Hot to the Touch Page 3

  “Nah.” Troy didn’t want to go home yet. Lately his house had been feeling empty, without the crush of working on the book on top of his regular day job. He’d been training for the next triathlon in September with Chad, going out with friends, playing basketball on Sundays, taking his golden chow mix, Dylan, for long walks, all of which helped, but they didn’t fill the house. “I’ll stay and finish my drink.”

  “Okay.” Justin slapped him on the back and slid clumsily off the stool. “Just keep your eyes open.”

  The man with the red face turned his power switch back on. “And check out her feet.”

  Troy considered moving away, but after Justin disappeared, the guy receded again into staring at his glass of Coke, which Troy would guess was healthily dosed with rum. Booze and caffeine, upper and downer taken together. No wonder the guy looked as if he were in suspended animation.

  The front door opened; Troy glanced over, half-expecting Justin or Candy, and did a double take, along with half the bar. The male half.

  A woman. Older than he was, early thirties. Dark. Beautiful. Stop-traffic beautiful. Reduce-men-to-drooling-idiocy beautiful, even dressed in black shapeless pants and a black shapeless shirt, neither of which could hide that she was all shape underneath.

  “Would ya look at that.” The little man beside him voiced what every straight guy in the place must be thinking.

  She seemed completely at ease, undoubtedly used to being stared at, headed for the bar and sat at the corner, leaving two seats between her and Troy’s red-faced neighbor. In a rich, musical voice she ordered arak and Arabic food—was she Lebanese? Troy watched her surreptitiously—watched her pour her drink and sip it reverentially, watched her after her food came, lips and teeth taking bites, face registering pleasure—and found himself getting turned on. Maybe it had been too long, maybe Justin was right, and he should try to make a move on Little Miss Jonas Brothers. Not the woman he wanted, but this one was way out of his league, and probably experienced at turning away male attention.

  As if to confirm his thoughts, a well-built, good-looking guy tried his luck with the mystery woman and was viciously shot down—weakling flea up against a fiery cannonball.

  Still, Troy stayed, long after his drink was gone. She drew him, even in a spectator role. He wanted to be the fly on her wall and hang around, buzzing as long as she was here.

  Red-Faced Guy decided he’d had enough and after a few weird comments, stumbled out, leaving only three empty seats between Troy and Womanhood Personified. Ludicrously, his heart started pounding. The bartender offered another arak, and though he’d been fine before, Troy felt exposed now, and answered yes. His peripheral vision caught the woman registering his presence. More than registering, she was watching him. His drink came, and in the act of pouring, he gave in to his impulse and turned to meet her eyes.

  Boom.

  He’d expected her to have an effect on him; hell, he’d practically gotten a hard-on watching her eat, but he hadn’t expected…this. It was as if he’d lit up, as if every nerve ending in his body had come to life in a way he’d never felt before, ever, not even close. They heated up, uh, like a life, um, heat…

  Uh-oh. He was in trouble.

  She looked away, then back.

  Boom. Again. Stronger this time. The rest of Justin’s words sang in Troy’s brain: This is it. This is her. I just met the rest of my life.

  Jeez. Get a grip.

  She looked away again and continued eating, not with her previous sexy immersion into the experience, each bite contemplated, taken, then savored, but robotically, unvaryingly, bites brought to her mouth, chewed, swallowed, repeated, as if she were seriously rattled. As if she’d just locked eyes with destiny and wasn’t sure she liked what she saw. Unless Troy was simply projecting what he wanted her to be feeling.

  He sipped his drink, sipped again, needing the courage more than the buzz. The last guy who tried to get on base with her struck out before the pitch was even completed. Troy could suffer the same fate no matter how intense their eye contact had been.

  Or he could not.

  Another sip, and he’d decided. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” his father always said, usually before he was about to try a difficult golf shot, which he generally missed.

  So…what to say?

  Hi, I’m Troy.

  Oh, was that clever.

  Can I buy you a drink?

  Zero points.

  How about them Brewers?

  Yeah, right.

  You look like someone who really enjoys her food.

  Hmm. That wasn’t so bad.

  Another check on his neighbor—she was gripping her glass, staring straight ahead, apparently unaware of his continued presence. Hello? Little encouragement here? Even a glance?

  Apparently not.

  One last sip of arak and he’d do it, no matter what.

  Movement caught his eye and he found her this time with wallet in hand.

  He took the last sip hastily. “Leaving?”

  She stiffened as though the word had cornered her, then turned slowly. This time, though, Troy was prepared for the impact.

  Boom.

  No, he wasn’t.

  “Thought I might.”

  “Can I buy you another drink instead?” No, it wasn’t original, but he was working under pressure.

  She didn’t answer. She barely moved. For someone who’d been so full of life when she walked in, casting her aura over the entire bar, she’d become oddly colorless and shut down.

  He felt unaccountably protective of her, this older woman he knew absolutely nothing about, a woman who seemed more than able to take care of herself, and certainly more than able to answer a yes/no question about wanting a drink.

  “No?” He held his breath.

  She blinked, as if he’d disturbed some internal debate. Panic flitted over her features, which grew his confidence.

  “Or…yes?” He suppressed a smile. Nice to know he had the ability to spark some kind of confused reaction in her. Because she’d done nothing but confuse the hell out of him since she made her entrance.

  Miraculously, she put her wallet away, got down from the stool and sauntered toward him, hand held out for a shake. “Yes.”

  Yes.

  He took her hand. The contact with her skin seemed intimate, familiar and right. He wanted to draw her into his arms and find her mouth. But since all she’d agreed to was a drink, that probably wasn’t a great idea. “My name is—”

  “No.” She had a finger up to his lips fast enough to cut him off, startle him and make him want to close his mouth to taste her. “Don’t tell me your name.”

  “Why, you want to guess?”

  Her pretty brows drew together. “I don’t want to know it.”

  “Why not?” Was she married?

  “Female prerogative.”

  “Okay. Have a seat?” He gestured unnecessarily to the stool next to him—she was already climbing on—and he caught her scent. Frying oil? Herbs? Roasted meat? She’d been in a kitchen somewhere.

  “Would you like another arak?”

  “Please.”

  He signaled the friendly, efficient bartender and pointed to Darcy; the man nodded and got down the bottle and a clean glass.

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “No.” The word came out as a simple statement of fact.

  Troy regarded her with amusement. “So I guess asking what you do is out of the question, too?”

  “Do we really need the details?”

  “What’s wrong with them?”

  “Sometimes they get in the way.”

  “Of?”

  “Of what we’re both after.” She was still speaking matter-of-factly, but he could sense high energy, see her fingers clenching and opening on her thighs.

  “And what is that?”

  “A night together. No strings.”

  He waited for his body to react, but the adrenaline rush was muted. Mystery Woman w
as acting as if this was a business transaction, though now that he was close, he could see that something vulnerable lurked under her facade of confidence. Her movements seemed less smooth than when she’d swept into the restaurant, her lips were held tighter. Did she really want to do this? “What makes you think a night together is what I want?”

  “Your eyes told me.”

  She’d read that much right, though he hadn’t been thinking one-night-no-strings as much as until-we-are-sick-of-each-other-or-die. “Are you married?”

  “No.” She spoke emphatically and he believed her. “Nor seeing anyone. I’m just too busy to start a relationship, and prefer to keep entanglements to a minimum.”

  Apparently.

  Troy didn’t want limits, he wanted to dive in and explore her life and her mind, as well as her body. He still couldn’t believe how powerfully he was drawn to her, how much this felt like something that had always been supposed to happen to him. As if he was welcoming it at last, like a much-anticipated reunion with a long-expected and familiar friend.

  She tossed her hair back, exposing the flawless line of her long neck. He caught a light floral scent past the kitchen aromas, and his lips buzzed with the desire to touch and taste that skin. “Are you married?” She eyed him suspiciously.

  “No. Nor involved with anyone right now.”

  “Would you like to be involved with someone?” She leaned closer, inches away, eyes half-closed, lips curling up at the sides, begging to be kissed. The power of her nearness nearly blew him off his stool. “I mean right now. Right here?”

  He hesitated before he accepted her invitation and met her lips. Something about this still felt surreal. Maybe that the attraction—and acting on it—was crazy, irresponsible, confusing, unlikely and very, very strong.

  She pulled back nearly immediately from his kiss, as if it had startled her, then leaned in again, used her tongue to paint his lips, her teeth to nip, her mouth to smooth the bites.

  Troy’s cock responded, but his brain was asking for more than technique and teasing. It wanted a real kiss, one that joined them and took them over the way the mere meeting of their eyes had earlier.

  He cupped the back of her head and kissed her the way he wanted, meeting her lips, moving lightly, then harder, not letting her back away from their erupting passion.

  Her tongue tempted; he responded, and their touch heated to the danger point. Too hot. He had to break free, hand still tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, breath coming hard and fast.

  This woman was serious trouble.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” She was whispering, head bent, speaking to his chest.

  His heart swelled with pleasure over what she was offering and caution over how easily the offer came. “You do this often?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No.”

  “Why now?”

  “Why not?”

  That was no answer. There was more. He wanted at it. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “Where do you think we’re going?”

  “My place?”

  “No.” She looked up sharply. “Not mine, either. Hotel room.”

  He winced. He hadn’t been in a hotel room with a woman since…ever. The one time he was, the girl hadn’t been old enough to be classified as a woman. Prom night with a group of seniors. Couples took private turns in the room their parents thoughtfully paid for—though not for that purpose—while the rest hung out in the pool and game room areas.

  “I just met you.” She sat straight, pushing back hair that had tumbled forward. “I’m not letting you know where I live and I’m not going to your place. Hotel or nothing.”

  Troy narrowed his eyes. “Are you always this wide-open to negotiation?”

  She shrugged. “In a hotel someone will hear me if I have to scream.”

  Her words chilled him, as did her casual attitude. Had she learned that lesson the hard way? He couldn’t stand thinking about it. “You think I’m capable of hurting you?”

  “No.” She dropped her eyes. “But it’s a mistake to rely entirely on instinct.”

  “I take it you’ve made that mistake.”

  “I did. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Barriers again. He wanted to know everything about her, and she was apparently going to fight him every step of the way.

  He threw down bills for the bartender and stood. Her eyes traveled quickly over him, top to bottom, and she must have liked what she saw, because her beautiful mouth curved into a smile. He escorted her outside into the still-chilly May air and over to her car. “I get to pick the hotel.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me.” Troy spoke firmly, saw her into the driver’s seat. “The Pfister downtown. Meet me in the lobby.”

  He shut her door on her surprised face and walked to his car before she could collect herself enough to respond. If they had to make love in a hotel room, okay, but for his depraved trysts, Troy wasn’t putting up with anything less than the best.

  Roughly half an hour later, after a quick condom run, Troy met her in the Pfister’s elegant lobby and traveled with her up to room 321.

  “Home sweet home.” He inserted the plastic card key and pushed open the door to the spacious, luxurious room done in rich shades of burgundy and gold: a bedroom with a four-poster king, a small sitting room and huge curtained windows that would have a view of Lake Michigan during the day.

  “Nice. Beautiful, in fact.” She walked in, tossed her purse on the bed, drew back the curtain to peer out the window, then let it fall and casually pulled her shirt over her head, exposing a black lace push-up bra supporting firm breasts, and a toned abdomen over the black pants sitting low on her hips. “Long day. I’m going to shower.”

  He stood watching her, taken aback, feeling almost superfluous, erection pushing uncomfortably against the fly of his jeans while she lowered her pants and stepped out of them to reveal not more black lace, but thin pink cotton bikini underwear with faded red and purple hearts. The mismatch was oddly endearing.

  “Want company in the shower?”

  She shrugged as if she couldn’t care either way. “Sure, if you’d like to.” If he’d like to? What was going on here? She was acting as if they were professional acquaintances, not two passionate people about to become lovers. Was she nervous or really this blasé about inviting strange men into bed? He didn’t like either option. He wanted her hungry for him, excited, as anxious to touch and to discover him as he was to discover her.

  Her hands disappeared behind her back; black lace came loose, uncovering round, high breasts with rose nipples that made Troy’s mouth purse in anticipation of sucking. She wasn’t looking at him, undressing as if he were a girlfriend she’d spent the day with and barely noticed in the room. The panties came down next in a matter-of-fact gesture, exposing closely trimmed dark hair through which peeked soft pink perfection.

  Troy made a helpless sound between a groan and a moan. She either didn’t hear or pretended not to know what she was doing to him, threw her panties on the bed and started to stride toward the shower.

  He stepped deliberately in her way, pulling his shirt over his head. She was not turning their night together into an impersonal body-on-body encounter, and she was definitely not making it as far as the shower before he was inside her.

  “Excuse me.” Her eyes were wide searching his face, which must be reflecting his single-minded determination. “Could I please get to the shower?”

  He pulled her against him, savoring the smoothness of her skin on his, and the lush pressure of her breasts. The lingering food odors had gone with her clothes; she smelled like woman and the subtle floral scent he’d caught earlier. “Shower later. You and me now.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I do.” He moved side to side, letting his chest brush her nipples, holding her eyes with his.

  She shifted her gaze away, then back, put a hand to his sternum, but not forcefully. “I’m not clean. I’d rather—�
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  “You smell delicious. You smell like you.” His voice came out a whisper; he kissed her bare shoulder, the base of her neck, her throat. “I want you now. Then shower if you have to, then I want you again. And again. And again.”

  He kissed her beautiful skin, longer between each word, undoing his jeans, pushing until they fell to his ankles and he could step out of them. Then he found her mouth, wrapped her tightly in his arms and lifted her, making her clutch at his shoulders and moan against his lips.

  Yes. She wanted him, this stunning, incredibly hot, older and undoubtedly more experienced woman. She wasn’t as indifferent as her methodical striptease suggested. His ego swelled along with his dick. He was going to make this good for her, good enough to break through that iron control. Maybe she’d tell him nothing about herself using words, but she’d tell him plenty with her body by the time this night was over. And in the days and nights ahead, he’d get to know the rest.

  He toppled her back onto the mattress, which bounced them comfortably.

  “Are you always this dictatorial?” Her breath was coming fast. She opened her legs to let him settle between them. He rubbed his erection against her beautiful sex through the thin cotton of his boxers.

  “No, but I suspect you are.”

  “Always.” She smiled up at him, dark eyes shining, hair splayed on the hotel pillow around her lovely face. Something shifted in his heart. What was it about this woman? He hadn’t known her for more than a few hours.

  “I bet you run something for your career.” He touched his nose to hers, nuzzled her soft cheek. “Manage people. Boss crowds of them around.”

  “I told you, no personal details.”

  “No?” He rolled to the side, bringing her over with him, wondering what she was hiding from or scared of, and when or if she’d let him in. He trailed his fingers down her flat belly, forcing himself to go slower than he wanted, circled them in the short, soft hair between her legs, brushed her clitoris gently back and forth, loving the push of her hips in response. “How about this personal detail?”

  “Oh.” The syllable was soft, breathless. “You seem to know that one already.”