Luscious Craving (8 page)

I stepped into the
elevator,
hit the button for the eleventh floor. Several moments later, I stepped back out again, onto dark green carpet thick enough to swallow my feet up to the ankles. Room 1100 was at the far end of the hall to the left. Along the way, I admired the wallpaper with its arabesque style, the graceful tables of wrought iron and glass, topped by glorious flower arrangements. I rang the bell beside double doors with brass numbers set into what looked like a genie’s lamp. This was still Vegas, and the casino was called the Scheherazade, after all.

Michael opened the door about three seconds after I rang. When he got a load of my attire, his handsome face split from side to side in a smile.

“That’s quite a getup,” he remarked. “Very…”

“Mata
Hari
?”

“I was going to say Boris, of Boris and Natasha, though the coat should really be a trench coat. You need the belt and lapels. Because then I’d look really smooth when I did something like this.”

He grasped the front of my coat, tugged me inside,
then
closed the door behind me.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, yourself.”
I took a look at him.
A good, long look.
“Speaking of getups.”
He was wearing one of the hotel’s thick, plush guest robes.

“I just got out of the shower,” he explained, raking his fingers through his damp hair and leaving it spiked. He took my hand, drew me into the dimly lit foyer. “Why don’t you take the tour while I put something else on?”

“Don’t change on my account.”

He went still for a moment, his eyes lighting up as they took in what I was wearing once more.

“Please tell me you’re naked under that coat.”

“No,” I admitted with a laugh.
“But really good thought.”
I tilted my head, looked up into those whiskey-brown eyes. “Does this mean I don’t get the grand tour after all?”

“Of course not.”

Fingers linked, we went into the suite’s main room. It was magnificent, with high ceilings and thick oriental rugs covering travertine floors. Beyond the low, sleek sofa, sliding glass doors led to a private balcony. There was a full kitchen with green granite counters and cherry cabinets.
A dining room with a long, mahogany dining table beneath a crystal chandelier.
Soft music played through speakers hidden somewhere in the walls.

I cocked my head. “You managed to figure out the stereo.”

“I called in expert help. Even though you’re not naked, I’d really like it if you’d take off that coat.”

“I think I might manage that,” I said with a smile.

I pulled off the fedora, tugged the scarf from around my neck, shrugged out of the coat. What I wore beneath was hardly what I would have called spectacular: slim jeans and a form-fitting top. But the look on Michael’s face told me he definitely approved.

“I hope you don’t think it’s hokey, but I ordered some champagne.” He gestured to where a bottle sat in its sweating ice bucket.

“
Champagne
is only hokey if it’s cheap,” I replied.

He laughed and drew me to him. “I like you,” he said. “I didn’t expect that, somehow.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

He made a face, and I saw his cheekbones color. “Come on, you know. Just because we’re compatible one way doesn’t mean we are in others. And it was a totally lame statement and the sooner you forget I made it, the better. Let me pour you a glass of this seriously
nonhokey
champagne. You can drink it while I get my foot out of my mouth.”

He knew his way around a champagne bottle, I couldn’t help but notice. No cork flying across the room, just a quick twist,
then
a slow ease out of the bottle. I felt a slow trickle of heat pool low in my body. Michael Pressman was definitely good with his hands.

He filled two flutes, handed one to me.

I held up my glass.
“To luck in the coming rounds!”

He tapped his glass against mine. “To meeting you,” he said. We drank at the same time. I felt the icy slide of the champagne meet the heat in my body.

“Are you superstitious?” Michael asked, taking me by surprise.

“Not usually, no,” I said.

“Me, neither.”
I caught a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “But there’s one superstition I’ve always wondered about. You know that thing about a kiss for luck?”

I took a second sip of champagne but kept my eyes on his.

“
Mmm
hmm.
What about it?”

“I was just wondering whether there was any truth to it, that’s all. We poker players are a very superstitious bunch.”

I set my glass down on one of the side tables with a sharp
click
. “Why don’t we perform an experiment and find out?”

“I was hoping you might feel that way,” Michael said. He set his champagne glass down next to mine.

He drew me to him, cupping my face with his hands. Very slowly, with the same care he had used to ease the champagne cork from the bottle, he pressed his lips to mine. I let him set the pace.
For the moment.
It was his experiment after all. He traced his tongue around the contours of my mouth,
then
coaxed them open to move inside. I pulled it deeper, a promise of passion to come, and felt him shudder, ever so slightly. Slowly, the tip of his tongue stroking against the roof of my mouth, Michael eased back.

“That felt pretty lucky.”

“It did, didn’t it?” I said.

I stepped back, reaching for my champagne. We both knew why I had come here, where this was going. But we’d gone fast the first time. I didn’t want to rush things now. Just because I had decided to indulge in a little holiday fling didn’t mean I had to behave like some slut. At least not right off.
And not that there was anything little about Michael Pressman.

I took a sip of champagne. “So how do you like living like the other half? Or do you live like this all the time, Mr. Big-Time Stockbroker?”

“I wish,” Michael remarked. He sipped his own champagne, watching me over the rim of the glass. “My place in
Chicago
could fit in the bathroom here and have room left over,” he went on. “That’s why I intend to enjoy this while I can.”

“Good choice.”

He smiled and tilted back his glass. The music stopped, and he reached for a remote on the table in front of us. He aimed it toward the dining room and pushed a button. Ella Fitzgerald’s voice filled the room. Sensual and sultry, Ella’s voice felt like an invitation, the opening of a doorway into something rich and delightful.

Another good choice
, I thought.

“I hope you don’t mind the oldies,” he said.

“Not when it’s Ella. She’s still the best.”

“I agree.” He set his champagne down. “Would you like to dance with me, Candace?”

Would I like to press my body against yours and slide my hands beneath that robe
? I wondered.
Oh, yes. I think so
.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He took the champagne glass from my hand and set it on a table beside his own. Then he drew me to him, linking my arms around his neck so that my breasts pressed against his chest. I moved in close, shifting against him till we both felt the way my nipples hardened. Michael eased one leg between mine.

“About that experiment for luck,” I said. “I’m thinking we should try it at least one more time.”

Michael bent his head to mine at once. I could taste the urgency in him now. I let my own tongue go exploring, enjoying the contours of his mouth. His hands dropped to either side of my hips, tugging my pelvis toward him with each sway of our dance. I ran my hands down his arms to his waist, found the knot of the robe’s sash,
tugged
it apart. And then my hands were on his skin, sliding around to cup his ass. I felt his cock go stiff as it pressed against my hip.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he said.

I leaned back, feeling his hands at the bottom of my shirt. “Bet you know how to fix that.”

“I do.”

I grinned.
“Just my luck.”

Michael drew the shirt up over my head in a motion that was fierce and fluid all at once. His mouth was hungry on my breast even before I could lower my arms. I linked one around his neck, arching up so that his mouth could explore, and felt his hands move to the fastening of my jeans, deftly flicking the buttons open.

You do have good hands
, I thought.

“Hold on to me, Candace,” I heard him say. “Hold on.” And for one dizzying moment, I was back in my dream of Ash.

No
! I thought.
That is not what I want
!

Not the past. Not even the future, but precisely what Michael Pressman offered: the flash and heat of the here and now. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck, my mouth seeking his as he lifted me from my feet to pull the jeans down. The second he set me on my feet, I shoved the robe from his shoulders. It dropped to the floor.

“The bed,” he managed.

“Later,” I answered. I put my own hands to the front clasp of my bra,
snicked
it open. I shrugged my shoulders, pushing my breasts forward and the lace away. “Right here, Michael.
Right now.”

We never would have made it to the bedroom anyhow. Arms banded around one another, mouths fused, we tumbled together onto the couch. Michael reared up to draw the panties down my legs. With a sudden, playful smile, I slid down to the floor. I wanted to feel that thick carpet against my skin. If I was going to break the rules, I was going to go all-in. Michael followed, his mouth feasting on my breasts like a starving man, even as his hands stroked down. I parted my legs,
then
squeezed together tightly as I felt his probing fingers slip inside.

My upper body arched against his questing mouth even as I let my lower body begin to rock in the rhythm as old as time. I heard a deep sound of passion and realized I had made the sound myself. Michael murmured in reaction, and suddenly his lips were back on mine. He reached to stretch both my arms above my head and my body protested the loss of him inside me even as it thrilled to be so exposed.

“You,” I panted around our kisses.
“Inside me.
Now.”

He released my hands to pull my legs onto his shoulders, reared back,
then
filled me in one long, slow stroke. I lifted my body up to meet his, felt him inside me, deep and hard.

“God, Candace,” I heard him say. And then we were moving in tandem once more.
Bodies pulling back only to drive together.
Michael’s hands were tight on my ass now, holding me still as he plunged. I felt his body straining, reaching for the brink, knew the very second that he toppled over.
His body, one long arch of passion straight into mine.
I tightened myself around him and felt myself begin to fly. As my own climax took me, Michael began to move once more, his mouth on my breasts. I gave myself up to the white-hot fire.