Nights With Him Page 3

  She shook his hand as he sat next to her. “Michelle with two Ls. I used to have one L in my name, but it always looked like it was spelled wrong, so I just decided to add the second L. Because I can.”

  “Hell yeah, you can. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Michelle who now has two Ls. I hope this isn’t too forward of me, but you don’t seem like a woman who’s going to get offended easily. I noticed how hot you are when you walked into the hotel an hour ago.”

  Hot. He’d called her hot. Not pretty. Not beautiful. But hot. She’d take hot. She’d happily take being called hot, because hot was what she felt when he said it. Hot all over. Bothered in all the right places.

  “How hot?” she asked, eager for more of his compliments.

  He leaned in closer, and lowered his voice to a sexy whisper. “Fucking hot.”

  She shut her eyes for the briefest of moments, letting the words flare through her body, igniting something inside of her that usually was only lit up from her fantasy life. But now she was feeling something in real life, from a real person, who seemed to have real interest.

  “I believe we could make a nice mutual admiration society then, because I noticed the same of you. Also about an hour ago.”

  He raised his glass and clinked it with hers. “To mutual admiration.”

  “And to another drink, and I will buy. Because it looks like we’re ready for another one,” she said, glancing at her nearly empty glass.

  “I’m ready for more,” he said, and brushed his hand against her shoulder. A fresh blast of sparks raced through her body as he traced a soft line along her collarbone. The tiny touch that started on her neck spread through her, like a golden comet, leaving heat in its wake. In the span of time, his touch was a blink, but it held the promise of so much more.

  “I’d be up for more,” she whispered.

  “Much, much more,” he said slowly, seductively, that deep, sexy voice threading its way through her, settling down between her legs, turning her on to the point where she was picturing reaching for that wine-red tie, tugging him close, and learning how that stubbly goodness on his jaw would feel against her. And how much more he could raise the heat inside her body with a kiss.

  She ordered but when the bartender returned with the drinks and she reached for her purse, Jack placed a hand on top of hers. Firmly. “I was only joking about you paying.”

  “What if I want to pay?”

  “I’m not going to let you pay, Michelle,” he said in a determined tone, his bright blue eyes fixed on her.

  She swallowed, looked down at his hand covering hers, and already her imagination revved into hyper-drive. Long, strong fingers. Big hands. Holding her down. Pinning her.

  He seemed to sense where her mind had gone, or maybe he just felt the tension radiate from her body, because he didn’t move away as he paid for the drinks. Before she knew it, his fingers were laced through hers, and he was holding her hand at the bar.

  She’d never known holding hands would feel so erotic, but with the charge in the air between them, this was no kids’ play. It was almost like . . . foreplay. Then, it most decidedly became the start of something when he stroked his thumb over her palm, tracing lazy circles on her skin, a promise of what he might be able to do with those hands. She nearly combusted from the spark he’d set off inside her body, like a fireworks twirler lit up and racing.

  She shut her eyes briefly, breathed out, her body betraying her. There was no hiding the lust she felt radiating in the air. It was like heat in the desert, shimmering on the horizon. Undeniable.

  He was a stranger who wasn’t quite a stranger, and he was the only thing she was thinking about right now. Her mind was one hundred percent here, and nowhere near her past, nowhere close to anyone else, not lingering whatsoever on the man she had thought she loved for years. Nope. She was present, only present, and she enjoyed this moment so much that she hoped it lasted and knit itself into the rest of the evening.

  Into sex with a stranger.

  Because that was some of the best sex there ever was. No holds barred, no past, no future, no emotions or history to cloud the moment.

  She knew what she wanted tonight. A night with him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ONE NIGHT WITH HER

  Wet Kisses

  He was no virgin. He was no saint.

  He’d had a quiet year by choice. Guilt had clawed at him, and though he’d had plenty of chances, and plenty of attempted set-ups from women in his office who wanted to introduce him to their sisters, or their best friends, or their cousins, Jack had kept his nose to the ground and his pants zipped. He was a mess in the head, and a fuck-up in the heart, and that had kept him out of the bedroom.

  A self-imposed monkhood, his sister had called it.

  But hell, he wasn’t thinking of his sister right now.

  He was thinking how much he’d like that dry spell to end tonight. Maybe even in the next hour. Because this woman was everything he wanted—sharp, clever, playful and hot as fuck in that blouse and skirt. She had the perfect body for that businesswoman look she had going on, with the skirt down to her knees that made him think of her in a boardroom, crossing her strong, sexy legs as she sat at the head of the table. She probably ran her own business, and that made her even sexier. He was drawn to the kind of confidence that a high-powered woman possessed. And he particularly liked that this high-powered woman had no clue he ran Joy Delivered, because that meant she was actually interested in the guy she’d met tonight, and not the label that sometimes lured others. With the years he’d spent in the military after college as an army intelligence officer before founding this company, he’d been labeled by the press as the Soldier-Turned-Sex-Toy-Mogul. It wasn’t the sort of a title that could be bestowed very often, but it was part and parcel of who he was. Though it didn’t bother him one bit, he also didn’t mind not being that person tonight, along with the baggage attached. He could be himself again. Not a man with a past tethered to him, or a sandwich board slung on his chest.

  And so the last half hour with Michelle with two Ls he’d been precisely that—himself. They’d polished off another round of drinks and he’d held her hand, touching her in a way he hoped was driving her wild, and enticing her as much as her sexy librarian look and smart conversation was luring him in. The business meeting with Henry and the councilman was in the rearview mirror; he no longer had politics or problems on his mind. He and Michelle had talked about baseball, and beaches they wanted to visit, and Jack had even admitted that he had a buddy who’d made it his mission to have unusual questions at the ready, should he meet an interesting woman. Michelle didn’t seem bothered that he’d borrowed his friend’s body part question.

  “I like that you just confessed. It makes you seem like you’re not just a smooth and polished James Bond lookalike, all dashing and debonair and able to fire off witty questions like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

  “James Bond,” he said, running his fingers down his tie. “I’ll happily take that comparison. Dashing and debonair, too—I like that as well.”

  “Well, you are all of the above. So, Just Jack, what exactly is it that you just do?”

  Uh-oh. The conversation he didn’t want to have. “What do you think I do?” he fired back, hoping to deflect.

  “Obviously something that requires you to wear a tie, so unless you’re a gigolo,” she said, and that drew a deep laugh from inside his chest, “I’m going with businessman, and you were here tonight working on a deal.”

  He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Businessman. He could work with that.

  “You are very good at putting clues together.”

  “That’s kind of my job.”

  “Are you a detective?”

  She shook her head and laughed. “Nope. But some days it can feel that way.”

  “So is this when I ask you what you do? Even though we’re supposed to talk about far more interesting things?”

  “But, see, I find what people do interesting and it says something about who they are,” she said, her brown eyes hooked on him, her gaze confident and alluring.

  “Then I’ll tell you what I do, because I don’t want you to walk away and say you didn’t know anything about who I was,” he said, figuring he could give her something without telling her everything. “I am a businessman. I sell things—usually online, sometimes in stores—that make people feel better.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Toys.”

  She laughed. “Toys,” she said, amusement in her tone. “That is so damn cute.”

  “Cute. Not exactly what I want a gorgeous woman to call me.”

  “What do you want a gorgeous woman to call you?”

  “Oh, God, at the top of her lungs,” he said, watching her breath hitch with his words.

  “You are naughty, Mr. Toy Salesman,” she said, arching an eyebrow playfully. Fine, she thought he was a toy salesman. He didn’t need to disabuse her of that notion. He did sell toys, but tonight, he didn’t plan to use any because he was going to show her that this toy salesman wasn’t dependent on his products. He could use the tools he came with. Tools to make her come, again and again. Before he could respond, she spoke again. “So you want me to call you Oh, God, Jack,” she said, her mouth falling open, her breath coming fast as she imitated an orgasmic cry.

  Like a shot of adrenaline to his groin. He shifted in the chair, sure she could see his erection, and equally sure he didn’t mind her knowing he was rock-hard for her. “As long as you’re looking at me like that, you can call me anything you want,” he said, watching her reaction as she pressed her lips together as if she were holding back. He didn’t want her to hold back. He wanted her to let go.

  “Well, Oh, God, Jack, we’re in the same field. I also help people feel better.”

  She took another drink, and that seemed to be the end to the obligatory “what do you do” conversation. He was glad it was out of the way, that it had been handled without lies, and that they could move on to more interesting topics. He segued into something he’d wanted to ask all night. “Any chance you’d let me make you feel better, Michelle?”

  “What makes you think I feel bad?” she countered.

  “Nothing. But I think I could make you feel a little bit better if, say, I did this,” he said, then brushed a loose strand of her hair away from her shoulder, and leaned in. It took five seconds for him to bend closer, and the air was charged, heated with possibility. Then he pressed his lips to her neck, barely there, brushing her soft, sweet skin that tasted faintly of honey and vanilla, something entirely alluring that made him both want to kiss her and rip her clothes off at the same time. A feminine scent, but a thoroughly suggestive one, too, that hinted at the way she might taste all over. “Mmm,” he murmured against her skin, then pulled back to assess her response. The hazy look in her eyes told him all he needed. More. She wanted more.

  She breathed out hard through pursed lips. “You know, I think, um, this spot,” she said, tapping her neck on the other side, “might need to feel better too.”

  “I have a treatment plan for that,” he said, leaning in close to kiss her neck. He groaned faintly, heat rising in his body because she tasted so good. The scent of her was beyond arousing, and he wanted to know how she tasted everywhere. Her hair, the back of her neck, her belly, her legs, between them . . . he wanted his mouth all over her.

  “What about here?” he asked, brushing a fingertip across her bottom lip, watching her hitch in a breath. That quick gasp signaled that she was losing control, and that was how he wanted her to be. Lost in him.

  She nodded. “Yes, my lips could stand to feel better,” she said in a needy whisper.

  “Then let me help you feel fantastic,” he said, and he took his time, wanting to savor every single second of not only kissing her, but the time before, when he was about to kiss her. He ran his fingers over a few loose strands of her hair, so soft against his skin. He watched her, because he liked to watch, and because he liked to record a woman’s reactions, and this woman had him wanting her badly. Her brown eyes were clouded with lust, and he was sure they matched the look in his. The only difference was he would lead the kiss. He would set the pace. He liked control, and he wanted to know how she felt melting against him. He traced a finger down her jaw, and her lips parted. Her breath was soft against his face, and then he pressed his lips to hers. She tasted faintly of lipstick and vodka, and it was one of his favorite taste combinations in the world. Running his tongue across the seam of her lips, he teased at first, priming her for how he wanted to kiss her properly. Hard, passionately, the kind of kiss that would make her weak in the knees, and foggy in the head, and leave her not only wanting, but desperately needing more.

  A kiss that would make her wet.

  She angled her body closer, her breasts pressed against his chest, and soon her hands had found their way to his hair. Their tongues tangled in a hot duet. The temperature rose, the volume shot way up, and they were practically clawing their way through the kiss, desperate for more. Teeth, lips, mouth, tongue, all furious and fevered heat as her hands gripped his hair.

  He needed to have her. Had to take her. She was hot as sin, smelled like lust, and radiated sexuality. Without her even saying it directly, he knew she was a woman who had no reservations about self-love. She’d pretty much admitted she had a bit of a porn habit, and he could see her alone in her bed, eyes fixed on filthy images online, spread out on a white comforter with her legs spread and her fingers wrapped around a red vibrator, thrusting in and out, bringing herself there.

  Tonight, she didn’t need to go it solo.

  He broke the kiss, and traveled to her ear, whispering hotly, “If you were to go home right now, would you touch yourself?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Why is it obvious?”

  “Because I’m turned on as fuck, and it would be a fantastic orgasm.”

  “Would you think of me as you played with yourself?” he asked, then licked the shell of her ear. She shivered against him.

  “You’re giving me pretty good fodder, so I’d have to say that’d be a yes.”

  “What would you imagine?” he asked, so fucking eager to know what she wanted. He shifted back, looking at her gorgeous face, her brown eyes hazy with lust. He was curious if she’d say hands, lips, tongue, or cock. Dying to know what she wanted next if she were to have her way.

  She shot him a stare, her eyes hooking into his. Something dark and naughty passed over her gaze.

  “I would fantasize about you finishing what you just started.”

  His breath caught in his chest, and his heart stopped for a moment. The air around them was heavy, expectant, and suddenly it felt as if all the sound in the room had both stopped and been sharpened. Everything collided into this—the heavy pulsing sound of the music, the clink of glasses, the splash of liquor being poured, and then this—her breath, her chest rising and falling, and the heated look in her eyes that spelled unabashed lust.

  He was going to fuck her good tonight.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ONE NIGHT WITH HER

  Stop, Don’t Stop

  Her reflection in the brass doors of the elevator would give her away. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair was slipping from its clip, and the collar of her blouse already needed readjusting. It was a look she hadn’t worn in years, but it was one she found she liked on herself. The look of a woman about to have hot, dirty sex with a man she barely knew. Michelle Milo was getting some action tonight, and it wasn’t the battery-operated kind.

  A couple walked behind her. A man with slick black hair had his arm draped around a young blonde. They were wrapped up in each other, but seemed to check out Michelle before they turned the corner.

  She stood alone outside the elevators, waiting for Jack to return from the front desk where he was getting a room, and she practically wanted to pump her first, maybe even high-five her own reflection.

  But that would be premature, right? What if he was bad in bed? What if he had a small peter? Man, what a drag when that happened. You get all hot and bothered and raring to go, and everything is clicking on all cylinders from the conversation to the connection to the magical thing known as chemistry, then bam. Tiny revealed. She crossed her fingers and sent a silent prayer to the universe—or maybe just to the Patron Saint of Endowment, hoping that such a saint existed and if she didn’t, she damn well should, because she’d have offerings of riches from women the world over—that Jack had the kind of package that would make her mouth water.

  Then she chuckled to herself, almost shocked at the thoughts racing through her head. What happened to serious, focused, honest-to-a-fault Michelle who worked as a therapist and prided herself on being direct, upfront, and open? Of course, she wasn’t always upfront. She’d never told her friend Clay how she felt about him all those years. Not that it would have made a difference. He didn’t feel the same way, and who fucking cared anymore? What a welcome bit of luck that at least, for this moment in time, her mind was free of that unrequited love that had weighed her down like a heavy rusted anchor on the sea floor.

  Because right now, she was living in the moment, and judging a man for the size of his cock. Or potential size, really. Hell, it felt wickedly good to let this side of her steer the ship. Far too often she was all-work-and-no-play Michelle. But she was her after-hours self now, and she hoped this man could match the ones in her fantasy. Or at the very least, the size of the phalluses in her nightstand drawer.

  Jack—or Just Jack as she now thought of him—walked towards her, and he was the only one on her mind as she took him in, his tie loosened, his white shirt rumpled, his pants . . .

  Her eyes had strayed there and she snapped them up quickly.

  He brandished a key, flashing it at her with a knowing wink, then whispered in her ear, “Were you just checking me out?”