to his stomach and traced the reverse path, up his ridged abdomen and hair-roughened chest.
“Oh, God,” he rasped, pulling away a little, but she rose up, catching his mouth as she ran a thumb across his nipple, delighting in the shudder that quaked through him at her touch. “Chloe, stop for a second.”
“Make me,” she growled playfully, nipping his bottom lip, loving the way his muscles jumped at her touch. He groaned. “Jesus, you feel so good.” He kissed her back, hot and frantic, before tearing his mouth away again.
“Chloe, are you sure about this?”
Ben was staring down at her, hair mussed, eyes dark, looking like the answer to all her sexual frustrations. “I need this, Ben.” She was desperate to experience more of the buzzing current running between them, to block out the shitty stuff and lose herself with this man.
She might as well have said abracadabra, her words had such a magical effect on him. That last little bit of concern that had lingered disappeared in a wolfish grin. “I meant are you sure about the bed,” he lied. “Because I’d be happy to move this over to the table if you want to be able to tell a better story at the stagette.”
“I already missed the stagette,” she responded, pressing a kiss against his jaw, “and the family brunch,” she kissed his neck, “the reception for out-of-town guests,” the hollow of his throat, “the rehearsal,” his collarbone, “the rehearsal dinner—”
“Oh, okay, now who’s being funny? This bed is a joke-free zone, Masterson. Your rule, not mine.”
“You’re right,” she conceded. She leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “You’d better take off your clothes and get me on track again.”
His mouth hitched up at the corner in a devilish half smile. “Yeah, baby. I got your torrid right here,” he said, and her laughter betrayed her change of heart. Maybe funny did have its place in the bedroom after all.
Ben got to his feet and pulled his shirt the rest of the way off.
She’d never been into male strippers—way too cheesy for her taste—but watching Ben strip was a study in seduction. There was no teasing or coyness, just a man taking off his clothes.
And then, finally, he stood naked and aroused in front of her. All sinewy muscle and powerful limbs. And she wanted him. All of him.
“Your turn,” he said, his voice so low and raspy that she shivered.
Chloe pushed onto her knees, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra. She peeled the material away slowly and air rushed against her skin, doing nothing to cool the heat that raged inside her.
Then there was nothing left between them but her underwear. She tucked her thumbs into the waistband, inching them down her thighs. It was one of the sexiest moments of her life, revealing herself to him this way, and his predatory stare raised goose bumps on her skin.
“You’re so beautiful.”
And she believed him in that moment because she felt beautiful. Powerful. Tonight she was daring and sexy, an erotic fantasy. With a grin that was pure siren, she slipped her panties off the rest of the way and tossed them to the floor. “So what are you going to do about it?”
“Oh, I’ve got a couple of ideas,” he promised with a wicked smile. He grabbed protection from somewhere inside his suitcase. Chloe kept her eyes on him as he ripped into the package. She was surprised by how sexy it was, watching him handle himself, roll the condom down the length of his shaft.
She’d never really paid much attention to this part of the process before. She was usually too far inside her own head—How did she look? How did he think she looked? How could she make her boobs seem bigger and her stomach seem flatter?—to pay much attention.
She was paying attention now.
He was big, deliciously so.
She was all damp heat and wanting. When she licked her lips, he practically pounced on her, pressing her back into the mattress. Then he shifted and his erection was between her legs and it was so perfect having him there, just where she wanted him.
When he started circling his hips, applying more pressure, Chloe nearly cried out. “Deeper,” she whispered, burying her head in the crook of his neck. “Please.”
He was inside her with a single thrust, a fast, hard invasion of her body that knocked the wind from her in the best possible way.
“I want you so much, Chloe,” he growled, proving it with every flex of his hips, until she was wild beneath him—panting, sweating, clinging.
Her body was on fire for him. She pulled her knees up, trying to get closer, and the slight change in position must’ve felt just as good to him as it did to her, because he swore and upped his pace. Her entire world had narrowed to the pressure building inside her.
Suddenly, he pushed himself up on one elbow, but before Chloe had a chance to mourn the loss of his chest against her breasts, he moved his hand between them and rubbed his thumb roughly against the most sensitive part of her, startling a cry from her throat. Her brain short-circuited as a sharp shock of white-hot heat rolled through her, swamping her with pleasure a moment before he joined her in nirvana.
CHAPTER 4
BEN STEPPED FROM the jet bridge onto the plane, stifling a yawn. He was definitely feeling the lack of sleep. Not that he was complaining. The mere memory of Chloe writhing beneath him, his hands on her skin, her tongue in his mouth… Ben shifted with discomfort as his dick stirred at the erotic recollection.
What he planned to complain about when he saw Chloe again was the fact that he’d woken up alone this morning. But first he had to make it to his seat. He shuffled farthe
r into the plane, waiting as the gentleman in front of him hoisted his suitcase into the overhead compartment.
Jesus, he could still smell her. It was an unfortunate by-product of an overactive imagination and this morning’s shower. He’d used what she’d left in the tiny bottle of complimentary hotel shampoo, and now the achingly familiar perfume of flowers lingered around him. Normally it would have made him nauseous, but thanks to the wrestling match on the bed last night, it was making him horny.
Ben pushed a hand through his Chloe-scented hair and continued to sidestep down the narrow aisle until he arrived at row G and the object of his lust-filled fantasies came into view.
She was wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt with a zombified Audrey Hepburn on it. Her lips were stained a deep shade of berry; her eyeliner was back with gothic vengeance. And if his cock had been mildly interested at the memory of her, the reality of Chloe had its full attention.
Her attention, though, was studiously focused on the in-flight magazine in her lap.
“Is this seat taken?”
She glanced up as he shoved his carry-on into the overhead bin. She might have sighed as he brushed past her to sit down, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Guess I should have thought this through a little better. I was trying for a dramatic and mysterious exit after a single night of passion.” She flipped a glossy page with her index finger.
“Yeah, assigned seating really messes with drama.”
She flipped another page. “Worst one-night-stand exit ever.”
“On the contrary. You were very quiet when you left—I didn’t wake up at all. Nothing was drawn on my face in permanent marker, and I still have my watch, my wallet and my credit cards,” Ben countered charitably. “As far as I’m concerned, this ranks very high on the scale.”
His joke earned him a withering glare.
“I meant that we’re stuck in forced proximity and tight confines, with no choice but to ignore each other awkwardly and try to keep our arms from touching until we can finally go our separate ways. Which reminds me, I’m claiming this now.” She laid her right arm on the armrest from elbow to wrist, completely covering it from view.
“Or…we could defy the expected and skip the awkward silence. Just keep on living life as though I didn’t ruin you for other men last night.”
She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Look, Chloe. We’ve got about an hour of forced proximity left to go here. So what do you say we move on, start over?”
* * *
“START OVER?” she asked speculatively. Like I’m not completely and utterly mortified that I jumped you in the hotel room last night? “As in we do that lame handshake thing in all the girly movies and reintroduce ourselves?”
Ben laughed, and the rumbling sound put a dent in her defenses. “Yeah, that.”
With a shrug of acquiescence, Chloe held her hand out. “I’m Latoya.”
Ben smirked at her as they shook. “Julio.”
“Hmm. Sexy name. So tell me, Julio, what do you do for a living?”
She was expecting a smart-ass comment, like “romance novel cover model,” but instead she got: “What do you think I do?”
She arched her right eyebrow. “Honestly?”
He nodded.
“Sales.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Ad exec, maybe? That or hocking used cars.”
“Wow. Don’t take a second to think about it or anything.” Ben’s voice was light, jokey, but his forehead was a bit furrowed, and there was a gravitas to his next words. “How come?”
“Are you kidding me?”
His silence said he was not.
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. The way you dress is part of it.” She eyed his attire.
“Lots of men wear suits. Newscasters. Athletes. Mob bosses. The alter-egos of superheroes.”
She remained unmoved. “Am I right?”
Ben shrugged. “I can neither confirm nor deny this line of questioning until you tell me what you do.”
“What do you think I do?” she mimicked.
He turned in his seat to look at her, really look at her, and Chloe squirmed a little under the inspection. She was this close to blushing. To counteract the uncomfortable feeling, she forced herself to square her shoulders and raise her chin a notch.
“Well, I’m gonna strike flight attendant and used car salesman from the list of possibilities, considering your obvious scorn for those professions.”
Chloe flashed him a tight smile. Ha, ha.
“Um, okay. You’re not a dentist. You’re not the vice president of anything.” His eyes darted to the zombie on her T-shirt. “And you’re not a kindergarten teacher.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why do I suddenly feel like this game is going to be less than flattering?”
“What do you mean, suddenly? Did you hear the way you say sales?”
“Just guess already,” she urged, but with a sinking sensation in her stomach. Chloe wasn’t so sure that she wanted to know Ben’s impressions of her.
“I think you’re an artist.”
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.
He nodded slowly, contemplatively. “Whatever you do, it’s something that other people only wish they did. I bet you illustrate comic books, or sing in a band, or create amazing sculptures out of ordinary, everyday things.” He squinted at her, analyzing. “There’s a slight chance you’re a little more corporate about it, though—like a graphic designer, or maybe you have a clothing line in the works.”
Chloe sucked in her breath. It was highly possible that that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about her. Or to her, for that matter.
“So? Am I close?”
God, that lopsided grin was adorable.
In a really weird way that she refused to scrutinize, Chloe didn’t want to disappoint him with the truth. Or herself. What was the point of squashing the warmth in her chest with cold, bitter reality? She liked the way Ben saw her, full of possibilities. She wasn’t ready to relinquish that feeling yet.
“You know what, Ben? You and I are going to return to our regularly scheduled lives in just over an hour, right?”
He glanced at his watch. “Thereabouts.”
“So how about we don’t ruin today with anything as mundane as the truth? I mean, think about it. In your lifetime, how many people have you spent the night with who didn’t know what you did for a living?”
Ben’s lips quirked in a bit of a smile. “None.”
“Exactly. So let’s not label ourselves. Let’s embrace that rebellious streak of yours, Mr. Lone Wolf. Let’s live dangerously and talk to strangers.”
“Huh. Impassioned speech. Is this your way of keeping me from guessing your true occupation? Because if you’re a politician, I promise I won’t think less of you,” he vowed.
Chloe relaxed in her seat and let the hour fly by, literally and figuratively, as she talked to Ben.
* * *
CHLOE STOOD NEXT to Ben, watching the unfamiliar luggage circling past them on the conveyer belt.
After they’d decided not to make the usual small talk about themselves, they’d ended up bonding over innocuous things like a mutual hatred of sunglasses that rivaled dinner plates in circumference, and a shared belief that specialty cartoon channels had massacred the joy of childhood Saturday mornings.
Turned out Ben was just as cool as she’d suspected. It would figure she’d spent the past four years dating nothing but losers, only to run into one of the good ones when she was only looking for a one-night stand.
“The boutonnieres are an absolute disgrace. How will it look with the groomsmen wearing champagne roses when the rest of the wedding flowers are white?”
Oh no. Chloe turned toward the familiar voice g
rowing ever louder as a woman with a cell phone to her ear barked orders and stalked toward the baggage claim. Not even the bustle of an international airport could mute this particular woman scorned.
“We’re not going to pay for this kind of lack of attention on your part. That’s right. Yes, eight new boutonnieres made with white roses. We’ll be expecting them by noon. Yes, that’s the correct address. Tell the concierge it’s for the Masterson–Van Allen wedding.”
Ignoring Ben’s questioning look, Chloe took off toward her mother, trying to keep as much distance between him and Fiona Masterson as possible. No need to complicate things any more than they already were.
“Mom! Hi.” The second the words were out of her mouth, four years of distance swirled up around them and stole Chloe’s breath. Her mother looked the same. A little older, obviously, but as regal as ever.
Her graying hair was pulled back into the elegant chignon she favored. She was dressed in black from head to toe, all designer labels, all tailored to perfection for her slim frame. Even the posh winter coat. Her jewellery was gold, but her earrings were pearls. The first piece of jewelry Chloe’s father had ever given her, the night he’d professed his love, a mere seven dates into their courtship. That’s what her mother had always called it, their “courtship”. As a little girl the tale had been one of Chloe’s favorite bedtime stories, and she would beg her mother to tell it night after night.
And now they were reduced to exchanging an awkward air kiss in an airport terminal.
“Chloe Marie, it’s about time you got here.” Her mother made a production of glancing around as she dropped her phone into her Louis Vuitton handbag. “Alone, I see. That’s going to throw off the seating chart. You couldn’t have RSVP’d to let us know so that we could rearrange the tables earlier, I suppose. I’m sure selling makeup to mall patrons keeps you from picking up the phone. Never mind that an uneven seating chart can completely derail a wedding.”
Chloe gritted her teeth in her best semblance of a smile. “What are you doing here? We agreed to meet at the hotel.”
“I was ironing out a few last-minute things for the wedding, so I had the car service bring me here. I thought you could come back to the bridal suite with me. You can get ready there, so I don’t have to worry about you being late for tonight’s ceremony. Also, I need someone to keep an eye on your sister while I check on the catering staff. You know they…”