Hot to the Touch. Isabel Sharpe
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“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?”
She shrugged. “In a hotel someone will hear me if I have to scream.”
Her words chilled him, as did her casual attitude. Had she learned that lesson the hard way? He couldn’t stand thinking about it. “You think I’m capable of hurting you?”
“No.” She dropped her eyes. “But it’s a mistake to rely entirely on instinct.”
“I take it you’ve made that mistake.”
“I did. Let’s leave it at that.”
Barriers again. He wanted to know everything about her, and she was apparently going to fight him every step of the way.
He threw down bills for the bartender and stood. Her eyes traveled quickly over him, top to bottom, and she must have liked what she saw, because her beautiful mouth curved into a smile. He escorted her outside into the still-chilly May air and over to her car. “I get to pick the hotel.”
“Says who?”
“Me.” Troy spoke firmly, saw her into the driver’s seat. “The Pfister downtown. Meet me in the lobby.”
He shut her door on her surprised face and walked to his car before she could collect herself enough to respond. If they had to make love in a hotel room, okay, but for his depraved trysts, Troy wasn’t putting up with anything less than the best.
Roughly half an hour later, after a quick condom run, Troy met her in the Pfister’s elegant lobby and traveled with her up to room 321.
“Home sweet home.” He inserted the plastic card key and pushed open the door to the spacious, luxurious room done in rich shades of burgundy and gold: a bedroom with a four-poster king, a small sitting room and huge curtained windows that would have a view of Lake Michigan during the day.
“Nice. Beautiful, in fact.” She walked in, tossed her purse on the bed, drew back the curtain to peer out the window, then let it fall and casually pulled her shirt over her head, exposing a black lace push-up bra supporting firm breasts, and a toned abdomen over the black pants sitting low on her hips. “Long day. I’m going to shower.”
He stood watching her, taken aback, feeling almost superfluous, erection pushing uncomfortably against the fly of his jeans while she lowered her pants and stepped out of them to reveal not more black lace, but thin pink cotton bikini underwear with faded red and purple hearts. The mismatch was oddly endearing.
“Want company in the shower?”
She shrugged as if she couldn’t care either way. “Sure, if you’d like to.”
If he’d like to? What was going on here? She was acting as if they were professional acquaintances, not two passionate people about to become lovers. Was she nervous or really this blasé about inviting strange men into bed? He didn’t like either option. He wanted her hungry for him, excited, as anxious to touch and to discover him as he was to discover her.
Her hands disappeared behind her back; black lace came loose, uncovering round, high breasts with rose nipples that made Troy’s mouth purse in anticipation of sucking. She wasn’t looking at him, undressing as if he were a girlfriend she’d spent the day with and barely noticed in the room. The panties came down next in a matter-of-fact gesture, exposing closely trimmed dark hair through which peeked soft pink perfection.
Troy made a helpless sound between a groan and a moan. She either didn’t hear or pretended not to know what she was doing to him, threw her panties on the bed and started to stride toward the shower.
He stepped deliberately in her way, pulling his shirt over his head. She was not turning their night together into an impersonal body-on-body encounter, and she was definitely not making it as far as the shower before he was inside her.
“Excuse me.” Her eyes were wide searching his face, which must be reflecting his single-minded determination. “Could I please get to the shower?”
He pulled her against him, savoring the smoothness of her skin on his, and the lush pressure of her breasts. The lingering food odors had gone with her clothes; she smelled like woman and the subtle floral scent he’d caught earlier. “Shower later. You and me now.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I do.” He moved side to side, letting his chest brush her nipples, holding her eyes with his.
She shifted her gaze away, then back, put a hand to his sternum, but not forcefully. “I’m not clean. I’d rather—”
“You smell delicious. You smell like you.” His voice came out a whisper; he kissed her bare shoulder, the base of her neck, her throat. “I want you now. Then shower if you have to, then I want you again. And again. And again.”
He kissed her beautiful skin, longer between each word, undoing his jeans, pushing until they fell to his ankles and he could step out of them. Then he found her mouth, wrapped her tightly in his arms and lifted her, making her clutch at his shoulders and moan against his lips.
Yes. She wanted him, this stunning, incredibly hot, older and undoubtedly more experienced woman. She wasn’t as indifferent as her methodical striptease suggested. His ego swelled along with his dick. He was going to make this good for her, good enough to break through that iron control. Maybe she’d tell him nothing about herself using words, but she’d tell him plenty with her body by the time this night was over. And in the days and nights ahead, he’d get to know the rest.
He toppled her back onto the mattress, which bounced them comfortably.
“Are you always this dictatorial?” Her breath was coming fast. She opened her legs to let him settle between them. He rubbed his erection against her beautiful sex through the thin cotton of his boxers.
“No, but I suspect you are.”
“Always.” She smiled up at him, dark eyes shining, hair splayed on the hotel pillow around her lovely face. Something shifted in his heart. What was it about this woman? He hadn’t known her for more than a few hours.
“I bet you run something for your career.” He touched his nose to hers, nuzzled her soft cheek. “Manage people. Boss crowds of them around.”
“I told you, no personal details.”
“No?” He rolled to the side, bringing her over with him, wondering what she was hiding from or scared of, and when or if she’d let him in. He trailed his fingers down her flat belly, forcing himself to go slower than he wanted, circled them in the short, soft hair between her legs, brushed her clitoris gently back and forth, loving the push of her hips in response. “How about this personal detail?”
“Oh.” The syllable was soft, breathless. “You seem to know that one already.”
“Mmm, yes.” He teased her more, running his fingers slowly around