She wasn't wearing a bra. He didn't know why he would have thought she was, given the construction of the dress, but it hadn't even occurred to him that she might be bare under all that beading. He was glad he hadn't thought of it. He'd have gone stark, raving crazy during dinner if he'd thought of it. He wouldn't have been able to stand up and give his speech if he'd thought of it. He brushed his thumb over the underside of her breast, his fingers caressing the full upper curves. Her swollen nipple rested in the notch between his thumb and index finger. He squeezed gently.
Susannah moaned and pressed herself into his hand. He was driving her crazy. The ravenous demand of his mouth, hungry and hard, contrasted so deliciously with the delicate touch of his hand on her flesh. Passion and tenderness. Savagery and subtlety. The combination was more erotic than anything she'd ever experienced before.
She shifted her hold on him, running one hand down his side, slipping it between them to caress his penis. He was rock-hard and ready under her hand. She moaned again and squeezed him.
He responded by groaning like a man mortally wounded and backed her up against the wall between the coats. His hand left her breast, eased out from under her bodice and headed downward, gathering up the diaphanous layers of her skirt so he could reach what lay beneath. His questing fingers brushed over a lacy stocking top, and then he hesitated, shocked and delighted to discover the smooth bare skin of her thigh. He groaned again.
"Let's get a room," he whispered against her mouth. His voice was raspy with need and sexual desire.
"Yes," Susannah whispered, her voice as raspy as his.
"It'll take too long to get back to my place. And I can't wait." He kissed her again—deeply, erotically—and brushed his fingertips against the silk that guarded her most feminine secrets. "I don't want to wait."
Susannah's whole body tensed at the delicate, butterfly caress. "Yes," she said again. "I can't wait, either. I don't want to wait. I—"
"He's a little resistant to a heavy campaign schedule but I can wo—Jesus H. Christ!" Harry Gasparini's curse bounced off the walls of the coatroom like a Ping-Pong ball gone wild, ricocheting around the two people locked in a torrid embrace. "What the hell's going on in here?" he demanded.
It was a purely rhetorical question. Any damn fool could see what was going on.
Susannah closed her eyes and hid her face in Matt's shoulder. Matt tensed and turned his body to better shield her from sight. "Give us a minute, please, Harry," he said quietly.
But Harry wasn't about to be so easily dismissed. "You just about gave me a goddamned heart attack," he complained. "What the hell were you think—"
"Now, Harry," Matt said in a voice that brooked no argument. He waited until he heard the muffled sound of retreating footsteps, then eased his fierce hold on the woman in his arms.
Susannah looked up at him. "He wasn't alone," she said.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Councilman Leeland."
"Ah, well," he said, reaching to lift her beaded strap back into place on her shoulder. "It could be worse."
She eyed him skeptically.
"It could have been my mother. Or yours. Or—" he smiled wickedly "—Barbara Filbert."
"That isn't funny," Susannah said. But she giggled. "Oh, God, don't get me started. This isn't anything to laugh about."
Matt shook his head. "The only possible response to a situation like this is laughter."
"But your career. Your campaign. The newspapers will have a field day with this."
"With what?" he asked reasonably. "I'm not married. You're not married. They didn't catch me in here with a guy. Or by myself." He smiled teasingly and Susannah couldn't help but smile in return. "So what can they say? Candidate Matthew Ryan was caught in a passionate clinch with a gorgeous woman? They might question my judgment as regards to time and place. If they knew about it." He shrugged. "Which they won't because Harry certainly isn't going to tell anyone. Nor will Leeland. It'd be counterproductive to the campaign."
"You find your coats yet?" Harry called loudly, more loudly than he needed to.
"The attendant must be back," Matt said. "I found it," he hollered back, grabbing Susannah's cape off the hanger just as the attendant entered the coatroom.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Mr. Ryan," he apologized. "I didn't think I'd be gone that long. I hope you weren't too inconvenienced."
"Not at all," Matt assured him as he settled the cape around Susannah's shoulders. He pulled it close around her, smiling into her eyes as he freed her hair and then tied the velvet cords under her chin. "No inconvenience at all."
He reached into his pants pocket as they left the coatroom, extracting the folded bills he'd put there earlier, and casually dropped Heather's fifteen dollars into the tip basket as he passed it. Those few moments of heated intimacy in the coatroom would have been a bargain at twice the price.
* * *
Matt fastened his seat belt and reached for the ignition key. "Come home and spend the night with me?" he said, glancing over at his passenger.
"I shouldn't."
"Probably not."
"You know that old saying about politics making strange bedfellows?" she asked him. "That's us. We're crazy if we take this any further. Absolutely mad."
"Very likely."
"I'm against the death penalty."
"I figured you probably were," Matt said, understanding the seeming non sequitur perfectly. He'd publicly stated he was in favor of it for specific crimes.
"I'm a liberal Democrat," she elaborated, thinking that perhaps he hadn't quite understood.
"And I'm a middle-of-the-road Republican. So? It could get a little loud if we decide to talk politics but it's not exactly the Capulets and Montagues."
"I'm for stringent gun-control laws."
"Within reason," he agreed.
"I believe there's no such thing as a bad boy. Or girl."
"A little naive, but praiseworthy."
"I think there should be term limits for most elected offices so men like Councilman Leeland can't obstruct progress for years and years."
"I can understand that." He waited for a beat. "Anything else?"
"I think gays and lesbians should have equal rights under the law. And women have the right to choose. I think the term family values should apply to all families, not just the traditional mommy-daddy-and-two-kids kind. I don't believe in the trickle-down theory of economics. I do believe that Bush knew about Iran-Contra." She slanted a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "I think each state should have one male and one female senator."
Matt's eyebrow rose. "Mandated by law?"
"If that's what it takes to get fair and equal representation."
Matt shook his head. "Well, I admit, I'd have to argue that last one with you, but we basically agree on the rest. Is that it?"
Susannah considered for a moment. "Yes, that's pretty much it. We don't have enough in common to start a civil conversation. And even if by some miracle, we did manage to build some kind of relationship, it wouldn't last."
"How do you figure that?"
"I wouldn't be good for your career, Matt. I don't mean because of what happened tonight. Passion like that will burn itself out, sooner or later." She waved her hand, brushing aside the objection she sensed he was about to make. "I mean in the long run. I'm not a political helpmate. I'm not docile. I'm not unassuming. I won't sit back and keep my mouth shut if some jackass says something I disagree with. Not for long, anyway. And if someone asks me for my opinion, I'll give it to him, even if it's different from yours. I'm not inconspicuous and I don't want to be. My mother tried to make me all those things when I was growing up—and you can see how well that worked."
Matt couldn't stop the grin that tugged at his lips. "Sweetheart, you couldn't be inconspicuous if you tried."
"Well, there, you see? I'm right. It would never work."
He just looked at her. "Come home and spend the night with me?"
"Yes."
Chapter 7
Matt's condominium apartment was only ten blocks away from the hotel, tucked into one of the narrow residential streets in the Russian Hill district of the city. The facade was a pleasant mix of traditional San Francisco bay windows and modern redwood siding. The interior was uncluttered and elegant, with comfortable furniture in pale grays and blues with occasional accents of dark navy and deep chrome yellow. Paintings crowded the walls.
The pieces were strikingly varied. Some were modern abstracts that were mere slashes of color, some were dreamy nudes, some were San Francisco cityscapes that Susannah recognized as having been painted by local artists and a few were delicately rendered Japanese watercolors. There were three sculptures, too, each sitting atop its own softly lighted display column. Two were sinuous, shiny metal forms that begged to be touched. The third was made of thick sea-blue glass curved into an abstract evocation of a cresting wave. Somehow, it all worked.
"You collect?" Susannah asked, surprised and entranced by this side of him.
"Not really," Matt answered, watching her move around the room, viewing his art collection. He shivered as she ran a fingertip over the curve of the glass wave. "I just buy what I like and hang it on the walls."
Susannah untied the velvet ties of her cape and shrugged out of it, pausing for a moment to drape it over the back of the sofa. The beads on the bodice of her dress glimmered even in the low light, shimmering enticingly with each movement of the slender body under it.
Matt took a deep breath and told himself to be patient; they had the whole night ahead of them. "Would you like a brandy?"
Susannah turned her head to look at him. "No, thank you."
"Coffee?"
"No." She shook her head. "Nothing."
Matt suddenly couldn't wait any longer. "Would you like to make love with me?" he said, low.
Susannah's smile was tremulous. "Yes, please."
He held out his hand and she put hers in it.
They walked down a short hall and up a flight of stairs to his bedroom. It was spare and elegant, furnished with a low platform bed, a teak dresser, and a wooden chair of sleek Scandinavian design. One entire wall was made up of floor-to-ceiling shelves and cupboards, with places for books, framed photographs, various small objets d'art and an extensive state-of-the-art audio/video system. Another wall, and nearly a third of the sloping ceiling, was made up of large rectangular panes of glass. The windows looked out over a patch of nature, a small copse of mature trees and shrubs, one of the unexpected delights often found in the middle of the city's residential districts. Farther out, past the trees, the lights of San Francisco twinkled in the darkness. Farther still lay the midnight black waters of the bay.
"Shall I close the blinds?" Matt asked, watching her hungrily. He'd been thinking of her here, in his bedroom, for what seemed like forever, yet less than three weeks had passed since that day in her office. It was hard to believe she was really here, now. Harder still to make himself take things slow.
"No. Leave them open," she said, staring out at the magnificent view. "It's beautiful."
"Yes," he said. "It is."
She turned her head, meeting his eyes, and smiled at the compliment.
Matt felt his stomach muscles clench with the need to toss her down on the bed and bury himself in her sweet flesh.
"How about some music?" he said, moving purposefully toward the wall unit. He inserted a CD into the player without paying much attention to what it was, and jabbed the on button. Something soft and soulful, with lots of sax, filled the room. Matt held out his arms. "Dance with me, Susannah."
She floated into his embrace, as soft as an angel, as fragrant as a flower, as sweet as the Sugarplum Fairy, as naturally seductive as Eve at the dawn of time. Holding her in his arms was both heaven and hell. He wanted to make the evening last, to make it good for her, to linger over every nuance of the experience and her reaction to it. He wanted to be inside her, now, hot and hard, pounding his way to completion in the exquisite softness of her body.
She stirred in his embrace and pressed closer, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder as they swayed to the music. She could feel the strength in his arms, hard and tense around her, and in his chest, solid and warm against her breasts, and in his erection, rigid against the softness of her belly. She could feel the restraint, the leashed power, just waiting to explode into passion.
She appreciated what he was attempting to do. The romance. The gentle wooing. The slow climb to passion. It was sweet and thoughtful but so unnecessary. She didn't need the trappings of romance tonight. She didn't even want them.
She wanted the passion and the power she sensed in him. The hardness and the heat he held pressed against her. She wanted his hunger, unleashed and unrestrained. Man to her woman. Elemental. Basic. Wild.
She raised her head. "Kiss me," she demanded.
Matt groaned. "If I do that, I'm going to lose control and end up ripping this pretty dress right off your delectable body."
She gave him a slow, witchy smile, a woman's smile, full of temptation and promise. "I guess I'd better take my dress off then, hadn't I?"
Matt groaned again.
Susannah lifted her left arm. "The zipper's right there. See? It's hidden in the seam."
Matt grasped the little metal tab between his finger and thumb and pulled gently, careful not to catch the delicate chiffon in the zipper's teeth. The heavy beaded fabric fell away from her body as the pressure that held it was released, leaving a wide gap from just under her arm to the flare of her hip where the beaded bodice of the dress met the filmy skirt. Matt ran the backs of his fingers up her bare side, leaving gooseflesh in his wake. "You feel like silk," he breathed. His voice shook with the force of his passion.
Susannah shivered, feeling lush and seductive and uncontestably, irresistibly female. It was a wonderful way to feel, she decided, a perfectly delicious way to feel.
She wanted more.
She stepped back, out of his embrace. Reaching up, she placed one hand between her breasts to hold the fabric in place and slowly, watching his face the whole time, slipped one beaded strap, and then the other, off her shoulders.
Matt started forward, his hands out, reaching for her. Susannah shook her head and stepped back, stopping him dead in his tracks without a word.
"Susannah," he choked out. Perspiration beaded on his upper lip. A small muscle jerked in his clenched jaw. His fingers flexed. But he didn't move.
Still holding the bodice to her breasts, still watching his face, she eased one arm, and then the other, completely out of the straps. Then, with a seductive little wiggle, she lifted her hand and let go of the dress. Weighted by the heavy beading, it slid all the way to the floor, leaving her clad in gossamer thigh-high stockings with lace tops, high-heeled evening shoes, and pale ivory silk tap pants. She took another step back, out of the circle of fabric at her feet.
They stared at each other for a long moment. She was nearly naked, soft, curved, womanly, her breasts full and aching, the nipples tight, her body quivering in anticipation. He was fully clothed, hot, hard, painfully aroused, his raw male power barely hidden behind the civilized facade of the elegant tuxedo he wore.
The contrast was tantalizing. Exciting. Overwhelmingly, irresistibly, unbearably erotic.
Susannah straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin in mute feminine challenge, looking at him out of heavy-lidded, luminous eyes. "Now," she said, releasing him.
It was like unleashing a force of nature.
He came at her with a low growl, his hands out, reaching. She felt his fingers bite into her waist and then she was propelled backward, lifted off of her feet for a moment—losing her shoes in the process—before he tossed her down on the quilted navy bedspread. He was on her immediately, and all over he, everywhere. His hands were caressing and stroking feverishly. His mouth was blindly seeking, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses randomly over her bare flesh until he found the prize he sought.
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br /> His lips closed over her nipple, avid and greedy to taste and possess but exquisitely careful not to be too rough. He sucked hard and deep. And then more softly, using his tongue to tease and caress. And then hard again, using his whole mouth.
Subtlety and savagery, Susannah thought, white-hot passion and exquisite tenderness. It was a potent combination.
She moaned and arched voluptuously, pushing her breast more deeply into his mouth. She ran her hands over his shoulders and back impatiently, frustrated by her inability to touch the bare skin she suddenly craved with an intensity she'd never felt before. She curled her hands over the collar of his tuxedo jacket and pushed it down, trying to ease it off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it impatiently, one arm at a time, uncaring that it landed in a crumpled heap at the on the floor at the foot of the bed as he shook it off.
Susannah reached for the studs on his shirt next, intent on getting down to bare skin, but his position was wrong and he was unaware of what she was trying to do. Intent on gratifying his own driving need to touch her more intimately, he curled his fingers into the fabric at the side of her fragile panties and yanked. They tore easily, coming away in one ragged piece. He tossed them aside without a thought and delved between her thighs with eager fingers.
She was hot and wet and slick, as swollen as if she'd been ready and aroused for hours. She cried out, her whole body quivering in helpless reaction when his fingers merely brushed against her tumid clitoris. The sound drove him wild.
He lifted himself up and off of supine body, just far enough to reach between their bodies and yank open the fastenings at the front of his trousers. He pushed his trousers and underpants down over his hips and his erection sprang free, hot and hard, quivering against the sensitive skin of Susannah's thigh.
She whimpered and lifted her knees, offering him what they both wanted before he could move to take it. He shifted, poised to enter her and then swore savagely and pulled back.
All Night Long Page 10