As he triggered the latch, the door opened. He whirled around, already concocting a story to explain what he was doing.
Summer.
He was both relieved and annoyed. His hands fisted at his side to avoid grabbing her and shaking her. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you.”
“You aren’t Nancy Drew.”
“I told you, I want to prove to you Ryan hasn’t done anything wrong.”
He wanted to tell her the slimy things Ryan had said about her, but for some reason he couldn’t bear to expose her to the ass that that man was. The thought of causing her hurt did something strange to his gut.
“You look strange.” Her lips pursed as she studied him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Everything. He shook his head and then gestured to her dress. “What were you thinking wearing that?”
The happiness fell from her face. She touched the fabric at her side. “You don’t like it?”
A strange emotion shot through his chest. It took a moment for him to realize it was guilt. Unable to bear her crestfallen expression, he walked up to her and touched the thin strap at her shoulder. “You look stunning.”
She gazed at him with wide eyes made brighter by the blue of the dress. “It’s colorful,” she pointed out softly.
“It suits you.” He knew he should step back—he needed to search Huber’s room—but his hand had a mind of its own, trailing down her collarbone to the creamy skin the neckline exposed.
Ryan burst in. “There you are. I see you’re feeling better, old chap.”
Removing his hand, Jon glanced at Summer.
She smiled prettily. “I told him you have a sensitive stomach but that sherry often helps settle it.”
“Didn’t you have any yet?” Huber asked, going to the sideboard and pouring him a glass.
“Thanks.” Jon hated sherry. He frowned vengeance at Summer as he pretended to take a sip.
“Well, I guess we should go back to dinner,” Summer said with a sweet smile. She slipped her arm through his. “But I’ll keep an eye on you.”
He bet she would.
Chapter Eighteen
Summer was sitting against Jon’s door, so he wouldn’t be able to sneak past her if she fell asleep. From his aborted mission during dinner, she figured that he had to make a move tonight. They were leaving tomorrow.
After tomorrow, he’d likely be out of her life forever.
She frowned. It should have been a relieving thought but it didn’t settle well with her. She wasn’t done with him yet. She hadn’t figured him out.
She hadn’t kissed him enough.
She shivered, rubbing her bare arms. She was still wearing the dress Rosalind had filched from Gigi’s closet. She should have taken a shawl.
The door opened and she fell backwards, catching herself on her palms.
Jon peered down at her. Based on his expression, he didn’t look happy to see her.
But she knew that he had a hard time expressing himself, so she didn’t take it personally. She righted herself, standing up. “Ryan’s asleep right now. Are we going to infiltrate his room?”
“No,” he whispered harshly, taking her arm and dragging her into his room. He closed the door so it barely made any noise before rounding on her. His voice was still lowered. “What are you doing out there?”
“What does it look like?” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m waiting for you. We’re going to search Ryan’s room.”
“There is no ‘we.’” He took her by the shoulders and lowered his face so his eyes filled her vision. “I told you, you’re having no part of this.”
“Yes, I am.” Part of her still wanted to prove that Ryan was innocent, but part of her believed Jon. He was honorable in his own bizarre fashion. If he thought Ryan was dodgy, then there had to be something. For her own sake, she needed to know.
He brought her closer. “Why is Huber so important?”
“Because he’s Prince Charming,” she said automatically. Truthfully, she was beginning to doubt it. There was something she didn’t like in the way he looked at her.
“Why this obsession with Prince Charming?” Jon demanded. “You should be long past the Disney phase.”
“It has nothing to do with Disney.” It felt important for Jon to understand, so she looked him in the eye. “My mother always told me there was one perfect man waiting for me. She had a fairy tale that she’d tell me, about how my Prince Charming was out there, and I just had to find him. She died last year, and I feel like it’d make her rest easier if I did this.”
In the dim light of the room, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He probably thought she was a silly girl.
She frowned, not liking that he’d think that of her. “Ryan had all the characteristics of a true prince. He’s handsome and successful and polite.”
Jon arched his brow.
“He is,” she insisted, remembering the time he held the elevator door open so she could catch it. “He was good and kind, and when I kissed him—”
She broke off, about to say that she knew he was perfect for her when she’d kissed him, but Jon had been the one she’d kissed. Jon was the one who’d made her see stars.
Jon’s grip on her tightened. “You kissed Huber?”
“Actually, no.” She looked up at him. “I kissed you.”
The look in his eyes was anything but blank now. She tried to read what he was feeling, but before she could make any sense of the cacophony of emotions reflected in his verdant gaze, he kissed her again.
She still saw stars, bright twinkly ones that sparkled like jewels in her head.
He slipped a finger under the thin spaghetti strap of the dress. “You’re wrapped like the Christmas presents I imagined when I was a kid.”
“Imagined?” She leaned away from him, hands on his chest. “What do you mean?”
His eyes went flat, and she was sorry she asked. “I didn’t get many presents.”
She heard what he didn’t say: that he didn’t get
any
presents. Her heart broke for him. “Your childhood was that bad?”
“Worse.”
She wanted to ask him about it. She wanted to hug him and have him tell her what was awful about it. But she knew he wouldn’t—not yet. She wasn’t sure why she was so certain of that, but she knew that the thing that he needed right now was to have someone help him forget.
So she said, “It’s well known that Santa skips kids named Tobias.”
His body eased under her palms. “Good thing that isn’t my name.”
“What is your real name then?”
“I told you what it was.”
She shook her head, pointing at his face. “Your tell is giving you away. Your expression is flat.”
“You’re mad.”
“That I can’t argue with, especially when I do this.” She pressed against him and kissed him again.
He groaned, clutching her like he didn’t want to let her go. His hands wrapped in her dress, the fabric straining. “You aren’t wearing underwear with this,” he murmured against her lips.
“No.”
“That drove me crazy all night.” He slowly lifted the hem, his hand trailing up her leg. “I wanted to alternately cover you and strip your dress off.”
“Nothing’s stopping you now,” she said, surprised by her own boldness.
He shook his head. “I’m not doing this.”
That should have made her feel relieved—she shouldn’t want to go this far with Jon—but she couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
She wanted it, she realized suddenly. She held on to the collar of his open shirt and pulled him toward her. “You aren’t going anywhere.”
He arched his brows. “Are you always this pushy?”
“No, just with you.” Kissing him, she grabbed hold of the flared collar of his tuxedo shirt and pulled him toward his bed. It was spicy, made hotter with each step closer to the mattress.
“Are you going to rip this shirt, too?” he asked, following her step for step.
She paused, feeling a niggle of doubt. “Shouldn’t I?”
“I hate tuxedo shirts.”
Holding his gaze, she tore it open. She ran her hands over the skin she exposed, reveling in firm muscle and masculine feel of his chest.
Before she could stop him, he snapped one strap from her shoulder.
“Oh,” she said, blinking at the damage.
He paused. “Did you love this dress?”
No, but Gigi may have. Although, if she knew her sister, she’d forgive her since it happened for the sake of love. So she shook her head. “I hate this old thing.”
He fisted his hand at the front and tore it off her.
She gasped.
Lifting her with his hands under her thighs, he hauled her onto his bed and promptly covered her.
His hands were everywhere—
he
was everywhere. Fingers, lips, the press of his thigh. He touched her as though she was a gourmet meal and he hadn’t eaten for weeks.
She tried to keep up, to match his touches and biting kisses, but she was overwhelmed. Finally, she gave up—she laid back and quit fighting it. She gave herself over to him.
The second she accepted rather than tried to match him move for move, everything became more intense. She raised her arms over her head, reveling in the glide of his hands down her body. His fingers slid into her, claiming her unapologetically. Moaning, she let her legs fall open, inviting him in.
He lowered himself, licking his way down the curve of her stomach, over her hip, and to the moist center of her.
She jerked with the first lap of his tongue on her, the sensation was so intense.
He didn’t let up—his tongue caressed her firmly, commanding her to let go.
Arching up, she wiggled against his mouth, wanting to get away as much as she wanted more. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place and forcing her to accept everything he wanted to give her.
“Please,” she moaned, not sure if she was asking for a reprieve or for completion. “Jon.”
He growled against her flesh. His fingers caressed her folds, and then one slid deep into her. Before she could do anything, another teased at her entrance.
She nodded, hands braced against the headboard behind her. “More.”
The second finger joined the first.
She felt full, tight, and she was about to ask him to ease up.
But his lips suctioned around the right spot, and the stars in her head exploded into fireworks. She cried out, her eyes squeezed shut, trying to breathe, to stay focused.
“Let go for me, Summer,” he murmured against her. He licked her, lapping like she was a delicious scoop of ice cream, and then he sucked her into his mouth.
The pressure of his suction was unrelenting. Just when she thought it couldn’t get more, his fingers pressed inside her.
She exploded, crying out, writhing, lost to everything except the brilliant pleasure that rocked her body.
Instantly, he was on her. He quickly covered himself with a condom and then slid into her in one hard glide.
She arched up, her eyes shooting open at the stark feeling of pleasure.
He gazed at her, and there was nothing flat in it now. “You look surprised,” he said, his hand cradling her head.
“It’s good,” she said inanely.
His lips curved. “If all you feel is good, then I’m going to try harder.”
She stilled. “You can try harder?”
“I think harder will always be an option with you, princess.” He surged into her, showing her, over and over, until she was writhing again. She hooked her legs around his waist and held on, knowing he was going to take her over the edge again.
“Yes,” he whispered into her mouth. “Come again for me, Summer. Come with me.”
It was a command she was unable to resist. She shattered again, slower and deeper and more intense.
He collapsed on top of her, his body a dead weight on top of hers.
She held him there fiercely, liking the feel of him on her. She closed her eyes and pretended forever was like this—warm and glowing and still sparkling with the magic of his touch. But she knew he wasn’t the prince, and this wasn’t the fairy tale she’d always wanted.
Chapter Nineteen
Jon woke up, sudden, eyes wide. Something was wrong.
Someone was in bed next to him.
Summer, he realized even before he turned his head. It came back to him—the way she’d sat outside the door waiting for him, practically attacking him once they were in his room.
She sighed in her sleep. She even slept like a princess, turned on her side with her hands tucked under her cheek. Her face looked even more angelic, her hair a tousled halo around her head. A guardian angel, because for once he hadn’t woken up from a nightmare.
He reached out, needing to touch her to make sure she was real.
No
.
He withdrew his hand before making contact. He couldn’t touch her—he couldn’t want her. She’d tilted his world off axis enough as it was. He couldn’t allow her to burrow any deeper. He was leaving London for Thailand—neither Trudy nor Summer was going to make him change his mind.
Even if Summer looked like temptation personified.
He slid out of bed, careful not to disturb her.
She shifted, reaching for him. He paused, considering getting back in bed.
What was he thinking? Shaking his head, he slipped on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Now was the perfect time to explore Huber’s room. He checked the time—three in the morning. Yes, Huber was likely in bed, but he’d be asleep and Jon was good at being stealthy.
The door hinge creaked as he opened it. He stopped to make sure Summer didn’t wake up. The last thing he needed was her trying to tag along. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her determination to prove that Huber was innocent. It was annoying, but also admirable.
He’d have given anything for someone to care about him that strongly.
Putting on rubber-soled shoes, he snuck from the room, easing the door shut so it didn’t click loudly. Quickly he strode down the hall. He paused, tempted to just walk up the stairs to Huber’s room directly from here.
If the bedroom door was locked, it’d waste too much time. So he continued down to the study, opened the secret passageway, and turned on the flashlight app on his phone. With the path lit, he jogged all the way to the end.
Opening the panel to Huber’s room made a
whoosh
that was loud in the stillness of the night. Jon hovered in the doorway, light turned off, letting his eyes adjust as he waited to make sure Huber and his girlfriend didn’t stir.