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Her laughter tinkled. “They’ll probably introduce me to every eligible bachelor they can lay their hands on.”
Zach knew she was probably right. And he didn’t like that image. He had a sudden urge to curl an arm around her, pull her close, tell her to stay away from all those no-good bachelors.
“Funny,” she continued, her gaze back on the fireworks. “Marriage has never been a goal of mine.”
“Mine, neither,” Zach agreed, ridiculously relieved. It was silly, stupid even. He didn’t know the woman’s name, yet he didn’t want to think about her with other men.
“What is your goal?” he prompted. The gasps of the crowd and the pops of the rockets once again penetrated his conscious, reminding him of where they were.
She shrugged her slim, bare shoulders. “A career, maybe.”
“What kind of career?” This line of conversation definitely beat talking about her future boyfriends.
“Lately I’ve been thinking about event management, or maybe business.”
“What’s your degree in?”
“History. Don’t you dare laugh.”
Did she mean at the impracticality of studying history? “I’m not laughing. I don’t even have a college degree.”
She waited for him to continue. There was no judgment in her expression.
“Where I come from,” he found himself explaining, “high school graduation is about as far as kids go.”
“Did you graduate high school?”
“I did.” He paused. “But would you care if I hadn’t?” He was honestly curious.
“I don’t think it’s your education that matters. It’s what you do with it.”
He couldn’t agree more.
With the exception of their accountant, DFB Incorporated didn’t have a single employee with a college degree. Mostly because they were all foster kids. They’d grown up in group homes, like him, or in a series of short-term, single-family placements. They’d learned to avoid emotional attachment to their caregivers and had spent their childhoods in survival mode. None of them had family ties. None would have had a single penny of support, even if they had wanted to go to college.
“If you want to use your history degree to go into business,” he told her, “I’m all for it.”
She smiled, and his chest tightened. “Thank you.”
He drew a couple of hard breaths. He’d never wanted to kiss a woman quite this badly. But people could see them, and she was trying to keep a low profile. “What kind of business?” he forced himself to ask again.
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Well, if you start your own, expand slowly. Make sure you don’t overleverage.”
“Is that what you did?” There was an astute intelligence in those golden eyes. It was as if she’d suddenly shifted modes, staring frankly, seeking information.
Okay, that really shouldn’t strike him as sexy.
“We grew fast,” he told her, shifting his attention to the lake in order to keep from grabbing her right here in front of everyone. “When you hit a certain size, all of a sudden there are a whole lot of moving parts. We ended up with a weak link. And I’m here to fix it.” It seemed silly to stay so oblique. “You want me to tell you what the—”
“No!” It was her hand on his arm more than her words that shut him up.
He glanced down at her slim fingers, the lavender polish, felt the heat through the thin cotton of his shirt, and thought about all the other places he’d like her to touch him.
“It’s better this way,” she assured him.
It would be better with her in his arms.
The sky suddenly lit up with the fireworks finale. The crowd oohed then aahed then cheered madly as the sky went dark.
“Whatever you want,” Zach told her, meaning it in all possible ways.
Abigail knew the evening had to come to an end. It was after three in the morning. They’d been talking for hours, and she was nearly asleep on her feet as they approached the front entrance of the Caspian Hotel.
Except for the doorman, the place was deserted. He tipped his hat, gave them a welcoming smile and opened the glass-fronted, brass-trimmed door so they could enter.
Lucky slowed his steps and motioned with an outstretched arm for Abigail to go in first. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing through the empty lobby. A front-desk clerk glanced up from her computer screen. Seeing they had no luggage, so obviously weren’t checking in, she nodded a greeting and went back to typing on the keyboard.
They crossed the vast lobby toward the bank of elevators, while Abigail struggled for something clever or memorable to say. But everything she came up with sounded either trite or ridiculous.
Lucky pressed the call button, and an elevator door immediately slid open. She wanted to tell him she’d had a great time. No, not a great time, an amazing time. A time that she wished she could repeat again someday. But she knew that was impossible. He was leaving town. And she was going back to her real life. And she didn’t even know his name.
He pressed eight, then lifted his brows in her direction.
“Same,” she confirmed, her voice raspy over her dry throat.
Their gazes locked, and the air in the elevator seemed to thicken with anticipation.
The door slid shut.
“Imagine that,” Lucky observed.
Abigail’s skin tingled. She felt heat rush up from her toes to her scalp. She’d never, ever, not even once, had a one-night stand. But she was tempted tonight.
The elevator pinged to a stop.
The door slid open.
She exited first, turning left down the hallway, wondering what she could say, if she could say it, if she could possibly, actually bring herself to do it.
He fell into step, the heat from his body seeming to swirl out to touch her.
“Eight-nineteen,” he told her, extracting his key card, slowing to a stop.
“Eight-twenty,” she responded, stopping beside him.
He glanced down.
She looked up.
Her heart pounded hard against the inside of her chest. A roaring sound filled her ears. And her lungs labored as she moistened her dry lips.
He cocked his head ever so slightly toward his hotel-room door. “I’m thinking there’ll be a bottle of wine in my minibar.”
Abigail tried to make her head shake no, but somehow the message got scrambled. “Red or white?” she rasped instead.
“Either. Both. Whatever you want.”
She knew she should say good-night and leave. This was her last chance. If she walked into that hotel room, she would throw herself into Lucky’s arms, damn the consequences.
She couldn’t tell him no. But she couldn’t bring herself to say yes either.
He slipped the key into the lock, and the indicator light turned green. He pushed down on the handle, released the latch and yawned the door wide open.
Abigail took one step then another into his room, her shoes whispering against the thick carpet. The door whooshed shut behind them, clicking with finality.
From behind, Lucky gently touched her shoulder. He turned her, backed her slowly against the closed door, one hand tunneling into her hair, the other coming around her waist, pressing their bodies together while his lips came down on hers. They were firm, hot, moist and tender.
She gave in to the sensation, immediately kissing him back, grasping his arms, steadying herself against the steel of his biceps. She opened wide, welcoming his tongue, marveling at his sweet taste, his masculine scent and the feel of his thighs hard against her own.
He broke the kiss, speaking huskily against her lips. “I’ve been dying to do that all night long.”
“Are we crazy?” she felt compelled to ask, lips hot and swollen, desire permeating every cell of her body.
He captured her gaze once more. “I don’t particularly care.”
She couldn’t help smiling at that. “Am I going to sound preposterous if I say I’ve never done anything like this before?”
“You haven’t done anything yet.”
“I’m about to.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Glad to hear it.” He kissed her again, longer and deeper, his fingertips finding their way up her spine.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, tipping back, abandoning herself to the passion building inside her body. She was an adult woman. She wasn’t reckless, and she wasn’t foolish. She’d thought this through, and she wanted to be with Lucky tonight.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, smoothing his hand along her shoulder. He pushed her shoulder strap out of the way. Then he tenderly kissed her shoulder and eased the other strap down. “Amazing,” he mumbled, kissing his way along her neck. The back of his knuckles brushed the tip of her breast, and she sucked in a breath in response. “I am the luckiest guy on the planet.”
“Is that why they call you Lucky?”
He stilled, lips brushing against the tender hollow of her neck. “You’re making a joke?”
“I am,” she offered without a trace of apology.
He kissed her again, more firmly this time, drawing her tongue into his scorching mouth. “Well, I’m not going to keep calling you Doll-Face.”
“Oh, yes, you are.”
“What’s your real name?”
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head.
“You sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
His hands slid their way down to her wrists, and he backed her tighter against the door. “Okay. Then that’s pretty hot.”
She tipped her chin. “You’re pretty hot.”
“I’m about to get hotter.” His eyes turned to molten chocolate, and a split second later he was kissing her mouth, harder, deeper. One hand slipped up her back, finding her zipper, pulling it down. The tight bodice gave way.
In return, she reached for his shirt buttons, plunking the disks through the open holes, revealing his chest, running her fingers over his bare skin.
He gave a tug on her dress, and it slid to the floor, freeing her bare breasts and pooling in a heap around her feet.
He drew back, his breath whistling out. “Where have you been hiding all my life?”
“Colorado.” She pulled his shirttails out of his pants, and stripped the shirt off his shoulders.
He was absolutely magnificent, and they both stilled, staring at each other in silence.
He lifted his broad hand, cupping her face with his palm, leaning in ever so slowly. Her eyes fluttered closed. She inhaled deeper. Her lips parted, and she eased toward him, twining her arms around his neck, feeling his heated skin press tight against her breasts, as his lips came down in a tender kiss that drew itself out for long minutes.
His free hand slipped over the curve of her hip. There, his fingers paused, slipping beneath the strand of her panties. His other hand slid up to cup her breast. Her nipples instantly beaded, and his palm closed around her. His kisses grew more insistent, longer, until they were both gasping for breath.
He kissed her neck, dipping to a breast, drawing the taut nipple into his mouth. Her hands fisted hard, and she moaned at a sensation she’d never experienced. What was he doing? How was he doing it?
Cool air replaced the heat of his mouth, and she loved the contrast. He switched to the other breast, causing cascades of desire to roll through her.
She needed to do something.
She was just standing here.
She ran her palms up his chest, feeling the burn of his skin, testing the muscles she knew would be steel hard. Then she worked her way down, over the six-pack of his abs, to the waistband of his pants, popping the button and lowering his zipper.
He grabbed her wrist. “I want this to go slow.”
“Sure,” she agreed, even though her mind screamed for speed. She brushed her knuckles against him.
“You want it slow?” he growled.
“No.”
