Bidding on Her Boss(25)

She sank down to the edge of the bed. "I'm older and wiser now."

His voice dipped, became serious. "Honestly."

"Okay." She blew out a breath. "I'm probably not wiser. Though I'm not freaking out."

"Promise?"

She lay back over the hotel bed and covered her eyes with the inside of  her arm. "Maybe freaking out just a little bit. But nothing to worry  about. I'll have it under control in a moment."

"Try and minimize it in your mind," he said, his voice like warm honey. "It's no big deal."

She snorted. "It's probably not a big deal for you. You've spoken in  public heaps of times. This is still big and intimidating for me."

"If you worry about it all night, you'll have yourself in a state by morning."

"Is it too late to cancel?" she asked, only half joking. "Or fly someone else up here?"

"You're the one they want."

There was something in the way he said the words that made her think he  wasn't just talking about the TV spot or about business. It was in the  way he said want, as if he was on this bed beside her, whispering the  word in her ear. Her pulse picked up speed. Part of her was longing to  whisper it back. Longing to walk the corridor and stairs to his room and  whisper it in person. But they'd made a decision, and she needed to be  strong. She pulled herself up to sit against the headboard, piling the  pillows behind her, trying to focus back on the real reason for this  conversation. Having her eyes closed when talking to Dylan Hawke was  probably not the best way to stay focused on work.                       
       
           



       

"But if I ruin this, it's Hawke's Blooms that will suffer," she said,  shifting her weight against the pillows, unable to get comfortable.

"You won't ruin it. I have every faith in you."

He meant it, too. She could tell. What she wouldn't give to have him  here beside her right now, sharing his strength, his self-assurance. She  always felt more anchored when he was near. Unfortunately, having him  near would also kick her libido into action. What she needed was to stay  on topic.

"You said yourself I'll have myself in a state by the morning. Maybe  I'm not cut out for this. I'd be better off standing behind the counter  back in Santa Monica."

"Think about something else." His voice was cajoling, like the devil inviting her to sin. "Go to your happy place."

"My happy place?" she asked warily.

"A memory or thought that always makes you happy. Do you have one of those that you can use?"

Her breath caught high in her throat. Him. "Yeah, I can think of something."

"What is it?"

"It doesn't matter," she said, attempting to sound breezy. "I've got one."

"If you tell me, I can talk you through it. Work with me here. I'm trying to help."

"Okay, it's...um...the flower markets."

"The flower markets?" he asked, skepticism heavy in his voice.

Seemed she wasn't as good at manipulating the truth as he was. Maybe  more detail would help. "In the mornings, like at about two or three  a.m., when they first open."

"Faith, I don't doubt you like the flower markets. But that's not the happy place you decided to use."

"Sure it is."

"Faith," he said, his voice low. "What is your happy place, really?"

"I can't tell you." She hoped that would be enough to make him drop the  subject but had a sinking feeling nothing would make him do that now.

"Why?" It was a simple question, merely a word, but when it was him  asking, it became more potent, and she lost her will to resist.

"Because it's you," she said on an anguished breath. "You're my happy place."

A groan came down the line. "Hell."

There was a knock on the door, and she wasn't sure if the interruption  was good timing or bad. "Hang on, someone's at the door."

"I know," he said, and as she opened the door, she saw him leaning in  the doorway as if he'd been there a while, his cell still at his ear,  his eyes blazing.

"You're here," she said. She'd never wanted him more than in that  moment. She disconnected the call and threw her cell in the direction of  a table, but she missed and it fell to the floor. She left it.

Instead of answering, he reached out with his free arm and dragged her  to him, his mouth landing on hers with a comfortable thud. Or maybe that  sound was his cell phone dropping to the floor. He stepped forward, so  she stepped backward, and he kicked the door behind them closed,  blotting out all sound except breathing and the rub of fabric on fabric  as they moved.

She grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him to the bed. The  pillows were still bunched in a pile at the headboard, so she maneuvered  him to lie diagonally across the crisp white cover. Then she followed,  not worrying about grace and finesse, just needing to touch him, to be  as close to him as she could.

His leg wrapped around hers, pulling her against him, and she almost  melted, but she didn't stop her frantic touching, exploring wherever she  could reach. It was as if a fire burned deep inside every cell, and the  only thing that could relieve the burn was Dylan. Her fingertips  brushed over his jaw, his throat, needing to feel the stubble of his  evening beard as if the roughness held the secrets of the universe.

As they moved, his fingers worked at her buttons until the sides of her  top fell apart. She shrugged out of it without missing a beat and was  rewarded when his large palm covered a breast. She was rendered  motionless, absorbing the sensations, the heat, the pure beauty of the  moment.

"Dylan," she said without even realizing she was speaking.

He pulled her bra aside and leaned down, covering the peak of her  breast with his mouth, using his tongue, his teeth, to make her writhe.

When he began to undo the button and zipper on her trousers, she lifted  her hips, glad he was the one doing it, because operating a simple  zipper was probably beyond her. Once the trousers were off, she relaxed  her hips, but his hand smoothed over the front of her and her hips  bucked straight back up again.                       
       
           



       

"I've been dreaming of touching you again," he said, his voice urgent.  His fingers caressed her over the thin fabric, then moved underneath. At  the first contact with her skin, an electric current shot through her  body and she shivered.

"I've been dreaming of it, too." Fantasizing, hoping, even though she knew she shouldn't.

She tried to wriggle out of the underpants but there were hands and  intertwined legs in the way, so she made no progress until he grabbed  the sides and pulled them down her legs. Then he moved down her body and  rested his face on her hip, his fingers toying with her, driving her  crazy. His warm breath fanned over her, and the world narrowed to just  this moment. She felt the weight of his head lift from her hip a moment  before his mouth closed over the center of her. She gasped and moaned  his name.

He moved her leg to accommodate his shoulders, and she offered no  resistance-couldn't have if she'd wanted to, since every single bone in  her body seemed to have dissolved. His tongue was working magic, and she  was on the edge of something powerful, something glimmering in the  edges of her vision. When it hit, he rode it out with her, holding her  tight, his face pressed against her stomach.

Then he was gone and she heard his clothes dropping on the carpet, his  belt buckle clinking as it landed, the heavy fabric of his sweater  making a more muffled sound as it hit the ground. The mattress dipped as  he came back into view, already sheathed, crawling over her, hovering,  his features pulled taut with tension. She looped her arms around his  neck and pulled him back to her, reveling in the feel of his body  against hers, leg to leg, hip to hip, chest to chest.

She scraped her nails lightly across his back, eliciting a shudder, so  she did it again. He reared back, lifting himself above her, and  stilled. "I'm not sure I'll ever get enough of you."

A faint sense of misgiving twinged in her chest-she suspected no matter  how much time she had with him, it would never be enough. She pushed  the thought away. She'd take the time with him that she could get.

He began to move again, guiding himself to her, and she raised her hips  to meet him. Then as he slid inside her in one smooth thrust, he held  her gaze. His eyes were so dark she couldn't see the green, just an  intensity she'd never known. She was trapped by it, could only move in  sync with his strokes, becoming more and more lost as if pulled deeper  by an exquisite undertow.

He changed his angle and the friction increased, becoming too much, not  enough. He was above her, around her, inside her. Everything was Dylan.  When the fever within her peaked impossibly high, she burst free, her  entire body rippling with the power of it. And while she was still  flying, Dylan called her name and shuddered, joining her, holding her  close.