Kiss & Tell. Alison Kent
enough to leave marks, and rode his hand, pumping her hips where she sat, sliding on and off his finger.
He ran the flat of his tongue along her collarbone, kissed his way back to her throat, moved to the swell of her breast and pushed her dress aside. He found her nipple and sucked, penetrating her sex with a second finger, rolling the tip of her breast with his lips. She was close now.
He’d hit the right rhythm, found the right combination of pressure and motion, and he kept it up, stroking, rubbing, in and out and around. She tensed, grew wetter. Her breathing quickened, becoming labored and shallow and damp.
And then she cried out, tossing back her head as her orgasm consumed her. He watched the fierce sweep of emotions cross her face, felt her sex contract around him, found himself awash on an amazing high at being able to give this to her, share this with her. At pleasing her so completely.
She came down quickly, shaking, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his biceps, color rising to her cheeks as she dipped her head. “I can’t believe—”
“Believe.” He didn’t want her to feel self-conscious, or awkward at what she’d allowed him to see. He wanted her to bask in the lingering sensation, not embarrassment.
“But you didn’t. It’s not right—”
He smiled, leaned forward to nuzzle the skin beneath her ear. “If you want to do something about that, I won’t say no.”
5
TEN MINUTES LATER Miranda and Caleb were sneaking into the Inn at Snow Falls’ kitchen, ready to feed their hunger with leftovers since the lack of a condom had kept them from feeding it in more intimate ways.
Miranda was still smiling at Caleb’s lack of preparedness. Her own lack was just as sad, but then she never expected to cross paths with eligible men. She’d resigned herself to a life of having sex with herself and her vibrators, and poured out her sensuality onstage.
But a sexy, gorgeous and extremely persuasive man like Caleb—for him not to have a condom at the ready for the women he must meet…She glanced back at him, her smile widening and taking over her face.
“Are you laughing at me or with me this time?” he asked from behind her as she waved at the dishwasher, Earnesto, who winked back a promise not to tattle to the boss about her bringing company along on her kitchen raid.
“I’m not laughing at all.” At least not outwardly. Inside she was like a kid on an amusement park Tilt-a-Whirl. “I’m giddy because I can’t wait to dig into the chipotle tomato cheese spread I heard Chef made up today. He always keeps snacks around for us late-nighters.”
In the smaller of the kitchen’s three refrigerators, she found the cheese spread and a bottle of wine; the latter she handed to Caleb. After grabbing two saucers, she pointed him to the rack of wineglasses and a bag of seasoned bagel crisps. Then she led him toward the corner of the kitchen where a folding table with four matching chairs was tucked away in a small alcove for the inn’s staff to use.
She sat facing the kitchen, which was probably a mistake since it left him to sit facing her and the wall, and left her to deal with his scrutiny. It wouldn’t have been awkward had he not just fingered her to orgasm. But he had, and she could hardly ignore how close they’d come to taking things all the way.
Caleb went back to the utensil cabinet for a corkscrew while Miranda removed the cover from the cheese spread and opened the bag of bagel crisps. By the time he had the wine opened and poured, she had used one of the sturdiest chips to scoop cheese onto their plates.
“Do you do this a lot?” he asked. “Midnight snack in the hotel kitchen?”
“Of course.” She laughed, dipped a chip half into her cheese. The light in the alcove wasn’t as bright as in the main part of the kitchen, making it hard to read his face. “A perk of the job. And a good one since the town is short on all-night convenience stores.”
He watched as she popped the bite of food into her mouth. “That’s one of my favorite things about New York. The bodegas. Need a sandwich or a roll of toilet paper or batteries at 4:00 a.m.? It’s a one-stop shopping trip.”
“Is that where you live? New York?”
He shook his head, reached for his wine. “Not anymore.”
She noticed he didn’t volunteer where he was from. “Do you miss it?”
“Not much to miss.” He held her gaze while he drank, and returned his glass to the table. “I’m there a lot. And I’m in L.A. a lot.”
“Is all that travel for work or pleasure?” she asked, doing her best not to look away. His attention was so focused on her, his expression so intense.
“A little of both. I work in…the arts,” he said, and she picked up on his hesitation.
The arts could mean books or movies…or music. He’d said he was here for a wedding, one that would be a big deal. She’d gathered from the staff’s whispers while they scurried to do Ravyn’s bidding that the singer was home. As far as Miranda knew, Brenna had not been in contact with her mother. But with the congressman here as well…
Could Brenna and Teddy be tying the knot? Could Caleb be here because he knew Brenna as an industry insider, or was a friend? She wanted to press for Corinne’s sake, but if Brenna didn’t want her mother to know what was happening, well, it wasn’t Miranda’s business anyway.
In fact, she could be totally off the mark. And she was not going to ask questions that could start hurtful rumors. “An interesting line of work, I’ll bet.”
“It is. It can be. It can also be a pain in the ass.”
Now that she could relate to. “Show me a career that doesn’t have those moments, and I’ll show you someone who’s not working very hard.”
His eyes flashed with a teasing heat. “I know you work hard. I’ve seen you.”
He’d seen things she didn’t want to think about right now. She was trying to get beyond the frustration of their aborted encounter, and she never would if every look he gave her reminded her of what they’d done as well as made her regret what she’d missed.
She needed a drink, and took one. “And you want to know what there is about being Candy Cane that could possibly be a pain in the ass.”
He popped a bagel chip into his mouth and nodded.
“The wigs make me sweat.”
“So why wear them?”
“Because I don’t have long red hair, and red is a theme here, in case that’s slipped your notice. And, yes, the wigs are well-made and breathable, but that doesn’t help much when I’m onstage. Those lights are brutal.”
“Then spend more time offstage with the audience.”
Funny man. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Me and the rest of the men watching you. Some of the women, too.”
And again the suggestive innuendo, the heat in his eyes, the want. It was hard to look away. “That’s what I’m afraid of. And why I don’t mingle more than I do. This is a lovers’ resort. I don’t want to come between the lovers.”
“Why did you mingle tonight?”
She’d been trying to figure that out for herself ever since draping herself across his table. Using a broken chip, she toyed with the cheese on her plate.
Instead of eating it, she told him, “You looked lonely.”
He paused with his wineglass halfway to his mouth. “A pity kiss?”
“Not hardly,” she said, the gruff accusation causing her chest to tighten. “More like a sense of familiarity. Not to sound totally pathetic, but I know that feeling well.”
Without