Dangerous Flirt (10 page)

“We did not get married.” He took a step back from the bed and the possibilities it provided.

“That's not nice.” Beth raised her other leg. “I have one more shoe, then you can help me get my dresh off.”

Hank's insubordinate
cock jumped at the idea. If he looked in the mirror right now, he was afraid he'd see a bug-eyed, panting, cartoon-style caricature of himself. Furious at his reaction, he grabbed her ankle and yanked off her shoe without undoing the strap. “Time to sober you up. Come on, in the shower you go.”

She grinned wickedly. “I'll scrub your back if you scrub mine.” Her hand traveled up her right leg,
disappeared under the hem of her dress and stopped just short of her pussy. “Unless you'd rather just watch.”

Blood rushed south from his brain and his balls tightened immediately.

Her fingers danced underneath her dress, tormenting him with mental images of her sneaking a finger into her panties. The unknown tormented him. Thong? Bikini? Lace? Satin? Was she slick already, waiting for him to
bury himself deep within her?

Another soft moan sent his blood pressure through the roof as she arched her back off the thick comforter. “My favorite thing to think about when I touch my clit is you going down on me, licking your way around my wet pussy.” Her fingers sped up their undercover rotations. “As soon as I saw you with that beard I wanted to feel it scratching against my inner thighs
as I came.”

Hypnotized by the sight before him and entranced by her soft alto voice, the hotel could have burned down around them and Hank wouldn't have been able to move from that spot.

“Do you want to taste me, Hank?” Beth withdrew her hand from underneath her dress, holding two fingers apart from the rest. Bringing her hand up to her mouth, her pink tongue slowly slid up one side of her middle
finger before she sucked it into her hot mouth. Millimeter by millimeter she pulled it from her glistening red lips. “Because I taste good.”

Hank looked at the pointer finger, wet with her own juices, that she held out to him. For the first time since he’d been a teen, he worried about coming in his pants. Fuck, what this woman did to him. He took an unsteady step forward until his shins banged
against the bed frame.

She grabbed his pants and made quick work of his belt. “That's it, come give your wife what she needs.”

Effective as a bucket of ice dropped down his boxers, her words froze his hot lust.

Pulling Beth up from the bed, he pushed her toward the bathroom. “We. Are. Not. Married.” Speaking those words hurt more than they should.

“Whatever you shay, honey.”

Once inside the
marble-covered room, he busied himself with getting the water ready while she hung back in the doorway. A cold shower would jolt her out of her intoxication.

He yanked open the glass door and twisted the water knob all the way to the blue side. Maybe later he'd get a chance to take one too. God knew he needed it. The water rushed out of the large, round showerhead, splashing against the bottom
of the gray marble floor.

Closing the door, he snatched a towel from the shelf and wiped his hands. “Okay, it's ready. Why don't you…”

As soon as he turned around, the words died in his mouth.

Beth stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a sheer black bra and lacy panties.

Gripping the cool marble countertop to steady himself, he took in a fortifying breath. What he
couldn't
do was pry his
eyes from her.

Five feet, nine inches tall in her bare feet, she had legs that went on forever. They weren't sticks either. No. She had the strong, limber legs of a woman who embraced the power of her body. His gaze traveled upward over her narrow hips and flat stomach. He spotted a tattoo started above her right hipbone and went up her rib cage: a golden phoenix. The crisp detail and vivid colors
of the yellow-and-orange bird with its wings spread as if about to take flight attested to the amount of time and money involved in getting the tattoo. If he ever figured out how to form words again, he'd have to ask her about it.

Her small, round breasts were veiled behind the see-through lace of her black bra but her dark-brown nipples, puckered into hard points, extended outward, calling him
and pulling him closer. Two simple gold rings hung from a silver necklace fastened around her long neck.

He remembered the rings from that summer night so long ago. Her parents' wedding rings. She never took them off. That and an unbuttoned pair of jeans were all she'd worn when she'd lain back on the plaid picnic blanket. Barely twenty, she'd found him alone at Lake Harvey with a six pack of
cheap beer, nursing his wounds from yet another breakup with Amanda in their on-again, off-again premarital downward spiral.

He'd been looking for a soft landing. She'd deserved more. He'd stopped them just in time, telling her it was the right thing to do. The same thing he needed to do tonight.

Mind and body fighting each other, he clung to the countertop, its rough underside scratching his
fingertips. The pain acted as a poor distraction from the sexual wanting nearly overpowering him.

“I'm not a virgin this time,” Beth whispered. “Your honor isn't in question.” She walked to him, swaying only a bit, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her lips covered his with hungry little kisses. “Turn off the shower.”

Conflicted beyond reasoning, Hank wanted to scream out in frustration.
Her tight body pressed against his, her fingers were running through his hair. When she curled one lean leg around his hip, her heel touching the small of his back and the heat from her lace-covered pussy warming his cock that strained against his zipper, his self-control shattered.

Ignoring the running shower, he lifted her up so both of her legs wrapped around his waist.

Murmuring her approval,
she nipped his earlobe then sucked it before trailing kisses down his neck. “Bed now, Hank, or I'm going to fuck you against that cold shower door.”

That wouldn't do. He wanted space to spread her long, flexible legs to better taste her slick center. That would be only the beginning. He planned on spending the hours until dawn making her toes curl. Repeatedly.

Surrendering to the madness, he
strode out of the bathroom carrying her toward the bed on the opposite side of the room. They made it as far as the chaise lounge. He sat down on the edge and Beth's legs came down from around his waist.

On her knees astride him, she raised herself up until her tits filled his line of sight. “Touch me, Hank.”

He dragged a finger across the lace of her black bra, male pride ballooning as her
nipples tightened beneath the sheer material. His fingers itched to stroke those nubs, but he held back. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

Her answer was to move so her taut nipple was only a hairsbreadth from his hungry mouth. “My nipples. Pull on them.”

Pushing down the dark straps until her bare breasts were freed, he took a brown nipple in his mouth, sucking it lightly, wary of hurting
her delicate skin. He pulled away to lick from the nub to the outside of her dark areola and she shuddered in his arms.

Her fingers dug into the muscles in his shoulders. “Harder.”

Fuck. His tight balls straddled the pleasure/pain tightrope. Her half groan, half plea almost sent him over the edge into oblivion. Fighting to regain some control, he took a deep breath, inhaling vanilla mixed with
her own musky scent. As he tugged on one nipple with his teeth, he grasped the other between two fingers, rolling it counterclockwise.

“Yes.” She moaned the word into the darkness and ground her body against him. “Fuck, that's good.”

Damn straight it was. Every part of him felt electric. His body was strung tighter than a bow, hard everywhere. He needed release in her soft body.

Letting go
of her nipples, he turned his face up to hers and their mouths met. Her sweet tongue curled around his as he deepened the kiss. Palming her ass, he kept her anchored to his erection as they devoured each other. Pleasure spiraled upward when she rubbed her wet core against him. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anyone in his life.

Finally, he admitted to himself that he'd been waiting since
that summer night to touch her, to feel her pussy clench around his cock as she orgasmed.

Shooting up from the chaise lounge, he carried her to the bed, again knocking his shins against the bed frame, but the pain barely registered. He turned and sat on the bed before falling back with Beth on top of him. Her lips never left his but it seemed as if her hands were everywhere, as were his. Rubbing.
Caressing. Stroking. Unable to take it any longer, he rolled her off of him and stood up.

Beth stared at him with hooded eyes that promised sexual nirvana beyond all expectations. Driven by a primal need, he pulled his shirt over his head, buttons flying across the room, and flipped off his black dress shoes. Looking down, he unbuttoned his slacks and let them fall the floor. Thumbs hooked in
his boxer's waistband, he glanced up.

Beth was curled onto her side, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

Aching with need, Hank stared. Everything about her that had been tense with want had softened and become pliant. He sat down beside her on the bed and stroked her smooth hair. It was as soft as he'd imagined.

The realization of what he'd almost done washed over him. Shame and regret settled
in his stomach like a weight. Where had his honor been? She'd saved them this time. How could he have considered having sex with Beth when she’d drunk so much? He wanted to kick himself for what he'd almost done. Instead, he covered Beth with the comforter, tucking a corner underneath her chin, and got up from the bed.

She snuggled deeper into the fluffy whiteness. “Love you, baby. I always have.”
A slight smile curled her kiss-swollen lips.

Yeah, she loved him all right. Tonight she loved him, champagne and tacky wedding chapels. In the morning she’d be hard-pressed to decide which one she hated more.

Hank plucked his clothes from the floor and flung them into a nearby chair. He rescued damsels in distress, as Webster had said earlier tonight. Ha. From the looks of things, they needed
to be rescued from
him
.

Pissed off at himself, he marched to the bathroom and the waiting cold shower.

B
eth, eyelids still sleep-heavy, burrowed into the heavy warmth wrapped around her. She'd never slept so well in her whole life. She'd dreamed of getting a massage in the middle of a sultry island paradise. Lots of palm trees, a soft breeze and warm hands all over her body. She had to figure out what kind of mattress this was so she could order one for home.

Five more minutes
of snooze time, then it was on to the shower and another day of estate law seminars. She rolled over onto her stomach, only to be pulled back onto her side and dragged against the source of all the toasty heat.

Her eyes snapped open and fear lodged in her throat. This wasn't her hotel room.

Body frozen in panic, she flicked her gaze downward.

A man's hand cupped her breast, the necklace with
her parents’ wedding rings twisted around his fingers.

Holding her breath, she realized her butt lay nestled against someone's morning wood.

Heart thundering inside her chest, she inched her head around to get a peek at the man whose bed she shared. Her foul morning breath whooshed out of her mouth when she came nose to nose with Hank.

Oh shit
.

“Go back to sleep, darlin’. We're on vacation,”
he mumbled in a horse, half-asleep voice.

Turning her head away from him, she stared at the thumb only a millimeter away from her fast-hardening nipple. This was not good. Not good at all.

Desperate to understand how all of this had happened, Beth rewound the previous night in her head. She'd gone out to dinner with other conference attendees, where she'd had ginger ale. After dinner they'd
gone to a club at one of the other hotels on the strip. She'd had a glass of champagne. Only one. Always only one. Everyone else ordered martinis. That's when things got jumbled up in her mind.

She remembered everything had felt funny and her desperation to go back to her hotel room. Then Hank had appeared by her side. There was a cab. Elvis had shown up. A very short Elvis.

What had happened
with Elvis? Oh yeah, Elvis had told Hank to kiss the bride and he'd turned and kissed her.

Ice spread through her veins.
Dear sweet baby Jesus
.

Unable to move anything else, she blinked her eyes. Fast. Her lungs began to ache, reminding her she needed to breathe. Gasping for air, she bolted upright.

“Good morning,” Hank drawled as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How are you feeling?”

Despite
the fact that he’d held one of her boobs only minutes before, Beth reflexively grabbed the white sheet, pulled it up to her neck and kept her gaze locked on the maroon-and-gold striped wallpaper. “Fine and dandy. Perfect. Never better.” She slapped her hand over her mouth to shut herself up.

“Yeah? Good because you were in rare form last night.”

Rare form? What had she done that could be worse
than marrying him? Looking down, she didn't see a ring on her left finger. She let out a sigh of relief. But the feeling was momentary because in the same moment realization dawned that she was wearing only her panties.

In bed.

With Hank.

“What happened?”

He laughed, a low rumbling that made her stomach do triple flips and turned her body to jelly. She didn't want to turn back and look at
the source of that bone-melting sound. But running at full speed out the door wasn't an option, especially since her dress was hidden somewhere in this room. At least she hoped so.

Curling her knees to her chest, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Hank, tell me right now what happened.”

The bastard had the audacity to wink at her from beneath his chestnut hair. Damn her wandering eyes, she
couldn't help but look lower to his bare broad shoulders and his muscular chest covered in darker brown hair, which narrowed as it traveled south. Lounging against the pillows, clad only in black cotton boxer briefs, his long and thick salute to a new day stood at full mast in his lap.