“Don’t,” he warned. “By all that’s holy, don’t.”
She stilled, the cadence of her breath soft and desperate. He should let her go. He should leave. He should walk away now before they did something they’d both regret. But he couldn’t walk away any more than he could stop his heart from beating.
“Lucius…”
He teetered on the brink, the foundation of his control crumbling around him while his name on her lips hovered between them like a siren’s song. And then he inhaled it, inhaled her, his mouth coming down on hers while their breath became one, hers one of sweetness, his one of need. She tasted of wine and exotic flavors, her lips like velvet. Her body pressed against his in the most delicious of abrasions, lithe and slender, yet with a delicate, utterly feminine ripeness. He couldn’t get enough. She invaded his senses, an intoxicating palette of scent and taste, touch and sound, and all he could think about was drinking her in, sip by sip, until he’d consumed every last drop.
“Don’t hold back,” he murmured against her mouth. “Let go. Show me who you’ve been hiding beneath those buttoned-up suits.”
She laughed, the sound almost painful. “More buttons. Endless buttons.”
He caught her lower lip in his teeth and tugged ever so gently, pleased with the shudder and moan it elicited. “Fortunately for you, I know all about the art of unbuttoning.”
“I…” She hesitated, on the verge of telling him something, something important. But then she shook her head. “I can’t do this, Lucius.”
“You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of everything.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t do this. I can’t do this,” she repeated, this time with an almost desperate edge.
He stilled. “Is there someone else?”
The question escaped with a masculine aggression he hadn’t intended, though he knew the cause. Damn Lisa to hell and back for her duplicity, for destroying the one relationship he valued above all others—his friendship with Geoff. She’d left a scar when she’d cheated on him, cheated on him and Geoff. A festering wound, one he didn’t think would ever heal.
If Angie had a man in her life—news to him—this would end here and now. Lucius refused to put another man through what he’d experienced at Lisa’s hands. Nor would he put himself through that sort of pain ever again. His next serious relationship would be perfect—one programmed to order. Pretorius Programmed to order.
His question continued to hover between them, one he could tell she was reluctant to answer. “Tell me, Angie. Is there someone else?”
The question still echoed with aggressive demand. Fortunately, she’d never been intimidated by him, her unwavering directness and honesty an attribute he considered more important than any other in a PA, or a woman for that matter. She managed a laugh, though he could hear the heartbreak edging it and wondered at the cause.
“No, it’s not that.”
Lucius throttled back, the tension easing away. “Then there’s no problem.”
Before she could speak the protest forming on the tip of her delectable tongue, he kissed her again. She teetered between uncertainty and surrender, and he could practically feel her objections fading like mist beneath a midday sun. Her arms slid upward along his chest, a delicious caress, while her lean fingers sank deep into his hair, tugging him closer. With the faintest of sighs, her head tipped back in surrender, her lips opening to him. He swept inward without hesitation, diving into a sweetness beyond comparison.
He took his time, savoring everything about her. Her taste. Her scent. The stroke of her hands and the feel of her body brushing against his. His control loosened, fought free of his grasp while sheer, masculine instinct took over. He found the zipper that traced the length of her spine and slid it downward to where it stopped, just above the womanly curve of her buttocks. The dress that had tortured him throughout their evening together parted, gaped and then drifted downward to expose a creamy expanse of skin the texture of velvet.
He groaned. How was it possible that Angie could have hidden such an astonishing wealth of sensual pleasure without his ever suspecting its true extent? He’d been a fool. He eased back just enough to allow the dress to drift away. It caught at her hips, threatening his sanity before gravity stepped in and forced it to puddle at her feet.
She was beyond beautiful, a delicate confection of femininity. Her shoulders were broad and fine-boned, her breasts pert and round, tipped with nipples that made him think of raspberries on cream. Her waist curved gently inward above a boyish flare of hips. But no one could ever mistake her for anything other than a woman, not with such a beautifully rounded backside and legs that seemed to go on forever. The thought of what they’d feel like wrapped around his waist threatened to consume him. How perfectly her bottom would fit in his hands when they joined. When they moved as one. When she came apart for him.