Angel in Armani (5 page)

That was the evil part of her brain. The part that apparently had her confused with somebody entirely different who could make a move on a man like Lucas.

She was hardly a virgin and she’d coaxed a man or two into her bed in her time. But never one who looked like Lucas. And to be honest, most of the time she’d let the guys do the coaxing.

But damn, he smelled good. And looked even better.

She stared at the ugly brown floral curtains covering the window, fingers clenched around the beer bottle so she wouldn’t do anything stupid like roll over and reach for him.

The edges of the window lit up suddenly. Lightning. Thunder boomed close on its heels, and she winced and turned away from the window.

Toward Lucas.

“You don’t like thunder, do you?” Lucas was regarding her over his beer. She hadn’t picked him for the beer type but he seemed to be enjoying it. Even now, he tilted the bottle back again and took a swallow. Then he tossed the bottle toward the trash can near the door. It landed neatly, dead center. Of course it did.

“It’s fine.” She managed an everything’s-normal-here, don’t-worry smile as she picked at a loose corner of the label on her beer. Lucas Angelo didn’t need to know why storms could make her squirrelly. Everything was fine. She wasn’t out in the storm and neither was anyone else she cared about. She tilted the beer, swallowed quickly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to have hysterics and try to hide under the bed or anything.”

He tilted his head, and the light from the lamp on the bedside table did something that made his eyes seem even bluer. “I didn’t think you were.”

“I never liked storms, actually,” she said, desperate for something to talk about. Something that would distract her from him. From the fact that it wasn’t just the storm making her shiver. “Even as a kid. There’s something about the thunder that … I don’t know. I just don’t like it. At home, I’d just put on the TV and my headphones and be fine.” Plus at home, she’d have Dougal to hug and make her feel better. He smelled like dog rather than delicious man, but that was a small price to pay for sanity.

“My gran said I must have been hurt in a storm in a past life.” She offered a smile meant to prove that she didn’t believe that. “Gran was Irish. Superstitious. I think I just don’t like storms.” Which was true, she didn’t. But she was leaving out the part where Jamie, her brother, had died in one and her dad had crashed his helicopter in another.

Another swallow of beer while she forced her thoughts away from that particular reality. And another. The bottle emptied. The slight buzz—luckily it wasn’t anything stronger or she’d be heading toward drunk after downing it so fast—began to push away her nerves. Lucas sat beside her apparently content with silence for a time.

The trouble with that was that as her nerves about the storm faded, her exquisite awareness of Lucas flooded in again to take their place. All her senses zeroed in on him, taking in each tiny detail. The scent of him. The tingle in her nerves, which were far too attuned to his presence so very close by. The dip in the mattress from his body that meant her side of the bed was angled ever so slightly toward him. Just inviting her to slide over and … Another clap of thunder boomed above them and she jumped.

“If the storm’s going to bother you that much, I think we need a distraction,” Lucas said.

They both stared across at the tiny TV bolted on the wall. The screen was dark. The clerk had informed them that the cable was out due to the storm after he’d handed them the keys. Sara tried not to think about the other most obvious form of distraction for a man and a woman alone on a bed.

Maybe she should get her eReader out of her bag. Pretend to read something … though that would be kind of rude.

“TV’s out,” Lucas said. “The best option I can offer is more beer.” He rolled a little and reached across her for the beer.

Before she knew what she was doing, she rolled toward him, too, and her leg, apparently having a mind all of its own, hooked itself over his hip.

Lucas froze.

So did she.

“Sara?”

“Um, yes, that’s me,” she said.

He laughed then. A soft low rumble of a laugh.

Move your leg. Move your leg. Move your leg.
Her body was having none of it, though. Her leg stayed right where it was. Stupid body. It had heard that laugh. It wanted more of the man who’d made such an enticing sound. Damn it.

She almost fainted when Lucas’s hand settled on her waist. “I know it’s you,” he said. “What I’m trying to figure out is what exactly is going on here.”

Which wasn’t exactly,
What the hell is your leg doing hooked over me, you floozy?
Her throat went dry as her mind went into overdrive. Did that mean he was happy about the leg? Or was he just too polite to push her the hell away?

She swallowed, trying to make her brain work. His hand was warm and heavy and she was fairly certain that every inch of her that it was touching was about to burst into flames.

What the
hell
was she doing?

“Um, I’m not sure,” she said. He’d said
distraction
, and apparently her hormones had used that moment to seize control of her body and stage a coup.

“Can I tell you what I think is happening?”

Oh God. He was going to let her down gently or something. Make some chivalrous speech. But then his hand moved a little on her waist. A small stroking flex of his fingers that sent her skin even closer to the point of spontaneous combustion. She bit the inside of her lip so she wouldn’t moan at the sensation.

“I think you’re making a pass at me,” he said.

“I—” She stopped and swallowed again. He didn’t sound angry or horrified. A little amused, maybe, but maybe the prospect of sex made him happy. She wasn’t sure it made her happy despite the fact her skin was melting under his touch.

In fact, the way that she was reacting to him meant she wasn’t sure that the idea of sex with Lucas Angelo wasn’t downright terrifying. And there she was, thinking about sex with a client again. So she had a decision to make. Pull away and blame it on storm nerves or woman up and go after what her body was strongly suggesting she wanted, to hell with professionalism and common sense.

She really wanted door number two. Really,
really
wanted it. The way she hadn’t wanted anything since she’d gotten back from the army and been sucked into the maelstrom of dealing with her dad and insurance companies and the business and … good God, his hand was moving again. Doing that little coaxing stroking thing.

She looked up at him. His eyes were very blue. Very very blue. And he was watching her very intently. With the sort of look that, unless she really had lost touch with every female instinct she possessed, was telling her he wasn’t unhappy with the situation.

Oh hell, it was door number two. “Would that be a bad thing?”

“Not bad,” he said. He smiled and she felt her brain fog a little. “But—”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m clear on the situation. I’m not going to turn into a crazed stalker in the morning and tell the friend I sent your details to that you attacked me. This is about sex. For one night only. Deal?”

His eyebrows flicked upward. “Deal. And just to be clear, if you change your mind, just tell me.” His hand moved to her back, pulled her in a little closer. “So, lady’s choice, Sara Charles. Where do you want to start?”

“I think—” She didn’t really. No, she was far too distracted by the hardness of his body against hers. And by the look in his eyes, which was suddenly hot and focused all on her. And by the curve of his mouth while he waited for her answer. That mouth. “Isn’t kissing traditional?”

“Excellent choice,” he said and put his mouth to hers.

He took his kissing seriously, this man. That became apparent in the first few seconds. Any thoughts of
How do I get out of this if he’s a terrible kisser?
flew out of her head with the last shreds of her sanity when he settled his mouth on hers and began to light every nerve ending in her body on fire with a series of soft gentle exploratory kisses that were the work of a master.

She made a humming sound of pleasure and moved closer against him, curling her hand behind his neck as his lips teased and nipped and played.

When she began to grow impatient and arched a little more into him, opening her mouth, he didn’t need a second invitation. The kiss turned deeper. Hotter. His tongue was just as skilled as his lips.

He tasted as good as he smelled. A little like the beer they’d been drinking and a lot like … well, Lucas, she guessed. Delicious. Male.

And all hers for just one night. She was suddenly eager not to waste any time.

She reached for the first button on his shirt and popped it open. Lucas stopped kissing her for a moment. Then started again when she moved her hands to the next button and the next. It didn’t take very long to free them all. She pulled her mouth back from his kisses and pushed his shirt open, eager to see if the body beneath was all she’d imagined.

The power chose that very moment to go out.

Chapter Four

“Are you kidding me?” she muttered, frustrated.

Lucas laughed, the sound somehow even sexier in the dark. “Like to look, do you?”

“Depends on the scenery,” she said, still annoyed. “Yours had potential.”

He laughed again. “You know, in medical school they taught us that when one sense is deprived the others become heightened.”

“Not sure super-hearing is what I need right now.”

“I was thinking more of touch.” One of his hands took hers, lifted it, and placed it on his chest. Her palm tingled at the feel of warm solid muscle. “Touch is much more fun.”

He had a point. And at this moment, following doctor’s orders seemed like a pretty damned good idea.

He recommended touch. So touch it was going to be. Greedy now, she pushed at him and he rolled obediently and lay on his back. She swung a leg over him and settled astride him, pushing the shirt open with the impatience of a child tearing open a Christmas present.

If he was to be hers for one night only then she was going to make the most of it. Enjoy every inch of him.

She laid her hands on his chest and felt the bump of his heart under one of them, rushing fast like her own. So maybe he was human after all.

Flesh and blood.

She wriggled a little and felt the flesh part all too clearly. Nice. Very nice. But that would come later. No point rushing the touching. Start with the chest and work her way down. A smile bloomed on her face.

Her palms warmed from the heat of his skin, tingling as his chest rose and fell beneath her. He didn’t talk, just lay quietly. The room was still very dark, though her eyes were starting to adjust a little, but somehow she knew that his eyes were focused on her face.

There was something intimate in the weight of his unseen gaze. Too close, almost. More intimate than the fact that he was nearly half naked and she was straddling him, only thin cotton and wool separating them from being flesh to flesh.

They stayed that way, breathing together until she began to be able to see him, a little. Even half hidden by the lack of light, he was beautiful.

She bent down and kissed him again, wanting to be lost again, to not have to look at him a moment while she caught her breath.

His hands came up around her upper arms and she sighed into him as their tongues met and the pleasure of his kiss cut off the thinking part of her brain with ruthless efficiency.

So good.

So very very good.

Maybe they could just kiss until sunrise. Kiss like teenagers, lost in discovery.

But that would mean wasting the rest of him. And that, no matter how glorious his kisses, would be something she’d regret until she was old and gray. And probably beyond.

Lucas Angelo was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

She’d seen enough in her life to know that you shouldn’t waste those.

So she had to seize the day—or the night—and make the sort of memory that would make her eighty-year-old self very happy when she looked back on it.

She began to kiss her way down his neck, taking a moment to press her face into the place where the muscle of it started to curve in his chest and breathe him in. She still didn’t know what it was he smelled like, but up close it was intoxicating.

Intoxicating was good. She moved lower, mouth drifting downward, kissing his skin and sucking. Her right hand found his nipple and pinched it. He made a suitably pleased noise.

Good. Something he liked.

She did it again and he groaned this time, and the sound sent a shiver down her spine to light every nerve between her legs. She wanted to hear him make that sound again. She wanted to know that it was her who’d made him make it.

Plain old Sara Charles.

And suddenly she wasn’t so sure she had the patience to explore him slowly.

She sat up and ran her hand down his chest, following the trail of dark hair that led the way, and made herself stop when she reached the waistband of his trousers. Curling her fingers around it and just slightly under it, feeling his stomach muscles tighten and tremble as she touched warm skin.

“God,” he muttered, but he still stayed still, letting her do what she wanted.

What she wanted, she knew, was to see him naked. She reached for the button of his fly and dealt with it and the zip.

He lifted his hips and she tugged his trousers down and away. He kicked free of them. Sara tossed them off the bed where they landed in a heap on the grimy carpet—which would no doubt have horrified whoever had made them, but she didn’t care.

His boxer briefs were dark. Black or dark gray, she couldn’t tell which, but they hugged every inch of him. There were plenty of inches to display, too, and even in the dim light, she saw the outline of his cock straining against the fabric.

She sucked in a breath, lost in the sight of him for a moment, and then tugged at the briefs, too, eager to see what lay beneath.

His skin was hot to the touch, and the muscles of his stomach tensed and tightened as she brushed over them. As the briefs slid free, he muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t make out but the humming frustration in the sound made her stomach tighten and her breath catch.