Practice Makes Pregnant. Lois Dyer Faye
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of chattering party guests spilled out onto the terrace. The orchestra music followed them, and several couples began to dance.
Jorge glanced over his shoulder at the noisy crowd and the whirling couples. “I think the party has found us.” He took the flute from her hand and set both hers and his next to the nearly empty bottle of champagne on the balustrade. “It’s a shame to waste the music. Shall we?”
Allison nodded, and he slipped an arm around her waist to tug her body gently against his. He folded his fingers around her right hand and swept her into the rhythm.
She felt the same jolt of startled recognition that she’d felt in the ballroom earlier, when she’d looked up and found him watching her. The black silk of her bodice brushed against his pleated white shirt, her left hand lay against the black tux jacket covering his broad shoulder and only inches from the thick dark hair that gleamed in the light from the ballroom behind them. Each time she drew breath, she pulled in the subtle scent of his aftershave. Spicy and masculine, it mingled with an underlying hint of clean soap, starched shirt and a uniquely male scent in a potent, heady mix that went straight to her blood, making it race more swiftly through her veins.
“Tell me, Allison Baker, what do you do when you’re not dazzling men at fund-raisers for large mammals?”
She tilted her head back, her lips curving in response to his teasing smile. Should she tell him about her job at Manhattan Multiples? No, she decided, not tonight. Tonight, I’m not my everyday self. So she compromised. “I’m a student.”
“Really? And what are you studying?”
“Law.”
“Yet another thing we have in common.” The music changed, switching to a slower tune. They swayed in time to the music, and he lifted her right hand to his shoulder so he could clasp her waist and draw her nearer.
“You’re studying law, also?”
“No. I did study law, now I practice law.”
She beamed at him, delighted. “You’re an attorney? How lovely. What field do you specialize in?”
“Criminal law.”
“Then you must be very busy,” she said dryly. “The crime rate in America is a disgrace.”
“Hey,” he laughed. “Not my fault. And I’m doing my part to improve the situation.”
A waiter moved past them, circulating a tray of canapes, and Jorge skillfully avoided a collision by tucking Allison closer. Their bodies pressed together from shoulder to thigh and she caught her breath, blindsided by the surge of desire that had her slipping her arms around his neck to hold him closer. His arms tightened, crushing her against him.
Allison was only vaguely aware that the sounds of music and laughter faded; she was too caught up in the feel of his hard body against her softer curves and in the driving need to have more. She tilted her head back to look up at him, her hair brushing against his throat and face, and found his eyes glittering down at her between lowered lashes.
Then his mouth covered hers, and the sexual tension that had vibrated between them from the first, exploded. She was dizzy with it, her heart pounding frantically, heat exploding in her veins.
The kiss quickly skipped all the tentative preliminaries of a first embrace and went straight to carnal. One big hand cradled the back of her head and his tongue thrust against hers as he ravaged her mouth. Delight raced through her veins and she met him eagerly, gasping with shock that quickly submerged beneath sheer pleasure as his hand covered the black silk over her breast and found the stiff peak of her nipple. He pushed her against the wall and shifted, pressing one hard thigh between her legs.
She murmured frantically, twisting against him in an unsuccessful attempt to find release. For one heartstopping moment he surged against her, but then he stiffened, the muscles in his arms flexing with iron strength before he pulled his mouth from hers, breathing hard.
“Allison, we can’t do this here. Come upstairs with me.”
She stared at him, unable to think, the transition from total absorption in the physical to clear thought impossible.
“I have a room upstairs. Ross booked it for himself and his wife—when he asked me to stand in for him tonight, he gave me the key in case I wanted to stay over. Come upstairs with me, sweetheart. Please.” His voice was nearly unrecognizable, roughened with the passion that vibrated between them.
“I don’t do this sort of thing,” she finally managed to say, not sure why it was so important for him to know.
The heat in his eyes flared, the pupils black with desire. “Neither do I.”
Allison could barely think with his hard body pressed against hers and her own body screaming to continue. She’d never felt passion before, had never thought she would, not after being forced by a date when she was barely seventeen. Could she turn her back on what might be her one chance to make love?
Just for tonight, she thought. Just this once.
“Yes.”
Fierce satisfaction blazed in his eyes. Without another word he stepped back, wrapping an arm around her when her legs wobbled.
She hesitated, holding a hand to her hair. “Do we have to go through the ballroom?” she murmured, glancing about them and realizing for the first time that they stood in the shelter of a heavy stone column, out of sight of the other guests.
“No.” He flicked an assessing glance over her and tugged her bodice higher over the swell of her breasts, his fingers reluctantly leaving the soft skin. “There’s a back way.”
He took her through a nearly hidden door at the far end of the terrace that led to a service hallway behind the huge ballroom. Tucked against his side, Allison was soon confused by the maze of corridors they walked through to reach the elevator.
“How do you know so much about this hotel?” she asked as the elevator rose.
“They were robbed two years ago. I prosecuted the case and spent a lot of time walking the halls and studying the layout to understand the system the defendants used.”
She nodded, barely listening to his words, her gaze focused on the movement of his lips as he spoke. She badly wanted his mouth on hers.
“Stop it.” The growled words were thick. When her gaze met his, his eyes were hot. “I’m not going to touch you in here. If I do, we won’t make it to the room.”
Her mouth formed a startled, rounded O. His arm tightened around her shoulder, tension thickening the air, the hard body she was tucked against strung taut with control.
The elevator doors opened silently, and Jorge moved her out and down the hallway with swift purpose. One quick swipe of the card key opened the door, and within seconds they were inside. He backed her against the door and took her mouth, his hands making short work of the zipper at the back of her gown. Allison helped him, wiggling impatiently as he pushed the dress off her shoulders, his mouth leaving hers to find the peak of her breast as the dress pooled around her feet.
She screamed when he tugged her nipple into the hot, wet cave of his mouth and sucked, her hips pressing urgently against his.
He swore and picked her up, crossing to the bed. Within seconds he’d stripped both of them, donned protection and covered her. She welcomed the heavy, hot press of his weight, nearly mindless as he drove her higher with his hands and mouth.
He lifted above her, going motionless, his dark hair tousled, the lines of his face fiercely possessive. “Are you safe?”
Allison could barely understand his words, his voice thick and roughened. What had he said? Was she safe? The answer was yes; she felt safe with a male for the first time in her life. She nodded, unable to speak, and then she forgot all about safety for he surged inside her and sent them both over the edge.
Allison frowned and flipped the page on her desk calendar again.