Finally.
Lucius would finally have Angie back in his arms. And in very short order he’d have her naked and in his bed. He could see the shock and protest building in her stunning—and stunned—aquamarine eyes. But he could also see the desire. The delicious memory of their almost tumble shyly peeking around the sensible restraint she normally possessed. About damn time.
“The Ridgeways asked to have Mikey again this weekend because it would have been Geoff’s birthday. I felt the most diplomatic option was to agree. Since I’m through with my appointments for the day, we can slip upstairs to my apartment and consummate the deal with no one being the wiser.”
“Lucius, I’m not sure—”
He couldn’t contain himself another minute. He captured her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged. She rewarded him with a soft, hungry groan, one that instantly had him turning hard as a rock. His tongue flirted with hers, then sank into unbearable sweetness while his fingers plunged into the weighty thickness of her hair. He combed it loose, the silken curls tumbling free around her shoulders. The color never ceased to amaze him, an endless spectrum of browns from tawny to bronze.
Lucius managed to gather Angie up and urge her toward the private elevator that accessed the penthouse suite. The doors opened and they practically fell into the car. He fumbled for his access card, all the while deepening the kiss. He had no idea how he managed. Sheer desperation, no doubt. The instant the doors parted, accessing the penthouse foyer, Lucius swept Angie into his arms and carried her directly toward his bedroom. And then he did what he’d been wanting to do ever since he’d last kissed her.
Piece by piece, he stripped her. First, her suit jacket. Then her skirt. Her blouse was next, allowing him to see her as he’d dreamed endlessly of seeing her. She stood before him in nothing but garter and stockings—color him surprised—and panties and bra, the set a lovely shade of bronze that somehow mated with the streaks running through her hair and made her appear like some sort of bewitching autumnal goddess. Slender as a willow, he could only look…and want. Only, this time he would also possess.
He shrugged off his own jacket, ripped at the tie constricting his neck. She tackled the buttons of his shirt while he unbuckled, unzipped and ripped away clothing with impressive speed. And then time stilled. Late-afternoon sun slipped through the window of his bedroom and splashed across the room to where Angie stood, painting her in muted gold.
Once again he saw it, a painful and utterly feminine vulnerability that went to the very core of her. It brought out his protective instincts, the strength of them catching him by surprise. When had that happened? Why had it happened? What was it about her, a woman far stronger in some regards than Lisa, and yet far more fragile in other ways, that caused the most primal of masculine instincts to well up inside of him? She didn’t want that from him. She’d made that perfectly clear. She wanted a sexual relationship and no more.
Well, he could give that to her. He was only too happy to give it to her.
But that didn’t change how she affected him, the quiet urge to treat her tenderly, with a passion that transcended a mere sexual encounter. How was that possible? Unable to resist, he reached for a lock of her hair and wound it around his fist, drawing her to him. He inhaled her, drew in her essence and allowed it to brand him inside and out, to mark him in some way that would make her forevermore a part of him.
“How could I have worked with you for a full year and a half and never seen?” he murmured.
How could he not have seen who she was at her very essence? How beautiful she was, when stripped of her camouflage? The sheer force of woman that made her eclipse every other woman he’d ever been with. Made them seem…less. Made them seem shallow and incomplete, a meal that no longer satisfied. How could he not have seen the veils upon veils of her that tempted and taunted and urged him to strip them away, one by one, until he knew her as intimately as she knew herself?
“You’re seeing me now,” she whispered. “I just don’t know if you’re seeing the real me.”
He nudged her chin upward and kissed her, slowly this time. Gently. She was like the first sip of a rare and delicate wine, an explosion of subtle flavor that blended into an intoxicating whole. “You taste real.” He released the clasp of her bra and watched it slide away. “You look real.”
She swallowed and he saw a hint of nerves. “Touch me and see if I feel real.”
Hardly daring to breathe, he cupped her breast, kissed each tip, watched as the nipples tightened and pearled for him. “Oh, you feel real. Very real.”