His hands rest at my waist as he pins me in place, his head dipping toward mine. Our mouths meet. I exhale against his lips, feel him smile before he takes the kiss deeper and then there's no time for breathing or thinking or saying a word.
All I can do is savor. Savor the sensation of his mouth on mine, his fingers digging into the fabric of my dress, my skin. The cool metal of the door is shocking against my backside, paired with the pure heat radiating from Matt's big body as he steps in so close to me, he's all I can see and feel and smell. His tongue thrusts, his hands tug at the fabric of my dress, lifting, lifting, until I feel cool air on my thighs and realize he's pulling my skirt up.
I tear my lips from his, desperate for us to slow down. My brain needs to catch up with my body before I do something really crazy and stupid. "I thought you were going to show me your room."
Matt drifts his mouth down the length of my neck, covering it in hot, wet little kisses. I grow slick between my legs with just his mouth pressed against my neck, and I clutch at him for fear I might fall. "I thought you said your room is exactly like mine," he whispers against my skin.
"I'd still like to see it." I press at his shoulders, trying to get him to back off just a little without having to say it. I need the space. I like having him in my space but still . . .
I'm not real good at this sort of thing. As in, I don't have a lot of experience. Especially with a man surely as experienced as Matthew DeLuca-in his previous life as a ballplayer, he must've had beautiful women constantly throwing themselves at him.
He lifts his head, his dark gaze meeting mine, and then he drops his hands from my waist as he steps away. "Come on, then. I'll show you around."
I pull my skirt back into place as I follow him deeper inside the room, my legs still shaking from the potency of his kiss, his touch. The effect he has on me is so powerful, so unbelievably overwhelming, I'm not sure what to think, or how to think.
"So? Is it just like yours?" he asks as we approach the window that overlooks the city.
I glance around, notice the orchids, the bright pink throw across the foot of his bed, the sleek, glass furniture. "Definitely. It's almost identical."
"You must have a really great boss then," he says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. God, he's sexy. "Putting you up in a fancy hotel like this."
"He's pretty great," I say, my voice soft. "He's smart, successful, extremely wealthy, but he never throws it around. In fact, I tend to forget he's so well off."
His smile fades and his expression goes serious. "Do you prefer that, Bryn? Does my-financial status intimidate you?"
I shrug, trying to push down my small-town-hick worries so they don't rise to the surface like they always try and do when I talk money and status and wealth. "A little bit," I admit.
It's something I never even realized before. Matt can have anything he wants. Can go out and buy whatever he wants, he has so much money. He's a billionaire for the love of God, yet I know he doesn't live in a giant mansion, I've never seen him drive an outrageously fancy car beyond his sensible-but gorgeous-Range Rover. He's not flashy, not outrageous, like I can only assume his father can be.
And I find that extremely attractive, how simply he lives. If he'd been such a blatant, wealthy man, like Archer Bancroft, who intimidates the shit out of me every time I'm around him, I don't think I would've been able to handle Matt.
But he's not like that at all. He's gentle and kind and sweet and hardworking and sexy as all get out.
"Don't let it." He comes to me and presses his mouth to mine in a lingering, drugging kiss. "You did forget to mention one thing about me though."
I frown up at him and give in to what I've wanted to do all night. I touch his face, span my fingers across his cheek, so I can feel the slightly rough prickle of his stubble against my palm. "What?"
"My charismatic good looks." He grins, and I laugh, but he muffles my laughter in seconds with his mouth, kissing me so deliciously deep my head is spinning, my legs grow weak and I slump against him, lost in his taste and the way his arms grip me around my waist.
I pull out of his embrace without a word, and he lets me. I go to the window, desperate to gather my racing thoughts while I stare at the city spread out before me. Pressing my fingers against the cool glass, I gaze down and watch the bright lights of Times Square flash, the seemingly millions of people that fill the sidewalks, the cars, the streets.
"Your view is familiar," I tell him from over my shoulder, smiling when I feel him stop just behind me, just like he did when we were in the elevator. But this time he doesn't touch my shoulders.