Hot to the Touch. Isabel Sharpe

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СКАЧАТЬ protective of her, this older woman he knew absolutely nothing about, a woman who seemed more than able to take care of herself, and certainly more than able to answer a yes/no question about wanting a drink.

      “No?” He held his breath.

      She blinked, as if he’d disturbed some internal debate. Panic flitted over her features, which grew his confidence.

      “Or … yes?” He suppressed a smile. Nice to know he had the ability to spark some kind of confused reaction in her. Because she’d done nothing but confuse the hell out of him since she made her entrance.

      Miraculously, she put her wallet away, got down from the stool and sauntered toward him, hand held out for a shake. “Yes.”

      Yes.

      He took her hand. The contact with her skin seemed intimate, familiar and right. He wanted to draw her into his arms and find her mouth. But since all she’d agreed to was a drink, that probably wasn’t a great idea. “My name is—”

      “No.” She had a finger up to his lips fast enough to cut him off, startle him and make him want to close his mouth to taste her. “Don’t tell me your name.”

      “Why, you want to guess?”

      Her pretty brows drew together. “I don’t want to know it.”

      “Why not?” Was she married?

      “Female prerogative.”

      “Okay. Have a seat?” He gestured unnecessarily to the stool next to him—she was already climbing on—and he caught her scent. Frying oil? Herbs? Roasted meat? She’d been in a kitchen somewhere.

      “Would you like another arak?”

      “Please.”

      He signaled the friendly, efficient bartender and pointed to Darcy; the man nodded and got down the bottle and a clean glass.

      “Can you tell me your name?”

      “No.” The word came out as a simple statement of fact.

      Troy regarded her with amusement. “So I guess asking what you do is out of the question, too?”

      “Do we really need the details?”

      “What’s wrong with them?”

      “Sometimes they get in the way.”

      “Of?”

      “Of what we’re both after.” She was still speaking matter-of-factly, but he could sense high energy, see her fingers clenching and opening on her thighs.

      “And what is that?”

      “A night together. No strings.”

      He waited for his body to react, but the adrenaline rush was muted. Mystery Woman was acting as if this was a business transaction, though now that he was close, he could see that something vulnerable lurked under her facade of confidence. Her movements seemed less smooth than when she’d swept into the restaurant, her lips were held tighter. Did she really want to do this? “What makes you think a night together is what I want?”

      “Your eyes told me.”

      She’d read that much right, though he hadn’t been thinking one-night-no-strings as much as until-we-are-sick-of-each-other-or-die. “Are you married?”

      “No.” She spoke emphatically and he believed her. “Nor seeing anyone. I’m just too busy to start a relationship, and prefer to keep entanglements to a minimum.”

      Apparently.

      Troy didn’t want limits, he wanted to dive in and explore her life and her mind, as well as her body. He still couldn’t believe how powerfully he was drawn to her, how much this felt like something that had always been supposed to happen to him. As if he was welcoming it at last, like a much-anticipated reunion with a long-expected and familiar friend.

      She tossed her hair back, exposing the flawless line of her long neck. He caught a light floral scent past the kitchen aromas, and his lips buzzed with the desire to touch and taste that skin.

      “Are you married?” She eyed him suspiciously.

      “No. Nor involved with anyone right now.”

      “Would you like to be involved with someone?” She leaned closer, inches away, eyes half-closed, lips curling up at the sides, begging to be kissed. The power of her nearness nearly blew him off his stool. “I mean right now. Right here?”

      He hesitated before he accepted her invitation and met her lips. Something about this still felt surreal. Maybe that the attraction—and acting on it—was crazy, irresponsible, confusing, unlikely and very, very strong.

      She pulled back nearly immediately from his kiss, as if it had startled her, then leaned in again, used her tongue to paint his lips, her teeth to nip, her mouth to smooth the bites.

      Troy’s cock responded, but his brain was asking for more than technique and teasing. It wanted a real kiss, one that joined them and took them over the way the mere meeting of their eyes had earlier.

      He cupped the back of her head and kissed her the way he wanted, meeting her lips, moving lightly, then harder, not letting her back away from their erupting passion.

      Her tongue tempted; he responded, and their touch heated to the danger point. Too hot. He had to break free, hand still tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, breath coming hard and fast.

      This woman was serious trouble.

      “Do you want to get out of here?” She was whispering, head bent, speaking to his chest.

      His heart swelled with pleasure over what she was offering and caution over how easily the offer came. “You do this often?”

      “No.” She shook her head. “No.”

      “Why now?”

      “Why not?”

      That was no answer. There was more. He wanted at it. “Okay. Let’s go.”

      “Where do you think we’re going?”

      “My place?”

      “No.” She looked up sharply. “Not mine, either. Hotel room.”

      He winced. He hadn’t been in a hotel room with a woman since … ever. The one time he was, the girl hadn’t been old enough to be classified as a woman. Prom night with a group of seniors. Couples took private turns in the room their parents thoughtfully paid for—though not for that purpose—while the rest hung out in the pool and game room areas.

      “I just met you.” She sat straight, pushing back hair that had tumbled forward. “I’m not letting you know where I live and I’m not going to your place. Hotel or nothing.”

      Troy narrowed his eyes. “Are you always this wide-open to negotiation?”

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