One Last Dance (11 page)

Her throat caught as she tried to
keep her fake smile plastered on.  Bitter man that he was, he was shrewd.
He knew how to hurt people. “I—”

“You don’t belong here,” Jorge
sneered. “You didn’t earn any of this.”

Sophie was searching for what to
say to this onslaught when help finally arrived. “Hello, father,” Henry said.
His voice was cool as he slipped into place beside her. “You look well.”

She sagged slightly against
Henry’s side. She might not really need Jorge’s approval, but getting the sharp
side of his tongue still left her drained.

Jorge Medina’s lips writhed. “Why
is this woman wearing your mother’s pearls?”

Henry’s hand tightened on her
hip. “They look lovely on her, I think.”

“Thank you.” Sophie smiled up at
Henry, avoiding his father’s gaze. “I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”

Henry’s mouth twisted in
agitation. “Sorry, I got waylaid. Are you ready to go?”

“Henry, I was speaking with
your...
companion
,” Jorge wheezed. His eyes swept Sophie’s form with
derision.

“Yes, you
were
. Good
night, father.” Henry’s hand slid to the small of her back and urged her around
the acerbic millionaire. The minute they stepped out of the hotel, she took a
deep breath of cool night air.

“Well, that was—” she started.

“It was awful. I’m sorry about
him.” His face was grim and the lines at the corners of his eyes were deep as
he squinted into the night.

“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t
matter.”

The limo drew up to the curb and
Henry helped her into it. He slid in after her, tugging at the knot of his
bow-tie, a look of exhaustion taking over his face.

Sophie looked at him as he stared
ahead. He was decompressing as much as she was from that affair. For the first
time , she began to feel the baggage Carl had mentioned. His father, his
status, fighting with the sharks in that party, it was overwhelming.

She sidled up close to him and
leaned on his shoulder. “Henry, your father—”

Henry exhaled loudly through his
nose. “Please don’t listen to him. He is an old man who has lost any sense of
the manners he once had.”

“Okay, but—”

“And thank you for coming to this
with me. I hope you feel better about this whole situation. I’m sorry
about—about everything.”

Sophie’s heart squeezed in her
chest. He was doing it again, making an effort. She bit her lip. His father’s
words stuck in her mind: she was acting. Whether she was acting like they were
a couple or like she didn’t want the man in front of her, she couldn’t say.

“Back to Chelsea, sir?” the
driver asked.

Sophie looked up at Henry. His
eyes were closed, and she could see his jaw tense. She wanted to melt into him.

“No,” she said. For tonight, she
would keep acting.

Henry’s eyes shot open. He looked
down at her, his eyes going from tired to focused.

“The penthouse,” he called,
holding her gaze.

They didn’t speak for the rest of
the short limo ride. Sophie leaned against Henry’s side, his broad palm resting
lightly on her knee. Their eyes met, and her lungs constricted in her chest as
he held her hungry gaze with his own.

The limo pulled up to Henry’s
complex and he slid out of the back seat, his eyes still lingering on her.
Sophie sensed desire in the heat of his stare and the tick in his jaw, but
there were other emotions too. A hint of surprise around the corners of his
eyes and a flicker of hope in the determined set of his strong chin. He reached
his hand out to her.

She studied him, tall and
handsome and holding all those emotions in check. Giving her a choice. She’d
thought she’d made it back at the hotel, but his demeanor said differently. He
was clearly trying to convey that she could change her mind right now and he
would have the driver take her home. If she wanted.

Did she? Her body wanted her to
stay. It vividly recalled his every masterful touch, the rich sound of his
voice as he’d told her to take off her clothes, the delicious friction as he’d
slid inside her. Heat pooled low in her belly and moisture flooded her already
tingling folds. She knew what her body wanted.

Even her mind was telling her to
go for it. He had proven he was willing to repent for his previous behavior.
He’d given her a glimpse of his world, and her interaction with his father had
gone a long way toward explaining why he might have acted the way he had the morning
after their previous liaison. Business came first in the Medina family. But the
chance, her mind insisted, was worth the risk. Only her heart was cautious.

He was still guarded. The society
he moved in was foreign to her, and she wasn’t comfortable within it. His
father had made no bones about his complete and utter dislike for her. Damn it!
Sophie slid toward the door and clasped Henry’s warm fingers. In every dance,
someone had to take the first step. This once she was the leader, not the
follower.

“I’ve got you,” he said as she
pulled herself from the car.

His eyes were smoldering embers
as he swept her through the lobby to the elevator. Their linked fingers were
the only parts of their bodies that touched, and yet Sophie’s skin prickled as
if he were running his hands up her thighs and over her torso.

The elevator doors slid open and
they drifted inside, as slow and weightless as milkweed puffs. Her first trip
up to Henry’s penthouse had taken forever, it seemed, as the numbers on the
display crawled from L to 73. This time it happened in the blink of an eye.
Henry’s thumb stroked across her knuckles in a slow, hypnotic rhythm while he
quickly tapped in the code for the penthouse. The light touch seemed to
transfer from her hand to her breasts. Her nipples ached as if he caressed them
with that butterfly brush of his thumb.

She began to move her fingertips
over the rough satin of his palm, but he drew her hand to his mouth and pressed
his lips to her knuckles. His tongue, hot and slick, flicked quickly into the
tender space between her pointer and index fingers. The fleeting caress created
an answering throb between her thighs. Sophie gasped, eyelids fluttering.

The elevator doors slid open,
revealing the glowing opulence of the first floor of his penthouse. Beyond the
windows, all of New York City lay spread out in twinkling lights. She drifted
toward the terrace as Henry released her hand to open the sliding glass door.
Sophie stepped outside, the city sounds rising around her in a symphony of car horns,
revving engines, and the babble of people. “I’ll never get enough of this
view,” she mused.

A cork popped behind her, making
her jump. She spun to see Henry pouring them each a glass of champagne. “To
celebrate,” he said when he caught her look. His smile was slow and sensual as
he handed her the overflowing flute.

Their hands brushed as she took
the glass and Sophie felt another spark of heat leap from him to her. It sank
into her skin and burned through her veins, igniting her blood. “What are we
celebrating?” Her voice came out husky.

“Us.” He raised his glass,
touching its rim to hers before lifting it to his sculpted lips. His eyes were
intent on her face as he drank deeply, strong tan throat working as he
swallowed.

Sophie licked her lips. “To us.”
She drained her glass in one long, breathless sip. The bubbles rushed straight
to her head, making her feel light, as she set her glass aside. Henry had
removed his tuxedo jacket and draped it over one of the chairs on the terrace.
She reached up and untied his bow-tie, slowly drawing it from his collar before
dropping the length of fabric onto the chair as well.

“You look amazing tonight,
dolce
.
I was the envy of every man at the party,” he said with heavy breath as she
began to unbutton his shirt.

“I look this way because of you.
The dress, the shoes...” she trailed off, biting her lip as his dark chest hair
came into view. She bent her head to rub her mouth over the coarse, wiry hair.
He smelled of cinnamon and bergamot, and when she pressed her tongue to his
flesh he tasted of the spices. The flavor was headier than the champagne he fed
her.

“It’s not the dress, or the
shoes. It’s you.” He pulled her hips into him. She could feel the hard ridge of
his erection against her belly. She made quick work of the last few buttons of
his shirt and shoved it from his shoulders, an electric shiver coursing over
her skin at the sight of his naked chest.

Henry lifted the champagne and
filled his mouth again. It dripped down onto his chest, glistening like
diamonds on his skin and in the fine, soft hair of his flat belly. Sophie
followed the trail with her tongue, licking the ridges of his abdomen
thirstily. She paused to circle her tongue around the flat copper disc of his
nipple, scraping the sensitive bud with her teeth. Henry groaned and pulled her
back up, drawing their faces together.

He was insistent and demanding as
he kissed her, sucking her lower lip hard as his tongue swept along the line of
her teeth. Sophie shuddered. Her knees felt weak and she was dizzy with the
alcohol and the hot, hard presence of the man. The world shifted suddenly and
Sophie gasped. “Henry!”

He had scooped her up, the arm
beneath her legs still holding the half empty bottle of champagne. He cradled
her against his bare chest as he strode back into the penthouse. “You’re
wearing too many clothes,” he growled.

Sophie clung to his neck, hot
blood throbbing in her sex. She nibbled the smooth expanse of Henry’s naked
shoulder, delighting in the shiver that coursed down his spine. “I thought we
were doing a fine job of disrobing where we were.”

“I want you to be comfortable,”
he said, glancing down at her with a wicked grin, “for what I have in store for
you.”

Sophie squirmed in his arms as he
began to climb the stairs. “Where are you taking me?”

“To the bedroom.” She pressed her
thighs together at his words, seeking the friction her body so desperately
wanted.

“Aren’t there any on this floor?”
The place was huge. Surely there was more than one bedroom.

Henry’s arm tightened slightly
around her back. His voice was rough velvet. “I want you in
my
bed,
Sophie.”

Heat prickled in her cheeks,
she’d been eager for him since the last time she’d shared his bed. Whatever her
mind and heart had felt, her body had never been torn about what it wanted. Now
that she was so close to having it again, it clamored for him, nerves singing
loudly in anticipation of his touch.

When he pushed into his bedroom
and she saw that vast bed, covered with the thick green duvet, desire twisted
down her spine. He slowly lowered her feet to the ground, setting the champagne
on a small bedside table. His chest heaved slightly, though not with exertion.
The color burning in his cheeks was lust.

He bent to kiss her, his tongue
slipping sensuously between her lips to tease hers. The erotic play of his
mouth across hers was so sweetly drugging it took her a minute to feel the tug
of his fingers on the dress’ zipper.

He dragged the now loose dress
from her shoulder, following the naked curve with the heated silk of his lips.
Sophie let her head fall back, resting her hands on his smooth, hard hip bones
as he traced the descending path of her dress with his mouth and tongue. He
caught one stiff breast between his teeth, wet tongue pressing through the thin
lace of her bra.

“Henry, god!” she cried as the
dress slipped off completely, puddling around her feet. It was expensive. He
should probably hang it up. Sophie opened her mouth to say so, but he bit her
perky nipple gently through her bra and she didn’t care about the dress anymore.

“Lay back on the bed,
dolce
,”
he murmured against her belly. He straightened, urging her backward until her
knees touched the soft green coverlet. She sat, leaning back on her hands and
staring greedily at Henry’s naked torso. “Further,” he pressed.

She wriggled further onto the
bed. The movement made her aching breasts sway against the damp lace of her
bra. Henry’s dark eyes flared as she reached up with one hand and flicked open
the garment’s front closure. As soon as it was undone the halves parted, and he
groaned at the sight of her bare breasts.

Sophie shrugged the straps from
her shoulders and tossed the scrap of flimsy material away, leaving her in just
the heels and panties. Henry reached for her left foot, cupping her heel in his
hand and stroking along the length of her shin. He dropped a kiss on the tips
of her toes, peeking out from the crystal-studded Louboutin’s, and then drew
the shoe off and laid it aside, repeating the same sensual process with her
other foot.

He stroked his warm palms up her
calves, brushing teasing fingers into the crease of her knees as he moved
upward, parting her thighs gently. His fingertips hooked beneath the elastic of
her panties and tugged them down. Sophie lifted her hips slightly, helping him.

When she lay naked and quivering
he unzipped his own slacks and pushed them from his hips. The outline of his
erection was visible through the thin, soft cotton of his boxers. She waited
for him to remove them as well, but he didn’t. She couldn’t contain the tiny
whimper of disappointment.

“I told you,
dolce
. I have
plans for you. There’s no rush.”

She wanted to argue the point.
The throbbing in her pussy, the tension coiled in her belly, the aching need in
the tips of her breasts, that was the rush.

“Please, Henry. I need you.” She
spread her thighs, feeling no embarrassment at the admission.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan to
leave you wanting.” He climbed between her thighs and reached across the bed
for the champagne bottle, taking a long pull before offering it to her.

She pressed the cool glass to her
lips and the sweet, bubbly drink poured over her tongue. Henry reached out with
one finger and tipped the bottle’s base up higher, causing champagne to flood
her mouth. The liquid streamed from the corners of her lips and ran in thick
rivulets down her neck and torso before soaking into a puddle between her
thighs. Sophie gasped, swallowing the last of the champagne in her mouth as
Henry drew the bottle from her hand and set it down. He bent over her, urging
her onto her back as he sucked the wine from her the skin of her throat, his
tongue delving into the hollow between her collarbone. Sophie lowered herself
to her back as he moved over her, bringing her hands up to tangle in his silky
hair.

“That’s it,
dolce
,” he
murmured against the thin skin of her sternum. “Hold on to me.”

Sophie shuddered at the husky
sound of his voice and the hot press of his lips as he skimmed them over the
flesh of her chest. When his mouth closed over one turgid nipple, her back
arched off the bed and her fingers tightened in his hair as she pulsed with
desire. She rocked her hips upward, trying to make contact with Henry’s cock,
but his hands were firm on her thighs, holding her to the bed as he continued
the leisurely downward journey of his mouth.

“Please, Henry,” she pleaded.
“Please.”

His lips brushed back and forth
over the sensitive skin just above the mound of her pussy. She arched upward,
pressing herself against the hard angle of his chin. Henry laughed, his tongue
dipping down to wriggle against her engorged clit. She cried out, thighs
twitching.

“I love it when you beg so
sweetly,
dolce
.”

He gripped one trembling thigh in
his left hand and drew it wide, spreading her slick folds open. She moaned as
his hot tongue slid along the delicate lips of her sex, delving between to
explore the intricate pink folds of slippery flesh. He sucked the stiff bud of
her clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, sending blazing waves of
pleasure rolling through her with each teasing lick.

“Yes, Henry, god yes!”

Her head spun with a combination
of the champagne, the spicy scent of Henry’s skin, and the pleasure building
within her at each stroke of his tongue. Her chest heaved with ragged, panting
breaths as she rocked her hips, rubbing the length of her dripping pussy
against his mouth.

“Come for me,
dolce
,” he
murmured before covering her pulsing clit with his lips and sucking hard,
tongue massaging in tight circles around the sensitive flesh.

Her orgasm ripped through her
like jagged bolts of electricity, galvanizing her body, starting at her toes.
She arched upward, spine bowing, spasming pussy pressing hard against his mouth
and chin. The muscles in her thighs, arms and belly tensed as the sizzling wave
of sensation rolled up her body.

For what felt like endless
moments she was adrift in time and space, weightless, thoughtless but for the
pleasure that bubbled through her. Like the champagne Henry had licked from her
skin, she was liquid and sweet and tingling. She only slowly came back to
herself as he held himself above her body.