She pulled her mouth free and took a deep breath, burying her face against his throat as warm pleasure began tightening her loins. She hadn’t felt desire in such a long time that she had forgotten how it slowly unfurled, spreading throughout her body, making her skin ultra sensitive, so that she wanted to rub against him like a cat.
She wanted him to hurry, to get the awkward first time over with so she could relax, but for all his love of speed, hurrying didn’t seem to be on his agenda tonight. He stroked her breasts until they were so sensitive the sensation bordered on pain; then he tugged her bra back into place and hugged her tightly to him. She knew he was aroused; either that, or he had a backup pistol shoved in his pocket, a big ten-round forty-five caliber from the feel of it. But he eased her back, kissed the tip of her nose, and said, “There’s no hurry, we’ll eat dinner, relax for a while. It won’t kill me to wait.”
“No, but me it might,” she snapped, sitting up and glaring at him.
His mouth quirked into a smile. “Just be patient. You know the saying, ‘All good things come to those to wait’? I have my own version of that.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Those who wait, come good.”
He needed slapping, he really did. “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, rising from his lap. She picked up the room service menu and tossed it at him. “Order.”
He did, lobster and scallops, a bottle of Beaujolais, chilled, and apple tart. Determined to play it as casually as he did, she resumed reading while they waited for room service to deliver their order. He leafed through both newspapers, used his cell phone to call the States and check on the condition of his friend who had been in the car accident-unchanged, which caused his expression to set in lines of worry.
He wasn’t carefree, she thought, watching his face. No matter how much he laughed and teased, his emotions weren’t all on the surface. There were moments when he was lost in thought and there was no humor at all on his face or in his eyes; she had seen flashes of cold, grim determination in him. There had to be more to him than just good times, or he wouldn’t have succeeded in his chosen field, though she wondered if someone actually chose to be a mercenary or gradually fell into it. He’d evidently made some money at it, so that meant he was good. That likeable, charming manner was just part of who he was; the other part would be fast and lethal.
Lily had shied away from relationships with normal men over the years, men who held ordinary jobs and had normal concerns. Not only would someone like that never understand how she did what she did, she had always been concerned that she would overpower a man like that in an intimate relationship. She had to be forceful and decisive, and that wasn’t something she could turn on and off like a water tap. When it came to romance, she didn’t want to dominate, she wanted to be a partner, but that meant by necessity she needed someone as strong in personality as she was. In Swain she sensed an easiness, a self-confidence that wasn’t at all threatened by her. She didn’t have to pander to his ego, or dampen her own personality so he wouldn’t be intimidated. If Swain had ever been intimidated in his life, she would be surprised. He’d probably been gutsy and a hell-raiser even when he was a little boy.
The more she observed of him, the more she respected him. She was falling fast and hard, and there was no net beneath her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After they ate, he watched Sky News for a while, and Lily read some more. They could have been a couple for years for all the impatience he was showing, but she remembered the erection that had thrust against her hip and knew otherwise. A man didn’t get painfully hard when he wasn’t interested. He was giving her time to relax, not pressuring her; he knew, of course, that eventually they would be going to bed together and the inevitable would happen then. She knew it, too, and knowledge was its own seduction. She couldn’t look at him without thinking that soon he would be naked and so would she, soon she would feel him inside her, soon this coiling tension inside her would find a release.
At ten she said, “I’m going to take a shower,” and left him to Sky News. The complimentary toiletries in the marble bathroom were designer brands, and smelled heavenly. She took her time, washing her hair, shaving her underarms and legs-an American habit she’d never lost-then smoothing scented lotion all over herself before blow-drying her hair and brushing her teeth. Feeling as ready as she ever would, and having killed most of an hour, she put on one of the thick hotel robes and tightly tied the belt around her before walking barefoot back into the room.
“You’re a bathroom hog,” he accused, turning off the television and rising to his feet. His gaze went over her from her shiny hair down to the tips of her toes. “I expected you to come out wearing your pajamas. I’ve been thinking about getting them off of you.”
“I don’t wear pajamas,” she said, and yawned.
His brows snapped together. “You said you wore pajamas.”
“I lied. I sleep nude.”
“You mean you ruined a perfectly good fantasy just for the hell of it?”
“It was none of your business what I wore to bed.” She gave him a smug smile and went to the sofa, where she picked up her book and sat down, curling her legs under her. She was pretty sure she’d flashed him all the way to Christmas-she tried, anyway-because he abruptly turned around and went into the bathroom without another word, and about thirty seconds later she heard the shower running. He was in a hurry now.
Watching the clock on the bedside table, she timed him. His shower lasted just shy of two minutes. Then she heard the water running in the basin for forty-seven seconds. Twenty-two seconds after that he walked out of the bathroom wearing a damp towel knotted around his waist, and nothing else.