“I don’t want you to kiss me.” I pulled away from him sharply and lied. “I don’t date cocky bastards.”
“But I don’t think you came here for a date, mon cher,” he laughed sardonically. “Unless you considered a rendezvous in a hotel room a date?”
“I’m leaving.” I tried to push past him again to walk to the bathroom, and he grabbed my wrists and pushed me against the wall.
“You are not going anywhere right now.” All humor and light was gone from his dark eyes, and his features looked dark and controlled. “You will stay here tonight, and in the morning, you may leave.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.” I tried to push against his chest, but he was immobile. My strength did not compare to his, and I realized that there was nothing I could do to get away. “I’ll scream, you know. If you don’t let me leave, I’ll scream.”
“You won’t be the first bimbo who screams in the throes of passion.”
“But we’re not in the throes of passion.”
“And that disappoints you, does it not?” He cocked his head to the side and surveyed my heaving breasts. “I think right now you are disappointed that I don’t have you in my bed, caressing your—”
“Stop it.” I blushed at his words and looked away. There was no way I wanted him to know how very right he was. I was intensely attracted to him. My brain was fighting my body and just barely winning.
“Come now.” He stepped away from me. “Please spend the night and relax. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I wish you no harm, beautiful Lola.”
I blushed as he complimented me. “I’m not beautiful.”
“Do not tell me you’re modest as well?”
“Well, you know. Some of us bimbos can be modest.” I winked at him and watched as his face transformed in laughter.
He stared at me for a moment and sighed as he stepped away from me. “You’re not English?”
“Disappointed?” I raised an eyebrow at him, not caring what he thought of me at this point. It was unlikely I’d ever see him again.
“No.” He shook his head. “English girls are polite. I like a girl with some bite in her.”
“All English girls aren’t polite. You shouldn’t make generalizations.”
He nodded his head. “You’re right, of course.”
“Where are you from?” I peered up at him curiously. I figured that he was Italian or something. His skin was too olive for him to be for him to not be from one of the Romance language countries.
“You will not know it.” He smiled and walked into the bedroom. “Would you like a drink?” He called back to me. He walked back to the door with a decanter of whiskey.
“No thanks.” I shook my head and then yawned.
“I bore you?”
“I’m just tired.”
“Five minutes ago, you were ready to make passionate love in my hotel room with my assistant. Now you want to go to sleep. I think I’m losing my touch.”
I shrugged my shoulders and looked away, not wanting him to see how every fiber of my being was hoping for him to touch me. I wanted to feel his warm, strong hands on my body, trailing a line of fire across my skin.
“I wasn’t about to make love to—”
“I know you want me, Lolita.” He cut me off as he sipped from his glass of whiskey and loosened his tie. “But I’m not a man that—”
“What’s your name?” I interrupted him.
“I’m Xavier.”
“Xavier?” I looked at him in surprise. It wasn’t a name I was familiar with.
“It means I last all night.” He paused, and my heart stopped beating as we stared at each other in silence.
“In what language?” I whispered, unable to stop myself from playing his game.
“In the language of love.” He moved towards me smoothly and before I knew it, his lips were crashing down on mine, softly and firmly. I melted against him, and my eyes widened as I felt his tongue doing things to mine that sent a sharp thrill down my body. His eyes twinkled as I gasped against him, and he pulled away from me and whispered in my ear.
“I told you my kiss alone could make you wet.”
I looked up at him with an incredulous expression, but he didn’t wait for me to respond. Instead, his lips came crashing down on mine again, and his hands found the crook of my back and pulled me in towards him hard. I reached my hands up and placed them around his neck, needing the support of his body to remain on my own two feet.
This time, his kiss wasn’t soft and sweet. It was hard and searching. His tongue explored my mouth while his teeth nibbled on my lip. But then he stopped, took my tongue in his mouth, and sucked, and it was all I could do to not cry out in surprise and pleasure. I had thought that he looked like a sex god, but this man—this Xavier—was sex himself.