One Naughty Night. Joanne Rock
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Название: One Naughty Night
Автор: Joanne Rock
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781474019910
isbn:
Warm light flickered from the elaborate brass candelabras stationed above the bed in the Sensualist’s Suite, casting Esme in a golden glow. Her bare skin bathed in the rosy light, her nipples took on a deep pink tint, the same color as her beckoning lips.
He had no choice but to bend his head to her breast for a taste, a kiss, a decadent feast.
She arched and sighed beneath him, her hands raking through his hair as he fed upon her. Her skin tasted cool and creamy at first, but the longer he allowed his tongue to play over the sweet crests of her nipples, the hotter her flesh became.
Fascinated by her quick response, he lost track of his own, squelching his needs in a desire to please her, to make her cry out. Not until his hands strayed lower to the delicate dip of her belly and the silky curve of her hip beneath the remnants of her dress did he realize that he was teetering on the point of no return himself.
His fingers flexed into her gentle curves as he willed them into obedience. He couldn’t, shouldn’t take this any further.
Would. Not.
“Hugh?” Esme gazed up at him with passion-clouded blue eyes, her hands quick to move over his and nudge his fingers lower. “Please.”
He allowed himself a scant second to absorb the feel of her skin, to appreciate the heady drug of having a woman lead him to the exact places he wanted to go.
His fingers grazed a soft band of cotton low on her hip beneath Esme’s fallen dress. He could envision the shape and cut of the bikini panties in his hand.
But damn it, he didn’t deserve to see them.
Not tonight.
He pulled away, rolling to one side before he forgot he was raised to have some manners. Some freaking self-control.
“I can’t.” He hated the sound of those words. Hated that he hadn’t cleared up his mistruth before they’d tumbled into Esme’s bed tonight.
“You can’t?” Esme twisted around to prop herself on her shoulder. “You mean you’re not properly equipped? Because, believe it or not, they sell the necessary…” She drew a circle in the air with one finger, almost as if winding herself up to locate the words she sought. “…protective devices in the snack dispenser under the minibar.”
She peered across the beige satin pillows at him with such earnest practicality and only slightly banked passion that Renzo knew without a doubt he was the biggest heel in Miami tonight. This incredible woman would have trusted him with her body if he’d just been honest from the start.
Now, she would no doubt kick him to the curb. But worse, she just might be hurt by his actions and the thought presented him with the promise of a far more stinging pain than being booted out the door.
“It’s not that.” He laid a hand on her bare shoulder, consumed with the need to touch her once more before those trusting eyes turned shuttered. Angry. “I haven’t been totally honest with you, Esme, and I need to straighten out a misunderstanding before we take this any further.”
“What do you mean?” She stiffened. He could feel her body go rigid underneath his palm. She reached for the top of her fallen dress, pulling the lavender silk over her breasts and dislodging his hand at the same time.
His fingers mourned the loss of her soft skin, her delicate curves. He braced himself for censure and then unveiled his mistake.
“I’m not really your date. I’m not this Hugh guy you were looking for. My name is Renzo Cesare.”
The disillusionment in her eyes provided all the upbraiding he deserved. She didn’t need to say how devastating she found this revelation because her transparent features conveyed her horror so eloquently.
And if Renzo had ever thought himself a gentleman, Esme’s expression quickly proved him wrong.
For a guy with old-world values who considered himself a protector of women, he’d somehow just betrayed everything he held important.
RENZO?
Esme blinked past the shock, the rip-roaring hurt and embarrassment to get a better handle on exactly what this…imposter seemed to be telling her.
“You pretended to be my date?” Maybe the real Hugh Duncan had taken one look at her and fled. Maybe he’d strong-armed a good friend into standing in for him so he wouldn’t have to proceed with a blind date from hell tonight. “Why? Did Hugh get cold feet?”
The stranger in her bed had the gall to shrug. Shrug! “I don’t know. I—I’m not really sure what happened to your date. I just didn’t think he could be a very smart guy if he’d asked a woman he never met before to meet him at a place like the Moulin Rouge Lounge. By herself.”
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