At Any Turn (Gaming The System) (26 page)

At that moment, I was only wondering how much she’d let me touch her. Few in the crowd really knew about Emilia and me. In fact, so few people knew about what we’d been to each other, that it was almost as if that was what had cursed us. What had erased “us” from all memory, even our own. We didn’t have anyone rooting for us to be together.

My hands were on her round, tight ass and she was only now starting to show an interest in who I was, casting a glance over her shoulder. When she locked gazes with me, she froze for mere seconds before resuming. A few moments later she did an about-face and turned her back on Richard. Score one for Adam and zero for Dick. I shot a smug smile at him over her shoulder, but he didn’t react. I still had the buzzing desire to fuck him up later for having touched her the way he had.

Emilia closed ranks with me and looped her hands around my neck. Her hips brushed up against my crotch and I was instantly erect. Every brush after that was sheer, delicious torture. I pressed my hand to her back, pulling her closer to me. She seemed to have no problem with the display, though I did feel the curious glances of other employees being cast our way. I didn’t give a shit. And if
she
didn’t, then this was happening, because it felt too good.

We danced like that for a few more songs before she turned to nudge her way toward the bar again. I followed her. I’d only seen her take one shot, but she seemed way more affected by it than she should have been.

“Haven’t you had enough?” I leaned down and spoke into her ear so she could hear me over all the noise.

She was moving in place to the music. “I’m just getting started,” she said. And then she stumbled on her high heels. She stood much closer to my height than normal. I looked down. She typically never wore heels that high, but these shoes were huge and kind of trashy and made her fantastic legs look even better.

I wanted to lick those legs, from her thin ankles to her muscular calves to the silky tops of her thighs.
Look away, Drake, look away.
I had to will myself not to think about that as my erection swelled to epic and uncomfortable proportions under the kilt.

But willing myself not to think about how much I wanted every inch of her was like asking a nomad in the Sahara not to take a drink when he had an entire oasis in front of him. I caught her when she stumbled. “You’re going to kill yourself in these fucking things. You’ve had enough.”

“I’m just a little dizzy. It’ll pass.”

“Emilia—”

She turned and jerked her head defiantly away from me. “Bartender! A round of shots here,” she shouted, pointing to both of us.

She seemed to be amused, apparently unaware that I’d already done my fair share of shots, but that pleasant, buzzed feeling was starting to fade and I wasn’t ready to give it up yet and go back to the void of reality. So we grabbed seats next to each other and did two more shots each.

After the second round, she put the back of her hand to her mouth and said. “Shit, I’m going to puke.”

“No more drinks for you,” I said.

She darted a look at me. “You’re not the boss of me.”

I laughed. In my current state, that was the funniest shit in the world. “Actually, I am.”

She raised her hand to get the bartender’s attention and I pulled her arm down. “You’re done unless you’re planning on redecorating his bar with your puke.”

She looked green at that moment—and pale. “Oh God, maybe you’re right.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Maybe you’re right.”

“Huh?” I said again, putting my hand up to my ear with a smile.

She caught on to me. “You’re enjoying me saying that to you too much.”

“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it. I’m always right.” I laughed.

“Fuck you,” she said, giving my arm a playful push.

“Yes, please,” I muttered as I waved the bartender over and settled both our tabs. “I think it’s time for you to call it a night.”

She grimaced at me. “It’s a night.”

I rolled my eyes. “Funny.”

She slipped off her stool and wobbled on those ridiculous heels. “Where the hell did you get those?” I said, steadying her arm. She didn’t pull away this time.

“Alex picked them out for me.”

I laughed. “That figures.”

She wobbled again and looked up at me. “Aw, fuck it.” She kicked them off, opting to go barefoot, and bent over to grab them. When she straightened suddenly, she almost tipped over. I grabbed her and pulled her to me again, when she fell back against me, we both wobbled.

“I don’t think it’s just the shoes,” I said.

She glanced at me sidelong. “Maybe not.”

When we got to the elevator, I asked, “Where’s your room?”

“Third floor…um, 309 or 903 or something.”

“Probably 309.”

“Yeah, no penthouse suite for me.”

“Me either,” I said with a grin. Okay, it was a suite, but not the penthouse.

“Let’s go to yours,” she said. “I have a roommate.”

I’m sorry to say that the suggestion in her invitation sent all my blood rushing straight to my cock. I wish I could claim that lack of blood circulation to my brain had impaired my judgment. But it probably was more like I was thinking with the head below the belt instead of the normal one.

She was drunk. I wasn’t much better and we shouldn’t have been doing anything. All of these things ran through my head in the split seconds between the elevator doors opening and my pressing the button for the eighth floor—my floor.

She was on me the minute the doors closed. Her mouth on mine, her breasts pressed against my chest. She tasted like tequila and lime. I buried my tongue in her mouth, let her push me against the wall as she hooked her hands around my neck and ground her pelvis against mine.

“Fuck yeah, do you look amazing in a kilt,” she breathed. “What do you have under there?”

I sent her a wicked smile. “The usual things.”

She kissed me again, murmuring against my mouth. “You’ve been hard all night,” she said. “I felt it when we were dancing.”

I closed my eyes, enjoyed the pressure of her hips against mine. “Yes,” I said. I could barely get it out. I was so turned on it was difficult to talk.

I hoped to God it was
me
she really wanted and she wouldn’t have been in this elevator with Richard-Dick or anyone else who might have tried to get with her tonight. The thought pissed me off again.

“Has it been a long time?” she said, looking up to trap my gaze in the tangled web of her beautiful brown eyes.

I scowled at her. “You know exactly how long it’s been,” I said.

“Those interns in marketing are always talking about how hot you are. How they wish they could climb on for a ride.”

I laughed. “Hmm. That’s not really news. They aren’t subtle.”

“You haven’t been tempted?”

“What about you, dancing with that idiot’s hands all over your ass? I could ask you the same thing.” A strange fist of emotion closed around the base of my throat. I was angry, frustrated, confused and completely filled with lust. My arms tightened possessively around her. She frowned, but before she could say anything, the doors to the eighth floor opened.

We fumbled our way out—Emilia dropped a shoe at one point and thought it was the funniest thing ever. I bent to scoop it up, almost tipping over myself and we finally stumbled to my suite.

I stood by the door, trying to clear my head for a moment while she dropped her shoes and moved deeper into the room. It wasn’t a penthouse suite, but it wasn’t bad. I’d stayed in better places, but then I hadn’t spent much time up here during the convention—nor had I planned to bring anyone back to my room with me. It had a sitting room, a conference table, a couple widescreen TVs. The bedroom was on the other side of the suite, separated by a set of double doors, which were now open.

I leaned back against the door, watching her, trying to access the reasoning portion of my brain through the pleasant buzz fog the alcohol had conjured up. But all I could do was watch her, want her more than I’d ever wanted a woman before—even during that month when I wouldn’t let myself sleep with her, when we were first seeing each other.

I’d wanted her then—badly. That month had been a long, slow torture—though in the most pleasant of ways. A voluntary self-blue-balling. But now that I knew how good it could be between us—and when it was good, it was the best I’d ever had—I doubted I had the will or even the desire to stop this, regardless of the amount of alcohol involved.

This one night might not change anything between us. We were still firmly ensconced in our own cleverly designed defenses. She was hiding things from me. Maybe she didn’t even have the feelings she once professed to have. Maybe this was all just physical for her.

At this point, in this condition, I didn’t care. I could kiss a beautiful swimsuit model and only think of Emilia—cock-blocked by my own damn memories and imagination. Now I had the real thing in my hotel suite and I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. She wasn’t drunk enough that she was beyond the ability to consent.

I left the door and followed her into the room. “Wow, nice digs,” she said, turning back to me and laughing. “I got my glitter all over you when I kissed you,” she said, moving up to me to swipe her hand across my jaw.

I snaked an arm around her waist to cinch her to me. “How about you?” I said.

“What?”

I took a deep breath and let it go, hoping the answer to the question I was about to ask was what I thought it was. “How long has it been for you?”

“Hmm. Let me think…” she started counting on her fingers. What the fuck? She cast a coy glance at me and burst out laughing. “You should see the look on your face right now.”

My grip on her tightened. “It’s not fucking funny,” I growled.

She smiled wryly. “You know the answer to the question already. The last time I had sex, you were there.”

Better. That was much better. Thank God. The thought of some other man—like Dick, for example—touching her had almost brought the blind rage to the surface. I expelled a long, slow breath and ordered myself to calm down.

I bent to kiss her and she wiggled out of my arms. “I’m going to wash this shit off my face,” she said, squirming out of her ridiculous fairy wings. “Unless you want to be the glittery kilted man.”

“You don’t want me to take the kilt off, then?”

She turned back to me before walking through the bathroom door. “Fuck no.”

And I laughed. The reaction to the kilt was making it well worth the effort—annoying interns or no. I followed Emilia into the bathroom and washed my face in one sink while she slowly washed and wiped her face clean in the other.

“You aren’t gonna puke, are you?” I asked.

She looked at me in the mirror. “No. Are you? It’s not like you drink. Ever.”

I shrugged as she patted her face with a towel. She turned to me and there was an awkward silence between us. Then I lifted my chin at her. “Come here.”

Instead, she threw me a cheeky look and turned, walking out the door into the vanity area. I followed her and she stopped in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the wall. She caught my gaze in the mirror and it wasn’t an innocent or passing glance, either. It was focused, intense.

I slowly came up behind her, still watching her. She swallowed and raised her head to keep my gaze.

My hard-on was getting painful. I hooked my arm around her waist and pressed myself into her backside. “You were asking what was under the kilt…”

She laughed. “You need to wear that more often.”

I bent and kissed her neck. “Maybe I will, depending on the night’s results.”

She shivered in my arms. I’d hit just the right spot. And then she turned, but instead of returning my kiss, she reached out and ripped my shirt open. The buttons went flying. She pulled the thing off my shoulders. “Ohh. So much better,” she said, smoothing her palms across my pecs. Her touch was electric, sending thrills down every nerve. God
damn
I wanted her. And I didn’t want to wait another second.

I pressed against her, pushing her up against the mirror, a hand placed on either side of her head. “I’m not very happy with you,” I said.

“Oh?” she said, a sly smile spreading across her lips. “Certain parts of you seem
very
happy right now.” She ground her pelvis against mine to emphasize her point.

I groaned as a streak of pleasure zinged through me. I pushed back, pressing her against the mirror. “Are you going to tease me now? Like you did with the guys down on the dance floor?”

She sobered. “You aren’t going to let that go, are you? Don’t tell me you kept your hands off Jordan’s model friend, because I don’t believe it.”

I pulled my head back and looked at her. “I told you. I haven’t had sex with anyone since you.”

“So you didn’t do anything with her at all?”

I paused and she scowled. “Ahh. I see. So Rich can’t put his hands on my ass while we’re dancing, but you can grope and kiss a model…”

I tensed. “If he touches you again, I’m going to rip his arm off and then fire him.”

“Hmm. Not sure he’d want to work for you after you’d ripped his arm off. Maybe don’t even bother with that second part.”

I bent and pressed my mouth to her neck. “I mean it. No one touches you.”

“Except you…” she added drily.

“If you want me to.”

“I don’t know…you make a lot of violent threats when you’re drunk.”

I continued to taste her neck, tried to block that negative rage from my mind. I’d never felt this possessive of her before and that was likely because of the wretched fear that I had lost her. “I don’t like people fucking with what’s mine.”

“But I’m not yours,” she said quietly, a slight tremor in her voice.

Steely determination hardened in my muscles. She felt me tense against her. I’d spend this entire night convincing her otherwise.

I reached down to pull her tank top over her head, but she clamped her arms down. “Don’t—”

My head came up to look her in the face again. “You don’t want to…?” I hoped I managed to keep the childlike disappointment out of my voice.

“I don’t want to take my shirt off.”

I paused, puzzled. Did that mean no sex? Or she just didn’t want to get naked? Or what? “Okay. And…?”