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Jena smiled. “You mean there’s a difference?”
Dulcy caught herself rubbing her index finger and thumb against the decadent material of the nightgown and forced herself to place the lid back on the box. “I hope you got a receipt for this stuff, Jena,” she said softly, indicating the array of materials that seemed cruel even for a pet.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not you plan on returning the items yourself.”
Dulcy made a face and peered into the bag in which she’d instantly stuffed the highly wicked items that served as Jena’s gift. “Tell me you got them on the Internet?”
“Nope. There’s this great little shop downtown I know you’re going to love.”
Dulcy groaned and snatched the collar from Marie. “I don’t think so.”
“What’s this one for?” Marie asked, poking at a miniature version of the dog collar about two inches in diameter.
“Never mind.” Dulcy took that one, too, then put it in the bag with the other items that gave a whole new meaning to the word unmentionables.
She was aware of the slow song ending, which probably meant another fast song would soon start up. And Jena would undoubtedly pull them up for another fifteen-minute set. Dulcy didn’t think her feet could stand it. She found herself glancing toward the dance floor, only realizing why she’d done so when she spotted the man named Quinn being led off by the woman he’d just danced with. But rather than heading back toward his table, she was navigating a path toward the door and the lobby beyond. Dulcy quickly averted her gaze. She didn’t have to guess where they were heading. She looked down to find her hands clutching the bag, and released her grip. No doubt that couple could find something interesting to do with these items.
As expected, the band launched into another dance number and Jena virtually popped up from her seat. “Come on.”
Marie groaned but slid from the booth, while Dulcy shook her head. “I’m just going to go run these things up to my room before someone sees them and gets the wrong idea about me.”
What she really wanted to do was go strip out of her clothes and her heels, brush her teeth, pull the sheet up to her chin and veg with a really good movie…and think about what she could have been doing tonight had she had enough guts.
Jena leaned over the table toward her. “You’d better be back in fifteen or else I’m coming up after you.”
Dulcy smiled, knowing that despite her friend’s threat, she’d be more likely to curl up on the bed with her and steal whatever she was eating, along with the remote. “Deal.”
She gathered her gifts together and slid from the opposite side of the booth, giving Marie a sympathetic wave as Jena led her toward the dance floor. Well, she did have to give Jena some credit. The place was teeming with men who were exactly her type, but she hadn’t once wavered in her promise to make this Dulcy’s night. There had been one moment when Dulcy was afraid they were about to lose her—when a fresh-faced hockey player with a lopsided grin, a chin dimple and devilish eyes had stolen her for two whole dances—but Jena had finally peeled herself away from him and rejoined the party. Dulcy had decided to let slide the bit of paper, no doubt holding the player’s phone number, that Jena had slipped into her pocket.
The difference between the smoke-choked atmosphere of the club and the brightly lit, sparsely populated lobby was like night and day. And Dulcy felt immediately better. More like herself, more in control. She took a deep breath of the hotel air and blinked, slowing her step as the pulse of the music drifted farther and farther away. It had been so long since she’d actually been to a club, she had forgotten what it was like. The intimate lighting. The heat of too many young, single, needy bodies filling the room. The rhythm of the drum that seemed to vibrate across the floor and grip her heart. She and Jena had gone a few times when they were in undergrad school together. And again when Marie had come of age. But it had never really been her thing. Going to the theatre or out to a nice dinner, visiting with her friends—those had always been her preferred styles of entertainment.
And now she knew why. There was something about the wild environment…about merely being in a club that seemed to emphasize wantonness and willingness for experiences she only allowed herself to fantasize about, and never indulged in. What others, like Jena, saw as challenges, she saw as strictly dangerous.
She started to walk by the concierge’s desk, then backtracked, clutching her packages tightly to her side. “Excuse me, when does room service close for the night?”
The young, attractive man behind the desk openly eyed her and grinned. “Never, miss. They’re open twenty-four hours. With a limited menu after midnight.”
She found herself smiling back at him. “Good. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She turned back toward the far hall and the elevators there, her heels clicking against the marble tiled floor. See, the concierge’s overt reaction to her, probably after having seen her come from the club, was proof positive of her verdict on clubs and clubbing. She thought the appropriate word nowadays was player but she couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, she certainly wasn’t one, and never would be.
She punched the elevator button, then stood back to wait. No. In eight days she was going to be Mrs. Brad Wheeler III. She grimaced. Why had she thought of it that way? She shook her head and dug through her purse for her room card key. But even she had to admit that while Brad’s financial status hadn’t influenced her decision to marry him one iota, it would certainly impact her life from here on out. She’d just gotten used to balancing her own checkbook, yet now she’d have an accountant and house manager to look after all that for her. It had been a challenge to remember when she’d last had the oil checked in her car, yet now she would have use of Brad’s in-house mechanic, who looked after his half dozen or so cars on a daily basis.
She pulled out her card key. Oh, yeah. Her life from here on out was definitely going to change. For the better, she firmly told herself. Who cared if personal privacy would be virtually nil? Her mother would have the money she’d had to do without for too long. And Dulcy would have Brad. That’s all she needed.
The elevator dinged open, and she stepped inside and pressed the button for the seventh floor. The mirrored doors began sliding closed and she leaned against the back of the elevator and sighed. An inch before the doors would have closed altogether, a hand snaked through the opening. The doors bounced, then jerked back open.
Dulcy stared, suddenly dry mouthed, at the new arrival—all dark skinned, big grinned and looking so good she could eat him with a spoon.
Oh, yeah? If Brad was all she needed, why was she looking at the guy from the bar as if she wanted to order him up from room service?
3
TWO TIMES LUCKY, Quinn made a mental note to himself, because something like this didn’t happen to him every day. First this girl who could have come from one of those 1-900-babe hotline commercials literally drops into his lap…now he runs into her, alone, in the elevator.
He held the doors open with one hand and watched Dee scramble from where she was leaning against the wall. Her relaxed position had caused her skirt to inch farther up her long, long legs. The design of her white blouse was far too conservative to be called sexy, but the leather skirt hugged the body it was wrapped around to delectable perfection. No matter how hard she tried, he’d bet, she was never quite successful in covering up the sensuality that emanated from her like a seductive scent. A mystifying, evocative sexuality had ensnared him so completely in the scant few minutes they had spoken that he hadn’t been able to drum up enthusiasm for anyone else. He’d thought he might have something with the last girl he danced with. But when she propositioned him, he turned her down. So then she’d asked him to do her the favor of walking out of the bar with her because one of the hockey players was coming on a little too strong for her liking. He had, and after stopping off at the hotel gift shop to pick up a fresh razor, he’d decided to go upstairs…alone.
At least, that had been his intention. But now that he stood staring at the fantasy-in-heels staring back at him like she wanted to eat him whole…well, maybe the night wasn’t yet over.
“Hi, again,” she said, her voice soft and hesitant.
He noticed she was nearly bending in half the box she held, and his grin widened.
“Where’s…um, your friend?” she asked.
He cocked a brow and stepped into the elevator, allowing the doors to close behind him. The simple move caused her to step back farther.
“Friend?”
She nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear, looking everywhere but at him. Correction. Looking everywhere on his body except his face.
“Oh. You’re talking about the girl I left the bar with.” He shrugged. “I don’t know where she is. I guess she went to her room. Alone.”
Something he’d been facing himself until ten seconds ago.
He glanced at the control panel, then pressed the button for the sixth floor. “Your birthday?” he asked.
“Huh?”
He pointed to the boxes she held.
“Um, no, but…something similar.”
He turned so that he was facing the doors alongside her. The scent of something fruity, something fresh, reached his nose and he breathed it in. While city girl was stamped all over her, she smelled amazingly like the outdoors. And infinitely edible.
Quinn had never noticed how quiet elevators were before. Or how small. He swore he could hear the sound of his blood rushing full speed to his groin. Feel the heat of his body increase the temperature of the enclosure. Sense Dee’s growing tension as she swallowed.
How did one close a deal of this nature in the negligible amount of time it took for the elevator to climb to the sixth floor? He’d already guessed that one-night stands and becoming intimate with strangers went against Dee’s principles, although he suspected that if she listened to her heart, she’d probably follow it. But her running away from him in the bar proved she wasn’t anywhere near ready to do that.
But he also knew that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. Had watched her watching him all night. Had stared at her as she licked salt from her hand with that naughty pink tongue of hers, her gaze steadfastly on him, then downed tequila along with her friends.
The elevator bell dinged. The doors slid open.
Damn.
The way he saw it, he had two options. Push the emergency button and thrust her against the wall and have his way with her. Or leave.
He began to exit. He heard her intake of breath, as if she was about to say something, and hesitated on the threshold, another option emerging.
He turned, butting his shoulder against the open door. He gazed at where she still stood rigidly straight, clutching her packages as if they’d somehow protect her against him. Protect her against her attraction for him. An attraction that widened her pupils until her hazel eyes nearly shone black, and left her moistened lips parted.
Quinn cleared his throat, then smiled. “You, um, wouldn’t happen to want…”
He purposely let his words trail off, allowing her to define the parameters, if she chose any.
She quickly shook her head. “No. Sorry. I can’t.”
He glanced at his boots. “My loss, then, huh?”
The elevator door bounced against his shoulder. He started to straighten. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman throw the packages she held to the floor. And suddenly she was up close and real personal.
Quinn wasn’t all that clear on the details of what brought her from the far end of the elevator to flush up against him, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Almost instantaneously, her fingers were in his hair, tugging the strands from the leather strap. Her mouth rested awkwardly against his, the stiff peaks of her breasts jutting through the chambray of his shirt. Acting on pure instinct, he groaned and pulled her closer, slanting his mouth more comfortably against hers. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the seam of her lips, coaxing them open. And just like that, they were.
God, she tasted like pure temptation, just the way he knew she would. Mischievous, sweet, and hot as hell. He slid his tongue along the length of hers, reveling in the texture of it, the taste. He’d all but given up hope of kissing her like this. Now that he was…well, it was even better than he had imagined. In an instant he was rock hard and wanted her in a way that made him forget where they were—a condition that intensified when she wriggled and shimmied hungrily against him.
Quinn slowly slid his hands to her hips, holding her still as he pressed his erection into her soft flesh, leaving little doubt about how he was feeling and what he had in mind. When she not only didn’t object but shivered in response, his body temperature leapt another few degrees. He skimmed his hands from her hips, up along her slender midriff, then created a wall on either side of her full breasts with his palms. At her gasp, he stepped up the force of his kiss, then drew his hands all the way over her breasts, squeezing the straining tips between his thumbs and palms.
Take it easy, buddy. You don’t want to scare her off.
And he was all too aware of the risk of scaring her off. Of moving too quickly and having her balk. She had run from simple conversation in the bar. Pushing her too far too fast here, alone in the elevator, might ruin his chances altogether. But he simply couldn’t help himself. The instant he’d been given a taste of what he’d been longing for all night, he was filled with the need to take it all the way. For the past two hours he’d mentally envisioned every last thing he’d like to do to the woman now in his arms. And, by God, he couldn’t stop himself from making those plans a reality.
A slight pulling of fabric and her blouse opened. A dip of his hand and the material bowed, revealing a snow-white lace bra. He briefly broke off the kiss to gaze at the small mounds of flesh accented to perfection by the half-cups of fabric. Her nipples poked against the material, begging to be set free. And he found more than anything that he wanted to grant them that freedom. Dipping his index finger inside the cup and under the stiff peak, he lifted. The rosy tip popped up. He wasted no time fastening his mouth around it, licking and tugging and pulling until Dee’s breathing was so erratic that it nearly tore the succulent bit of flesh from his mouth. He blindly found and liberated her other nipple, groaning at the decadent way she held her shoulders back, straining for his attention. He caught the stiff peak between his thumb and forefinger and pinched, reveling in her sharp intake of breath.
Quinn closed his eyes. God, but her responsiveness was killing him.
Stroking her right breast, he dropped his other hand lower, skimming the backs of his fingers down her hip, then lower still, until they rested against the skin of her leg. The bare skin of her leg. The fact that she wore no nylons surprised and excited him. Maybe this bad-girl in good-girl clothing had a naughty streak she didn’t even know the breadth of. He drank in her moan. Oh, he was going to enjoy not only introducing her to that naughty side, but making her love it. He edged his fingers upward, slowly lifting her skirt until he was mere millimeters away from her sex. He paused, measuring the hunger in her kiss, the rapidness of her breathing, then he brushed the backs of his fingers against the crotch of her panties, finding her hot and wet and ready.
She shuddered so violently that for a moment Quinn thought she might have climaxed. But rather than collapse against him for support, she grasped his shoulders and pressed her hips more solidly against his, cradling his pulsing erection between her thighs. Quinn stretched his neck and groaned. Sweet Jesus, but she was going to end him right here and now.
WILD…hard…wet. Dulcy had never felt so out of control in her life. Yet so completely in control. Of herself. Of Quinn. Of the powerful emotions surging through her body, bringing to life a hunger, a need, she hadn’t known existed. The instant her sex made contact with his through their clothes, she knew she had to have him. Gone was any rational thought. Vanished was every last shred of self-doubt or concern about tomorrow. She completely gave herself over to the power of feeling. Nothing more. Nothing less. Of listening to her body and following its lead, trusting it not to lead her in the wrong direction.
She began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, then gave up and tore at the material, sending buttons ricocheting through the elevator. Finally, the smooth, hair-peppered chest was bared to her gaze. She tugged the soft material down over his shoulders, marveling at the toned, sculpted quality of his pecs. She’d sensed his hardness when she’d fallen into his lap, but somehow not even that brief contact had prepared her for this. She placed a hesitant kiss against the heated flesh, then opened her mouth for a more thorough taste, thinking that if, instead of air, she could breathe him right that moment, she would.
She shamelessly jutted her hips against his, absently wondering what felt better—the fire licking through her veins, making her aware of every pulse of her heartbeat, or him. The long, thick ridge of his erection pressed against her swollen flesh, and she shivered, deciding that there was no longer any differentiating between the two. His actions fanned the flames, provoking even bolder reactions from her.
His fingers seared her bottom, tunneling under the edge of her panties and cupping her. Dulcy reached for the front of his jeans and the button there. Her fingers brushed something, and she swallowed hard, realizing that the tip of his arousal was right there, peeking from the waist of his jeans.
Dear Lord…
She skimmed her thumb over the velvet tip, rubbing the bead of moisture over him, then shamelessly lifted her thumb to her mouth, tasting him. She blinked to look into his eyes. The sight of his enlarged pupils, the sheer desire on his face, enhanced her own skyrocketing feelings.
The elevator door bumped against her arm. Dulcy grasped the gaping edges of his shirt and pulled him inside the mirrored enclosure. The doors immediately slid closed, but when the elevator started to drop, Quinn reached behind him and pulled the emergency button, stopping it from going anywhere.
One of his fingers traced the length of her fissure from behind, coaxing her right leg up in order to allow him freer access. Dulcy hooked her foot around his calf. She nearly collapsed as the same finger found the pulsing bit of flesh at the apex of her thighs. She gasped as the finger dove into her dripping recesses.
Forgotten was her own quest as she grasped his shoulders, afraid she might faint from the headiness of it all. She broke contact with his mouth and rested her cheek against his bare shoulder. Through heavy-lidded eyes she watched their reflection in the smoky wall mirror. Somewhere in the depths of her mind, she thought she should be shocked to find herself standing there, her blouse open, her engorged nipples peeking out from the top of her bra, her leg hiked up revealing more than was decent and Quinn’s dark-skinned hands branding her pale flesh. But the image only served to turn her on more.
“Reach into my back pocket,” he said savagely into her ear. “Now.”
Dulcy slid her hands down his back and into both pockets, moments later tugging out a foil packet. In one swift movement, he freed her of her panties and undid the front of his jeans. Not wanting to let go of him, Dulcy put the corner of the packet between her teeth and ripped, praying she hadn’t damaged the latex. She moved to sheath him, but he took it from her fingers.
“Oh, no, darlin’. If you do that, we’ll never get a chance to use it.”
He covered himself with the latex condom, then thrust her against the back mirror of the elevator. Dulcy braced herself against the cool surface even as he circled his hands to her bottom and pulled her legs up to rest on either side of his hips. She crossed her ankles behind him, then sighed as he entered her in one, long, thrust.
The flames that licked through her veins exploded to engulf her entire body. Her breasts throbbed. Her stomach tightened. And the sensation of his erection filling her seemed, oh, so right and made her hungrier for more.
She tilted her hips, taking him in even deeper. He groaned and thrust again, moving her back up the smooth mirror even as she steadied herself with her hands. He thrust again, each stroke edging up the chaos swirling inside her stomach, further tightening her nipples. She moved her head restlessly from side to side, able to do little more than anchor herself to accept his long, deep thrusts. She caught their reflection in the glass again, the vision chasing the air from her lungs. His legs were slightly bent to balance their weight, his dark shoulders glistened with sweat, her breasts swayed with each long stroke.
She swallowed hard, thinking that long was the key word. Long…and hard…and thick. His dark hair fell over his brow, half concealing the fierce expression on his face as he plunged again and again into her swollen, welcoming flesh. She’d never felt so naughty, so elemental…so mind-blowingly sexy as she did when he grasped her hips tighter, grinding against her, and forcing her right over the edge into oblivion.
A HALF HOUR LATER, Dulcy paced the length of her hotel room, then back again, barely seeing the patterned bedspread that matched the draperies that matched the wall hanging that went with the lamp. Her breath came in irregular gasps, her muscles felt oddly electrified, and despite the thirty minutes that separated now from the erotic moment in the elevator, she was still on fire, her body hungry for a nameless something that only the stranger who had awakened the hunger could give her.
What had she done?
She glanced at the packages she’d tossed onto the bed, then at the clock, then at the telephone. She was distantly surprised neither Jena nor Marie had come after her yet. Then again, for all she knew they’d caught one of the elevators while she and Quinn had been stopped in theirs on the sixth floor, and were already in their rooms. She stalked to the connecting door and listened but couldn’t hear anything. Not prepared to face either of her friends if they were there, she opted against opening the barrier.
She moved to the other side of the bed and the phone there. The red light was ominously dark. But just to be on the safe side, she punched the button to retrieve her messages, only to be told by a cold, automated voice that her voice-mail box was empty.
She hung up the receiver again and stared at the clock. It was after one o’clock. She didn’t care. She needed to talk to someone. And the perfect someone for her to be talking to right now was Brad.
She picked up the telephone receiver again, punched the button for an outside line, then followed with his number. Ten rings later, she hung up the receiver again, then sank down onto the bed, rubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes.
What had she done? She groaned. Oh, she knew what she had done, all right. She had effectively mauled the most dangerously enticing man she’d ever seen in her life, in a hotel elevator. Tempted the man of her fantasies. Welcomed him into her flesh. She clamped her eyes shut even farther, until she saw stars. One minute she’d been congratulating herself on making it through her bachelorette party intact. The next she’d been living the made-up fantasy she’d shared with Jena and Marie earlier in the night.
Well, it hadn’t been completely made up, but the elevator part of it had been. But, oh boy, what she had been missing out on with that little addition.
“This is crazy. Absolutely, stark raving, lunatic mad.”
She could still see Quinn’s sexy grin as he emerged from the bright blinding light of orgasm to stare down at her. Then reality had dawned and her eyes had widened—and his sexy grin had turned into a distinct expression of disappointment. Dulcy couldn’t have moved fast enough, far enough as she shakily tried to put herself in order while she released the emergency button.
They’d reached his floor first. “I’m in room 613 if you change your mind,” he’d said, just before the doors closed.
Was it possible to love one man and want to marry him, but want a completely different man only eight days before her wedding?
Well, that was certainly a stupid question, wasn’t it. For if there was one thing she had just proven, it was that.
Pushing from the bed, she stormed into the bathroom and turned on the shower full blast. Refusing to look at herself in the mirror, she stepped back into the other room to where her overnight bag rested on the table, and had to take out nearly everything else before she found her nightgown. For several moments she stood there, staring down at the familiar material—the familiar, boring material. The expensive, light blue cotton nightgown with the little satin ties at the throat. The sound of the shower echoed in the bathroom. But she could concentrate on nothing but the steady pulse of her heartbeat. The smell of her sex, their sex, filling her nose. The throbbing of her womanhood and the hunger that remained. She knew she should undress and head for the shower.
Instead she moved toward the door. Whatever happened, she knew she had to see this thing through to its natural conclusion. And that meant having sex with Quinn until the hunger that raged inside her was satisfied. Or until something other than her own needs clamored for attention. The rest of it…well, the rest she’d figure out later. All she could think about was having Quinn’s tongue in her mouth. His hot hands grasping her breasts to the point of pain, his fingers rubbing her nipples. His long erection stroking her inside and out, edging her to a place she had never visited before but curiously wanted to stake a claim on. Now. For as long as he could physically manage it. Until she couldn’t walk. Until neither of them could stand the sight of the other. Until she’d cried out in orgasm again…and again…and again.
Or until one her friends hunted her down and tore her away from him.
