“Are you using your skills at brushing men off or shall we grab an elevator?”
She looked up at him as she linked her arm through his and could tell from his expression he knew what her answer was.
The elevator arrived and, when they got on, he draped his arm around her shoulder. She moved close to him, nestled in the circle of his arm, waiting for the kiss she was sure was coming. Instead, he said, “I’m not ready to end the evening. Okay if I come in for a while?”
“I’d love it.” She put her hand on his chest.
The door closed and she got the kiss she wanted. Her hands went to his shoulders; his slid down her back and pulled her close. His mouth sweet from the Tuaca, he tasted better than anything she’d ever had and she sipped her fill. As his tongue made love to her mouth, expertly exploring every inch of it, she began to lose control of her breathing and her legs got all rubbery.
The elevator door opening interrupted them. She backed away from Tony as if hit with a cattle prod. A man got on, nodded good evening to them and punched the button for the sixth floor. With a distinctive English accent he said, “May I assist with the button for your floor?”
Embarrassed they’d forgotten, Margo said in a weak voice, “Eight, please.”
In silence, they rode up to the sixth floor. When the door opened, the Englishman nodded and said, “Have a good evening. Although I rather doubt you need my encouragement to do so.” Margo burst into laughter as the door closed.
She was still laughing when they reached the eighth floor. Tony laced his fingers through hers as they walked to her suite. She’d never imagined how sexy handholding could be but walking with her hand wrapped in his stronger, bigger one as he slowly rubbed his thumb over hers was almost as exciting as having him hold her in his arms.
As she dug in her purse for the key card, he said, “This has a vaguely familiar feel to it. That summer, after graduation, we’d come home from the shore, sit in that old car of my dad’s down the block making out for a while, then go up to your house, like we just walked down the hall. You’d fish out your keys, like you’re doing now. Your mom was always waiting for you.”
“Ah, there’s the difference,” she said. “No one’s waiting inside here. I’ve outgrown the need to have someone protect my virtue.”
“I’m in luck, then.” Tangling his fingers in her hair, he drew her mouth to his. The kiss was soft but it lingered, suggesting he wanted more. When they separated, she tried to get the door open but her hand was shaking. He took the key card from her, unlocked the door and pushed it open. She went to the bar, turned to ask what he wanted to find he was only inches away, his hands reaching for her.
“I don’t want a drink,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “And I’m done with conversation for the evening. I’m looking at what I want.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. She swore she could feel the kiss in every part of her body. “The money question, sugar, is what do you want?”
Circling his neck with her arms, she brought her mouth to his. She left the sweet kiss in the hall. Distilling a week of touching him, having his arm around her, his eyes on her into one kiss, she made a blazingly passionate connection with his mouth and his body. She tasted every inch of his mouth then teased his lips open so she could play hide and seek with his tongue.
“Are we on the same page?” she asked, pulling back from him and looking into his chocolate eyes, now dark with desire.
“I’m not sure. Let’s try that again.” He pulled her back to him and returned the kiss with equal urgency, demanding a response from her mouth, from her body, making her dizzy with longing. “I think we’re okay,” he said in a husky voice. He ran his hands around to her back, pulled her hips tight against him. The hard length of his erection pressed against her and her body responded to his with a wave of warmth that centered low in her belly. She wanted to rub herself all over him, purring, like a cat.