Together Again(10)

                “Good,” she managed, hoping he hadn’t noticed that her nipples had hardened into tight buds against his chest. She’d certainly noticed it. Just like she’d noticed the erection he had pressed against her. An erection that seemed to get harder by the second, even though it was trapped behind several layers of clothes. Clothes she was beginning to wish they could get rid of. Right now.

                He slid his hand down her back; his hold tightened; her body instinctively arched toward him. Every inch of her body was aware of every inch of his. How was it possible to be so close to him and not stumble over his feet? Or — an even better question — how was it possible not to completely melt from the sheer pleasure of having his hard, muscled body pressed so tightly against her soft breasts and hips?

                “This dress,” he said, “no zipper, no buttons. Are you sewn in?” He rested their clasped hands against his shoulder and with a slight increase of pressure on the small of her back led her smoothly in half-circles, first one way and then the other. It was as if they were one body, joined somehow. Stop. She couldn’t think about having their bodies joined. Not here, not in public.

                “No, I just, you know, pull it on over my head.” She’d had to swallow a couple times to get enough moisture in her mouth so she could answer because all the moisture in her body had taken up residence between her legs.

                In a low, husky voice he said, “Off the same way, I take it?”

                Holy hell, he was not only turning her body to jelly, he was reading her mind. This was not good. At the rate they were going, they’d be making this reunion   memorable for everyone there by tearing each other’s clothes off on the dance floor.

                Then his pager beeped.

                He broke his hold to retrieve it from his jacket pocket. “Goddamn. Figlio di puttana,” he said when he saw the number. She knew he only swore in two languages when he was really pissed.

                “Work, I take it.”

                “What else? I’m sorry, Margo. I have to answer this. Meet you back at the table.” He pulled out a cell phone and walked away, punching in a number as he went.

                When he returned, the expression on his face said their evening was over before he spoke a word. They made their excuses to their classmates and headed for the valet stand to get her car.

                Although she protested that he needed to get to wherever he’d been called, he insisted on walking her from the hotel garage to the door of the suite. Much to her relief, nothing was said on the way up to her room about what had happened on the dance floor.

                She opened the door of her suite and started to say goodnight.

                “Before I go,” he interrupted, “what’re your plans for the rest of your visit?”

                “I’m at a conference for most of the week, then a couple days hanging out before I go home.” Somehow, changing her reservation to an earlier flight had slipped off her “to do” list.

                “Why don’t I make dinner for you at my apartment next Friday to make up for our short evening tonight?” He reached over and picked something she couldn’t see off the top of her dress where it skimmed one breast. Her skin retained the heat from his fingers when he moved his hand.

                “Oh,” she said, “you cook.”

                “My mom taught us all to cook, you know that.”

                “Right. I forgot.” She glanced down, then back at him. “What about our mothers?”