Her Book Of Pleasure. Marie Donovan
He took her hand and helped her up the stairs as if she were a princess. On the second step from the top, her shoe caught in her hem and she pitched forward.
He caught her against his chest, her feet dangling. Her breath came hard, making her breasts rise and fall against the hard musculature of his chest.
“Are you okay?” At least that’s what she thought he said, mesmerized by the movement of his lips.
Her face was inches from his. If she leaned in, she could press her mouth against his to learn how he tasted.
“Michiko?” Real concern deepened his voice.
“I’m fine.” She’d be even better if he kept holding her, but that wasn’t an option. She loosened her grip on him and slid down his body. It was a long, pleasurable journey. Her breasts scraped against the fine pale blue cotton of his oxford shirt, her nipples peaking. The warmth of his body radiated through her heavy skirt.
“There you go.” He steadied her on her feet.
“Thank you.” She was so shaken by a rush of desire that she allowed him to fold her hand into the crook of his elbow.
“Marco said the bar would be open during the whole reception.” He slowed his long steps to keep pace with her down the corridor into the ballroom. Her tumble into his arms had sharpened her senses to everything, not just him. The gold leaf cherubs on the wall were brighter, the carpet was softer and the chicken dance music had mercifully ended.
Rick guided her to a small table in a corner alcove. “Here we are, Michiko.” She shivered, unused to hearing her Japanese name caressed by such a deep, sexy voice. “What would you like me to get you from the bar?”
It had been a long day. “Bushmills Irish whiskey on the rocks.”
“You like whiskey?” He was surprised.
She grinned. He probably expected her to order sake or maybe even a mai tai. She couldn’t stomach warm rice wine or a fruity umbrella drink tonight. “I drink whiskey sometimes when I’m in America. It’s hard to find in Japan.” That part was true. Her father had her airmail him two bottles every month. Although Dad wouldn’t be caught dead polluting his Bushmills with ice.
“Bushmills it is. I’ll be right back.” He smiled at her and made his way to the crowded bar through the maze of tables, his movements graceful for such a large man in a small space.
Rick seemed like a nice guy. A sexy guy, too. But appearances were deceiving. Her last relationship the previous fall had seemed promising until Ethan began criticizing every single thing she did. She was too mouthy and not demure enough. Her clothes were too bright and tight. She didn’t accept his helpful suggestions.
He should have suggested she call first before coming over. Meg had showed up unexpectedly at his place and found him screwing some Malaysian chick who could barely speak English. Not a problem for Meg, who’d screamed at her in the appropriate Chinese dialect. She’d saved her extensive vocabulary of Anglo-Saxon swearwords for Ethan.
She sighed. Ever since, she’d built up a prickly exterior that was hard to shed, and fighting her way through the Asian art department’s tenure committee to get her associate professorship hadn’t helped her find her softer side.
“Two Bushmills on the rocks.” Rick smiled down at her.
Meg accepted the tumbler as he sat. “You didn’t have to get the same drink as me.”
“I like whiskey and it’s been a while since I drank Bushmills. What should we drink to?” He slipped his arm across her chair, not quite resting it on her shoulders.
“Whatever you’d like.” This time she wasn’t coy. Every rational thought had fled from her mind at the press of his body against hers. The heat from his body raised goose bumps on her arms.
Rick raised his glass. “To new friends and new experiences.” He casually dropped his arm and brushed his fingers over her bare shoulders. She shuddered. His fingertips were only inches from the tops of her breasts. She clamped her thighs together in a futile attempt to relieve the sudden ache.
“You haven’t tried your drink.” He leaned in, the scent of whiskey mixing with his spicy cologne. His eyes had turned that amazing shade of cobalt again. A lock of wavy hair fell across his forehead as he nodded at her tumbler. “If you don’t want it, I’ll get something else.”
“No, no, this is fine.” She sipped, the whiskey warming a path down to her stomach. “So, Rick, what do you do?”
“I own a private investigations company specializing in corporate counterespionage, intellectual property disputes, employee investigations. Basically anything a business owner might need to find out or keep his competitors from learning.”
Meg nodded. So he was smart and ambitious. “Corporate counterespionage? Like companies spying on each other?”
“Right. I majored in engineering so I often handle hi-tech cases myself. I was in Hong Kong to investigate a patent infringement case involving this certain piece of technology that—” He cut himself off and grinned. “I must be tired to even tell you that much, and you haven’t told me anything about yourself except your Japanese name is Michiko. Do you go by an American name as well?”
Meg grinned back. “Maybe, maybe not. You’re the professional investigator, you find out.”
“I can find out in thirty seconds if I ask Rey or Marco. Or look in the wedding bulletin.”
She shook her head. “That would be cheating. Are you a cheater?” she teased.
His eyes darkened and jaw set. Interesting. “No way.” Then his expression lightened. “All right, mysterious Michiko, if you won’t tell me, I’ll find you anyway. That is, if you do want me to find you after tonight.”
She deliberately rested her hand on his, the tiny hairs on the back of his hand tickling her palm. “I do want you. To find me, that is.” Her voice came out breathy as she imagined how his fingers would feel touching, caressing her. Maybe tonight? She shivered. He had mentioned his hotel room earlier.
“I will. That’s a promise, Michiko.”
His sexy voice sliding across her name decided it. Megan O’Malley hadn’t had any luck with hot men, so maybe it was time to let Michiko have a try.
And where Michiko went, Meg would come, too. Preferably more than once.
2
RICK WATCHED in fascination as Michiko took a long sip of whiskey.
“That tasted great, warming my throat all the way down.” She ran her tiny pink tongue around her pouty lips and stroked the creamy length of her neck, trailing her slim fingers between her breasts. “How was yours?”
“What? Oh. My drink’s fine.” He’d been distracted by the expression on her face as she caressed her throat and chest. She was the most sensual woman he’d met in a long time, but he would have a hard time finding her if he didn’t learn more about her. “Tell me about yourself, Michiko.”
“Hmmm, just enough information to give you a challenge. I live in Chicago, but I’m not from here. Rey and I have been friends for a few years.”
“Where do you work?”
She laughed. “I’ll give you a couple clues. I was born in Japan and I work at a university in the city.”
He knew she was as smart as she was beautiful. Was she an artist like Rey? “What department?”
She shook her head, the reddish highlights in her dark hair gleaming. “That’s all you get out of me tonight.” But her sidelong smile as she sipped her drink told him that wasn’t necessarily so.
“You have a drop on the corner of your mouth.” He wanted to see her tongue again, watch it make her full lips glistening and