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.