Trove (The Katie Walsh Mysteries) (10 page)

He took a deep sip of the amber liquid in his glass and then carefully set the glass on the table. Their eyes locked. Heat pulsed through her body.

“Are you saying… we spend the night together, enjoying each other’s company, and then go our separate ways, no strings attached?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice husky with rising desire, her breath hitching. “One night of anonymous passion, no follow-up. Think of it as a modern-day Cinderella tale, but with dawn breaking the spell.” She inhaled, smelling him, waves of heat pulsing through her core. “Are you interested?”

His mouth formed a slight grin. “You’re sure about this? You don’t seem to be the type.”

She sat upright, her spine rigid. “Would it be so unpleasant to spend the night with me? Or would you consider it an act of kindness on your behalf, an act of pity sex, some way to pass the dark hours, considering the pickings are slim here tonight?” she asked as she cast her gaze around the room.

Great, way to go, Katie, insult the guy. That’s a sure way to get him to take you up on your offer, she thought. She started to rise. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

He leaned away from her, running his hand through his hair, his eyes slowly moving down her body. ”Pity sex? The only pity would be in turning you down.” He grabbed her wrist as she
rose, slowly massaged the inside of it, then gently pulled her back into the seat. “What I meant was… well, women who prowl bars looking for a good time have a… how can I put this diplomatically?”

“Look, I’m a big girl. Just say it. I prefer people to be direct. I can deal with it.”

“Well,” he started, a smile spreading across his lips, “women on the prowl usually advertise by wearing much more revealing clothing. From a male perspective, visible cleavage is a big selling point.”

She felt her face flush. She frowned as she looked down at her chest, at the black form-fitting sheath with its high neckline. Do I even have cleavage, she thought. Maybe time to invest in a push ‘em up, push ‘em together bra.

“And,” he continued, “they usually touch the man in rather intimate ways, sending non-verbal signals as to what they’re offering, and what they’re interested in.”

She swallowed. “I would never behave that way in public.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Hence my comment, ‘you don’t seem to be the type.’”

“Oh,” she sighed. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

He let loose a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest. “It’s no bother. And as long as you’re sure,” he paused, “I’d like to take you up on your offer.”

She swallowed, raising her head to search his face. “Really? Even though you obviously know this is something I don’t normally do?”

“Yes.” He leaned forward, softly tucking her hair behind her ear and whispered, “And that’s what makes you much more intriguing.”

Her breathing deepened as she fought her inner demons, pushing them into the dark shadows. With the demons vanquished for the moment, she said softly, “Do you have a room
here?” She hoped he did. She didn’t want him to find out anything about her, not even her room number.

“Yes.” His voice was husky as he cupped her face in his hands, turning it to meet his, bending his head, claiming her mouth.

His kiss was as challenging as it was rewarding. She was shocked at her own eager response to the touch of his lips. It was a kiss for her wired soul to melt into. When it ended, her mouth burned with fire, her lips swelling with the want of more.

He stood, waiting for her to stand beside him. He captured her hand in his as they headed toward the elevators. His gaze was soft as a caress. She stared with longing at him, fighting her overwhelming need to be near him. They rode in silence, the anticipation filling the space.

She stood beside him, waiting for him to unlock the door. The tension between them increased with frightening intensity, threatening to send her running away to erect the walls that kept her safe, in control. Before she had a chance to retreat, to run, he led her into his room and closed the door quietly behind them.

She tensed as she looked around his room. It was just like hers, except for the bed. While hers had two queen-size beds, his was centered around an enormous king-size bed. And the smell—his room smelled like him, a rich mix of spice and sandalwood, with perhaps a hint of musk. She inhaled deeply, imprinting the aroma in her memory.

“Would you like something to drink?” he whispered, standing behind her, his breath hot against her ear, his hands resting on her hips, as if they’d been made just to fit on her body.

She hesitated for a moment. If she stopped for a drink, she was afraid she’d lose her nerve. She swallowed and turned to face him, her heart thundering. She placed her palms against his chest and slid them up, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor. She reached up and removed his tie. His scent was driving her crazy. She needed to touch his skin, feel it
connect with hers, scorch hers. She reached for his collar then undid the first three buttons on his shirt in rapid succession. Her hands began to tremble with the next one and on the fifth, she grunted softly in frustration.

He reached down, grasping her hands between his, laying them against his chest. “Easy, easy, KitKat. We have all night.”

She looked up at him and smiled sheepishly, her skin tingling from his touch.

He cocked his head. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She tugged her hands, trying to break away, and he released them.

Her eyes blazed. “Why do you keep asking me that? I’m here, aren’t I?” Her eyebrows edged towards each other. “Or are you giving me the heave-ho?”

He chuckled. “I’m not the one with the trembling hands, KitKat.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And why do you call me that?”

He grinned. “You’re the one who said ‘no names.’ I think you’re a bit of a wildcat, but since you’re tiny like a kitten, I opt for KitKat. Or should I call you ‘Woman’ instead?”

She pursed her lips. “No. Makes it sound like you own me.”

He laughed. “I get the feeling no one owns you, now or ever.”

Her face relaxed. “I think I’ll take you up on that drink.”

“What would you like, a vodka tonic?” he asked as he headed to the minibar.

She smiled, enjoying the way his body moved, confident, full of strength. Her palms itched in anticipation of touching him. “Yes,” she said as she turned to sit on the end of the bed.

He fixed her drink and then poured a scotch for himself. He returned to her and handed her the glass, then sat next to her on the bed. “Why do you drink vodka? Most women choose
wine,” he asked as he wound a strand of her hair around his finger.

“Why do you drink whiskey?” she replied as she enjoyed his playful touch.

“It’s not just any whiskey. It’s actually scotch. Now, answer me. Why do you drink vodka?”

She sipped her drink and sighed. “I don’t care for the taste of alcohol, so…”

“You drink vodka, which is rather tasteless,” he finished.

“Exactly.”

“Why do you drink if you don’t like it?”

“I don’t like the taste, but I like the feeling I get after a few. It frees me…”

“From your inhibitions,” he finished again.

She inhaled. It was as if he were in her head, reading her mind. “Do you do that all the time, finish other people’s thoughts?”

“No, not usually. It just seems so… so natural with you.”

She turned away for a moment and finished her drink in one big gulp. No more talking. She rose, took his glass from him, and set both on the table across the room.

She returned and stood in front of him, lightly splaying her hands across his chest, sinking her fingers into his luxurious dark chest hair and pulling slightly. She leaned in, nuzzling his neck, nipping his ear. She felt him inhale before she heard him.

“My little wildcat,” he said, his voice husky. He captured her head in his hands, and gently forced her mouth to meet his as his fingers laced through her hair.

She freed her fingers from his chest, sliding them up over his broad shoulders, caressing the back of his neck. She moved her thumbs to the hollow behind his ears and began massaging in slow deliberate circles.

He groaned against her mouth. His tongue traced her soft lips, gently but firmly persuading her to open her mouth for him
to explore. Her lips responded to his warmth and opened, inviting him in. Their tongues slowly entwined. There was no need to control, only to enjoy the taste, the feel of each other. He wound his hands tighter into her soft hair, through her curls. She moved closer into him, standing between his thighs, and thrust her breasts against his chest. He moved his hands to her shoulders, and gently pushed her away, breaking contact. She whimpered in protest. He stood, causing her hands to drop from his body. He shrugged his shirt off.

She licked her lips as her eyes feasted on him. He was gorgeous. His broad shoulders framed his muscled chest. She could see the ripples through his silky chest hair, teasing her as it narrowed down to his hips and disappeared below his waistband. She stepped closer and reached over, undid his belt and the button. She inhaled slowly, stopping to look up at him. His grey eyes smoldered with intensity, encouraging her to continue.

He placed his hand on the back of her head, gasping when she ran her hand lightly over the bulge in his crotch. “Damn, that feels so good.”

She teased him, deliberately taking her time unzipping his slacks. She tilted her head back, catching his smoky gaze. She smiled seductively and was rewarded when his body responded. He groaned as her hand brushed up against him. She pushed his slacks down off his hips, where they pooled at his feet, leaving him covered only by his tented boxers. She knelt down and ran over hands over his taut calves before slipping his shoes and socks off. She tossed his clothes away and stood. He cupped her chin with his hand, and looked into her eyes. “I think, KitKat, someone is overdressed.”

“Not my fault,” she answered, her voice breathy. She stroked him through his boxers then reached for the waistband. “I’ve been busy, preoccupied with the matter at hand.” He grabbed her hand, stopping her advance. “Dammit.” He inhaled. “Turn around.”

She pulled her hand free and spun around.

He laughed. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

“Mm, yes,” she replied, kicking off her heels. With that small act, she dropped four inches.

“Lord, you are tiny.” He chuckled.

“Excuse me,” she corrected softly, “but the term is petite, not tiny.”

He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Pardonnez-moi, ma petite chérie,” he murmured as he slid her zipper down then pushed her dress off in one fluid motion.

She stepped out of her dress and turned to face him. She was wearing her lilac lace bra and matching lace panties. She slowly lifted her eyes, watching him as his gaze swept over her body, his eyes smoldering like embers from a fire threatening to erupt into a raging inferno.

He bent down and scooped her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her head in the valley between his neck and shoulder. His scent was strong there and she nuzzled him, trying to transfer his scent to her skin. It was driving her into a frenzy.

He laid her gently on the bed, splaying her hair across the pillows, and knelt above her. He sat back on his heels and traced his fingers up each leg, over her hips, moving up onto her stomach, skirting her breasts. She grasped each of his hands in hers, trying to move them to her breasts as she thrust them towards him. He laughed softly, taking her hands and pinning them over her head. “Not so fast. I’m getting to know your body.”

“You’re torturing me,” she hissed softly, writhing under him, but he had her pinned between his knees, squeezing slightly to reinforce his words. She mewled in protest.

“Just wait, my little wildcat. I’ll have you purring soon,” he said just before he leaned forward and suckled her bottom lip.

And purr she did… all night long.

****

He stood in the doorway watching her stretch.
Like a wildcat
, he thought. Like KitKat did that night. He studied her face as different emotions appeared and disappeared. What the hell was she thinking about? She was complicated, he’d give her that. He sensed that five years ago and now, she seemed more so. He hadn’t a clue as to what made her tick. How was he going to reach her, bind her to him until he got what he needed? This was getting way too complicated.

He exhaled and smiled as he saw her expression change to one of… he knew that expression. He’d seen it spread across her face many times that night. Her breathing was shallow, somewhat unsteady. She was aroused.
What the hell was she thinking about, or who
, he wondered. He shifted against the doorframe as he watched her arch her body. Damn, he wanted her, feeling the tightness in his groin. And this time he wanted her for more than one night.

Her eyes opened and connected with his. He saw her desire burning through the hazel green hue.

“Mm,” she said dreamily, “did you want something?”

He could tell she was still under the influence of whatever she’d been thinking of. “I think I could use a cigarette,” he replied hoarsely.