Nobody Does It Better. Julie Kenner
intertwined in one long strand. God, she was adorable.
“I’ve been keeping some tabs on you, too. I wonder if we’ve been thinking about the same thing.”
Twirl, twirl. Devin didn’t think Paris realized what she was doing. A nervous habit, perhaps. But what was making her nervous? A little innocent flirting?
He raked his eyes over that dress again, taking in the way it clung to her delicious curves, then back up to her soulful eyes and sun-kissed hair. The beginning of an erection strained against his fly.
To hell with innocent. The woman was a siren.
“You said you came because you wanted to go out with me.” Her voice held only the slightest tremor. “I was wondering if you meant that.”
“Of course.” Go out with her, hold her, touch her, taste the sweetness of her skin. Make love to her.
“The party’s wrapping up. Are you tired?” The finger returned to that one strand of hair, and Devin imagined the soft lock caressing his chest, her fingers combing through his own hair as she lost herself to passion.
He’d lost his train of thought. “What?”
She hesitated. “Never mind. It was nothing. I’ll just say good-night.”
“No, no.” He took her bare arm, delighting in its softness and anxious to know if the rest of her was as silky. Unable to help himself, he traced his finger up her arm, then across her delicate shoulder, and finally along the neckline of her dress. “Have a drink with me.”
She took a shuddering breath. “I…I really shouldn’t. It’s late.”
“‘Then stay with me until it’s early, and I’ll ask you again.”’
She looked up, stern, but the desire in her dark eyes told a different story. “Have you memorized every one of my books?”
“Not at all.”
“Just a few choice lines to help you get what you want?”
“Perhaps. Or maybe it’s just coincidence.”
“Coincidence?”
Devin kissed the back of her hand, letting his lips linger on the delicate skin. He wanted to taste more of her. All of her. “Maybe I’m coming up with these lines entirely on my own. I could be the man you’ve always dreamed of. Do you really want to risk turning me away?”
He expected her to laugh and say he wasn’t the stuff of anyone’s dreams, much less hers. It would break the ice, and they could have a relaxing drink, talk, and explore where this chemistry between them would lead. Her hotel room, perhaps? Heat coursed through him and he wondered if she’d be keen on skipping the drink, the talk.
But she wasn’t laughing. Instead, her brow furrowed. Rather than putting him down, she took a step backward.
Okay, mistake in judgment. If he didn’t regroup quickly, Devin would never get close to her. He frowned, remembering why he was really there.
He had to get close to her, had to bring up the money.
“Or not,” he said, wishing he could think of something a little more articulate.
She squinted at him. “What?” Although only a few steps from him, it seemed as if she had retreated to the far side of the restaurant.
“I mean I did memorize your books. Well, not every book. A friend culled key lines. We put them on cue cards. I crammed.”
A bug. That’s what he felt like under her stare. A big, fuzzy bug pinned to acid-free paper and baking under a bare lightbulb.
“Cue cards?” she repeated.
Devin fished in his jacket pocket, finally pulling out a handful of note cards. He held one out like a peace offering.
She took it gingerly, as if it might bite.
“‘My job? It’s wild and dangerous, but not as dangerous as my passion for you.’ Were you planning on using that line tonight?”
If Jerry were around, Devin might just have to kill him for including that card among the bunch. Since Jerry was safe and sound in Brooklyn, Devin chose another tact.
“Maybe. I like to keep my options open.”
Her mouth twitched. “You do? Why?”
“Because I like to get what I want. And I’m willing to work for it.”
Her eyes softened. “What do you want?”
“A lot of things.” Her. To see raw, sexual heat reflected in her eyes. To know that right then, right there, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“For example, I’ve been wanting to do this all night.” He heard her breath catch as he moved toward her. Eyes closed, she leaned toward him, soft and sweet and sexy. Desire radiated from her, and he knew she wanted his kiss.
Wanted him. Devin O’Malley, Montgomery Alexander, it didn’t matter. She wanted the man standing next to her. No matter what name she might give him, tonight Devin was that man.
Molten desire boiled in his veins. His body craved the feel of her mouth under his, her fingers gliding over his skin, her breasts pressed hard against his naked chest.
Devin groaned, quelling the urge to take her mouth, to explore with his hands the secrets she had hiding under that sexy little dress. He wanted to let her excitement build slowly, even if it killed him. To wait until her head was just as sure as her body of how much she needed him close to her. Inside her.
His palms cupped her cheeks, pulling her closer. She trembled as his fingers glided across her skin, skimming over the top of her ears, then tangling deep in her loose curls.
She tilted her head back, her lips parted, eager and moist. Waiting. Waiting for him.
“Fabulous,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Fabul—”
She opened her eyes, still lazy and soft with desire. “Fabulous?” she asked. “My hair? That’s what you’ve been wanting to do all night? Play with my hair?”
“It’s hypnotic. Hair like that could have felled an entire army. Helen of Troy and all that.” His voice was husky with lust, and it took every ounce of his strength to keep from touching his mouth to hers, to keep from giving her what she wanted. What he wanted, too.
“I’m…well, thank you, but…”
She frowned, and he knew she was trying to figure out his angle. “You really just wanted to touch my hair?”
The disappointment in her voice humbled him.
“Actually, there was something else.”
She smiled, almost shyly, and his heart raced. “Yes?”
“I’d still like to buy you a drink.”
She hesitated, her small tongue flicking over her lips. He held his breath. Was she, like him, wondering if maybe skipping a drink and going straight to her room might be the better plan? Or maybe she was trying to talk herself out of even the drink?
“All right,” Paris agreed at last. “But just one drink.”
He exhaled, relieved, and held his hand out to her.
“You have my word,” he assured.
But after the drink…? Well, he’d make no promises about that.
HE KEPT HIS WORD, too, Paris thought. An hour later she was still sitting across from him in a secluded booth near the back of the hotel’s deserted bar, one unfinished drink between them. Meant to serve twelve, the drink, called a “House on Fire,” combined vodka, rum, banana liqueur, coconut and other fruit flavors into a concoction the menu said was a favorite at parties. Mystery Man and Paris hadn’t