“They’ve assumed I’d been there and I haven’t corrected them. I drive by the sights often, and I read the pamphlets since they are the Lagoon’s competition, so I know…some stuff. And then you walked back into my life.” She inhaled deeply, smelling him, feeling his nearness. “I thought it was a good opportunity to wipe the slate clean and start over.”
His body heat soaked through the fabric of her robe an instant before his breath brushed her ear. “Drop the robe.”
Her heart stuttered and her stubborn side kicked in. Where had it been seconds ago when she’d been spilling her guts? Trent couldn’t possibly know that middle kids detested being bossed around. She folded her arms across her chest. “Make me.”
He stepped in front of her, his eyes filled with surprise that morphed into humor. “You’re challenging me?”
Her pulse raced and she couldn’t seem to draw enough air into her lungs. “Looks like it.”
He grasped her shoulders and yanked her close. A flash fire of hunger consumed her as his lips slammed hers in a hard, not-quite bruising kiss. His thigh nudged hers apart and pressed against her center.
She couldn’t remember ever getting this turned on from a kiss before—certainly not last year. Her muscles turned hot and sluggish as he worked her mouth with his tongue, lips and teeth. She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, trying to show how much she desired him.
She couldn’t believe she could react this strongly toward someone she didn’t love, someone she planned to use and discard. Maybe she and Trent could have an affair like the one in that old movie her mother loved so much, the one where the couple hooked up each year for a passionate vacation then returned to their normal lives.
He stabbed his hands beneath her robe and stroked her bare skin, shaping her shoulders, her back, her waist and finally her bottom. Grasping her hips, he pressed his pelvis to hers. His thick, long erection nudged her belly. But there was too much material in the way.
Impatient to be skin-on-skin with him again, she lowered her hands and shrugged off the robe. It slithered down her legs to pool at her feet.
She tunneled her hands between them and wormed her fingers beneath his T-shirt. The taut flesh of his abdomen heated her palms. She caressed his smooth belly and chest, and scraped her nails over his tiny, tight n**ples. A growl of approval rumbled from his throat.
Curling her fingers into the fabric, she tugged upward. Trent broke the kiss long enough to discard the remainder of his clothing, then he stood before her nak*d, proud and fully aroused.
She dropped to her knees and ran her tongue up the length of his arousal.
“Paige,” he groaned. She didn’t know whether he did so in warning or encouragement, so she did what she’d been wanting to do and took him into her mouth.
His fingers speared into her hair and fisted—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to anchor her. She’d known last year he probably needed this to get hard, but she hadn’t wanted to go there. Not with a stranger. Back then she hadn’t felt this consuming need to experience every bit of him, to please him, to drive him to the edge of control the way he had her. Then she’d only wanted to take that first step in getting over D—
“Damn, that feels good,” Trent murmured roughly.
She swirled her tongue around his engorged tip once, twice, a third time, then she raked her nails over his buttocks, down his thighs, and back up to the sensitive sacs between his legs as she caressed him with her mouth.
He muttered a curse and trembled. Then his hands hooked under her arms and he yanked her to her feet.
“I wasn’t fin—”
His blue gaze burned into hers. “But I was about to. Without you. You are amazing, but I want to be inside you when I come.”
He held out his hand. She laid her palm across his. He turned and led her to the bedroom where he sat on the bed, with his back against the leather headboard. He reached for the condom on the bedside table and stroked it on then extended his arms. “Ride me, Paige.”
Heart pounding, she climbed onto the mattress, straddled his h*ps and slowly lowered. His thickness nudged her opening, then she sank lower, taking him deep inside. He grasped her rib cage and pulled her forward to capture a nipple with his mouth. He plucked the other with his hand. The combination of fingers, teeth, tongue and the suction of his mouth made her muscles quake.
She rose and fell on his slick flesh, increasing the heat and tension building inside her. Trent found her center with his fingertips, and she gasped at the burst of sensation deep in her core.
“Grab the headboard,” he ordered.
She curled her fingers over the cool leather upholstery. Trent thrust upward, meeting each gliding descent by driving deeper, harder and faster, pushing her to the brink so quickly her panting breaths blended with his. Approaching orgasm wound tighter and tighter in her womb then it exploded through her, bowing her forward in spasm after spasm of rapture.
He hooked a hand around her nape, pulled her forward and muffled her cries with his mouth. Then he grasped her h*ps and pounded into her until his moan of release mingled with hers and his body shuddered beneath her.
She sank onto him one last time, her legs weak, her lungs burning. His arms looped around her waist, holding her close. She didn’t want to move or separate from him. In fact, she thought as her lids grew heavy, she could probably fall asleep right here in his lap and in his arms.
Trent was the lover she’d always dreamed of finding—one with whom she could play and share passion. And she was very much afraid that she might be getting in far deeper than she’d intended.
She had to remember that this was a temporary affair, because if she didn’t the only thing she could guarantee was heartache.
Eight
P aige paced Trent’s suite in a tizzy while she waited for him to return. She passed the rumpled bed, the bathroom with its oversize glass shower—the places she and Trent had made love. Her body quivered with arousal she couldn’t stamp out despite the worry that if he didn’t return soon she was going to be late for the second time in one week. Milton would never forgive her.The electronic lock beeped then the door opened. Trent entered with a dry cleaning bag hooked over his fingers. She raced toward him, snatched the coat hanger from him and ripped the plastic.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t left my dry cleaning in the car. I can’t wear yesterday’s clothes to work today, and I don’t have time to go home.”
“You look good in that outfit. It bears repeating.”
She clutched her clean clothing to her chest and smiled. His ignorance reminded her of her father. Men didn’t get it. They could wear the same suit day after day and only change shirts and maybe neckties, but no self-respecting woman wore the same clothes to work two days in a row—or so she and her sisters had declared years ago.
“Thank you again,” she repeated, and retreating to the bedroom, dropped the garment on the bed. She shrugged out of the robe and Trent whistled in a breath. The passion in his eyes ignited a matching flame in her. “Don’t even think it. We’ll both be late.”
Last night had been amazing. They’d never made it to the roller coaster. Instead they’d stayed here and connected more than just physically. Add in Trent volunteering to retrieve her dress from her car while she showered and applied the makeup she’d started carrying in her purse after the morning when she’d been late and had to do without her full war paint, and she just might fall in love with him.
Oh, no, you won’t. Short-term, remember?
Too late?
Her stomach swooped as if she’d plunged from the highest roller coaster. No. It wasn’t too late. This wasn’t love. Love was gentle and warm and took time to ripen. This was potent, heady, temporary lust and the first of many affairs to come in her future. Trent was not a keeper and she would throw him back on Monday. And she’d do so with no regrets.
She reached for the yesterday’s bra and grimaced. “I can wear the bra again, but I don’t have clean underwear.”
“Go without.” Arms folded and ankles crossed, he leaned against the dresser, watching her dress. He looked scrumptious in his black suit and blinding white shirt and every inch the billionaire with his gold cuff links and watch glinting at his wrists.
“I can’t walk around the hotel without panties.”
“Who’ll know?”
“I will. You will.”
His lips twisted in the way that she’d come to know anticipated a sarcastic quip. “I’m sure the knowledge will haunt me all day.”
“Funny, Hightower.” She wiggled the emerald dress over her head. The fabric slid over her bare bottom.
“Meet me up here for lunch,” he ordered in a husky voice.
The candle of warmth flickering in her tummy turned into an all-out blaze. “You have a luncheon, and I have a planning meeting with Milton, my boss.”
“I can skip a rubber chicken meal.”
She gasped in mock horror and pressed a hand to her chest. “Our chef doesn’t do rubber chicken. And it’ll be braised pork, fingerling potatoes and maple-glazed carrots followed by Amaretto cheesecake. I planned the menu myself.”
“I’d rather have you.”
She felt her heart slipping. No. This was infatuation. Nothing more. “I’ll call your cell number when I finish with Milton. I might be able to squeeze you in.”
His eyebrow hiked, insinuating a naughty double entendre. “Squeeze me in?”
Her cheeks heated. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
His grin widened. He closed the distance between them, cupped her face and kissed her hard on the mouth, then stroked a hand over her bare bottom. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Her heart skidded down a slippery slope and fell with a big, messy splat.
Omigod. This wasn’t infatuation at all. She was falling in love with Trent Hightower, her transitory lover, a man who would dump her exactly the way David had.
Trent couldn’t concentrate. The past four hours had been a blur.
For the first time in his career he couldn’t focus on the materials being presented to him, and he didn’t give a rat’s ass about the state of the art electronics currently being demonstrated. Some CEO he’d turned out to be. His pilots and clients wouldn’t be happy with him. They counted on Hightower Aviation having the most up-to-date equipment available.
The exhibition hall’s double doors opened again, drawing his eye for the umpteenth time. He kept expecting Paige to duck in to check the status of the event.
Pantiless Paige.
His smartass comment earlier had turned out to be annoyingly prophetic. The idea of her waltzing commando through the hotel corridors had haunted him all morning.
He tugged at the suddenly too-tight collar of his custom-fitted shirt and tried to concentrate. Hard to do when his blood had pooled in his crotch.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, startling him and kicking his heart into overdrive. Paige. Finally. He excused himself from the vendor and headed for a quiet corner of the vast room. Eager to talk to her, he flicked open the phone. “It’s about time you called.”