Mr One-Night Stand. Rachael Stewart

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      He placed his drink on the table and took his own seat, feeling her eyes upon him the whole time. The nature of her thoughts penetrated the air.

      ‘A penny for them?’

      Her smile widened. ‘Something tells me a man like you should know well enough that you never ask a woman that question.’

      He gave an easy laugh, staving off the heat raging below his waist. ‘What if I said there’s something about you that makes me want to ask that question regardless?’

      She set her glass down and pressed her elbow into the arm of her chair, leaning in towards him.

      ‘Then I would tell you...’ she began, her voice low and husky, each word spun out as her fingers took up a slow caress over the exposed valley of her chest. ‘In that case I would divulge exactly what I’m thinking.’

      He would have—could have—dragged her away from the bar that very second. The way her eyes beckoned him, the way her wandering hands lured him, the blood surging to his cock—it was all getting too much and he hadn’t so much as touched her.

       And, fuck, did he want to.

      The need ravaged him. He wanted to taste every last bit of her, stroke her until she begged for him to complete her, fill her body until she could do nothing but scream his name.

      And yet she couldn’t. They had shared a lot in a few electrifying glances, but they hadn’t so much as covered the basics of My name is...

      They should at least get that covered. ‘Perhaps we should start with introductions?’

      She laughed. ‘Introductions?’

      ‘Yes,’ he said, surprised at her reaction. ‘You know—me Tarzan, you Jane, before we get carried away with this—’ he waved a hand between them ‘—undercurrent.’

      ‘Undercurrent?’ she repeated, her eyes dancing over the word, her fingers still doing their crazy damn tour of her body. ‘You know, I think you’ve summed it up perfectly.’

      His eyes followed her fingers, his control teetering as he succumbed to the pull of her caress.

      ‘So?’ he pressed, his brain only half on the attempted introduction.

      ‘So...?’ she mimicked teasingly, the action both maddening and arousing. And then she dropped her hand to take hold of the stick floating in her drink and all thought of conversation disintegrated, obliterated by the sight of the inoffensive little green ball slowly being stirred around.

      It was coming—he knew it—and the power of that sight, up close and with every alluring detail to feast upon, had his knuckles turning white.

      ‘Who needs names in this day and age?’ She lifted the olive out of her drink and tapped the stick against the rim of the glass to rid it of excess vodka. ‘Don’t you think there’s something to be said for leaving a little mystery?’

      She looked at him on the last word, the stick pausing to rest against the glass edge. ‘It’s not like I’m here looking for a meaningful relationship.’

      He wanted to say something smooth, but she had him stoked to silence. The perfect package was at his disposal—sexy sophistication brandishing a fuck-and-leave policy. He didn’t do relationships—they were for the weak and the needy. And, hell, if you weren’t weak at the off, you soon would be when it fell apart or, in the case of his dad, got ripped away. Then it would ruin you.

      He lifted his glass and took a careful sip, swallowing down the unwelcome memories and throwing his focus onto the attractive bundle before him. ‘You and me both.’

      ‘Well, then, wouldn’t you rather...’ she leaned across the table and brought the olive to her lower lip, her cleavage forming an alluring backdrop ‘...we just got the hell out of here and had some fun?’

      She parted her luscious pink mouth and popped the olive inside, her lips closing around the stick as her eyes held his with deliberate tease. Then slowly, painfully slowly, she pulled it out, her lips rolling outwards as they held the olive inside, stripping the stick bare.

      ‘I make that three olives now.’ His voice rasped, his mouth drying up at the inviting slickness of her lips.

      She considered him, her throat moving captivatingly as she devoured the green ball. ‘Three—really?’ She smiled playfully, dropping the stick into her glass with a ting. ‘You’re very observant.’

      ‘When something’s worth observing I’d say I am.’

      ‘Is that what I am? Worth observing?’

      ‘You with that drink—definitely.’ His voice was tight with the effort of holding back, and his lack of control was so alien he knew he was in trouble. But right now he didn’t care. ‘In fact, if I was a religious man, I’d say the devil invented drinks such as those.’

      ‘The devil?’ Her brow furrowed and she nibbled thoughtfully at her lip, the innocent gesture smashing the last of his restraint. ‘Because of the corrupting alco—?’

      ‘No,’ he interjected, pushing himself out of his seat and striding to stand before her.

      She looked up at him questioningly, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. He knew he’d surprised her but, he couldn’t wait any longer. To hell with where they were.

      Reaching for her hand, he took hold of it and tugged her to her feet, the force sending her unresisting body right up against his own, her eyes flashing as they lighted on his mouth so close to her own.

      ‘Because they make me forget all decency and do this...’ He cupped her chin and roughly took her mouth in his, his tongue taking no prisoners in its desperation to sink inside.

      An explosion of sensations went off at once. She tasted like heaven, like the olive, the vodka, the traces of gloss across her lips... And then she sighed, the soft, feminine sound escaping her lips as she gave way to his invasion and he lost himself in her. Her hands snaked through his hair, her tongue seeking out his own, twisting and flicking, tasting and probing...

      His surroundings disappeared as every sense focused on her: her kiss, her smell, the feel of her breasts pushed up against him, the little sounds she was making, the desperate buck of his cock as it pressed into her lower belly.

      There was a movement behind him, the brush of a chair and a muttered ‘Excuse me.’ It filtered through his brain, through the haze.

      ‘Get a room,’ a voice said.

      His internal voice or a real person? He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

      But he should care...

       He should!

      Reality came crashing down—he needed them out of there. Now.

      Forcing himself to slow down, he tried to part their mouths, their faces. He was rewarded with her teeth nipping at his bottom lip. A playful protest that felt anything but...

      ‘Spoilsport,’ she complained, and her СКАЧАТЬ