The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection. Кэрол МортимерЧитать онлайн книгу.
waited for Girault to finish his little speech. The urge to talk to Sarah, to hear her voice, drove him through the maze of outer offices and into the elevator. A short while later he’d joined the throng on the steps below the Grande Arche.
It took him a moment to acknowledge the unfamiliar sensation that knifed through him as he dialed Sarah’s number. It wasn’t just the lust that had damned near choked him last night. It was that amorphous, indefinable feeling immortalized in so many sappy songs. Grimacing, he admitted the inescapable truth. He was in love, or close enough to it to make no difference.
Sarah answered on the second ring. “Hello, Dev. This must be mental telepathy. I was just talking about you.”
“You were, huh?”
“How are the negotiations going?”
“They’re going.”
The sound of her voice did something stupid to his insides. To his head, too. With barely a second thought, he abandoned Girault and company to the team of sharks he’d flown in last night.
“We’ve been crunching numbers all morning. I’m thinking of letting my people handle the afternoon session. What do you have planned?”
“Nothing special.”
“How about I meet you back at the hotel and we’ll do nothing special together?”
He didn’t intend to say what came next. Didn’t have any control over the words. They just happened.
“Or maybe,” he said, his voice going husky, “we can work on our next time.”
A long silence followed his suggestion. When it stretched for several seconds, Dev kicked himself for his lack of finesse. Then she came back with a low, breathless response that damned near stopped his heart.
“I’ll catch a cab and meet you at the hotel.”
* * *
Sarah snapped her phone shut and sent Madame Girault a glance that was only a shade apologetic. “That was Dev. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
Elise looked startled for a moment. But only a moment. Then her face folded into envious lines.
“Go,” she ordered with a wave of one hand. “Paris is the city of love, after all. And I think yours, ma petite, is one that deserves a lock on the Archbishop’s Bridge.”
Sarah wanted to believe that was what sent her rushing out of the restaurant. Despite the lock seller’s philosophical musings, despite hearing the details of Elise’s sordid little affair, she wanted desperately to believe that what she felt for Dev could stand the test of time.
That hope took a temporary hit when she caught up with the dark-haired, dark-eyed Henri on the pavement outside of the restaurant. He’d just hailed a cab, but generously offered it to her instead.
Or not so generously. His offer to escort her to her hotel and fill her afternoon hours with unparalleled delight left an unpleasant taste in Sarah’s mouth. Unconsciously, she channeled Grandmama.
“I think not, monsieur.”
The haughty reply sent him back a pace. The blank surprise on his face allowed Sarah more than enough time to slide into the cab and tell the driver her destination. Then she slammed the door and forgot Henri, forgot Elise, forgot everything but the instant hunger Dev’s call had sparked in her.
She wrestled with that hunger all the way back to the hotel. Her cool, rational, practical-by-necessity self kept asserting that her arrangement with Dev Hunter was just that, an arrangement. A negotiated contract that would soon conclude. If she made love with him, as she desperately wanted to do, she’d simply be satisfying a short-term physical need while possibly setting herself up for long-term regrets.
The other side of her, the side she usually kept so sternly repressed, echoed Gina at her giddiest. Why not grab a little pleasure? Taste delight here, now, and let tomorrow take care of itself?
As was happening all too frequently with Dev, giddy and greedy vanquished cool and rational. By the time Sarah burst out of the elevator and headed down the hall toward her room, heat coursed through her, hot and urgent. The sight of Dev leaning against the wall beside the door to her room sent her body temperature soaring up another ten degrees.
“What took you so long?” he demanded.
Snatching the key card from her hand, he shoved it into the lock. Two seconds after the door opened, he had her against the entryway wall.
“I hope you had a good lunch. We won’t be coming up for food or drink anytime soon.”
The bruising kiss spiked every one of Sarah’s senses. She tasted him, drank in his scent, felt his hips slam hers against the wall.
He kicked the door shut. Or did she? She didn’t know, didn’t care. Dev’s hands were all over her at that point. Unbuttoning her blouse. Hiking up her skirt. Shoving down her bikini briefs.
Panting, greedy, wanting him so much she ached with it, she struggled out of her blouse. Kicked her shoes off and the panties free of her ankles. Hooked one leg around his thighs.
“Sarah.” It was a groan and a plea. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”
Mere moments later she was naked and stretched out on the king-size bed. Her avid gaze devoured Dev as he stood beside the bed and shed his clothing.
She’d seen portions of him last night. Enough to confirm that he ranked much higher than number three on her personal top ten list. Those glimpses didn’t even begin to compare with the way he looked now with his black hair catching the afternoon light and his blue eyes fired with need. Every muscle in his long, lean body looked taut and eager. He was hard for her, and hungry, and so ready that Sarah almost yelped when he turned away.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t regret this.”
Her dismay became a wave of relief when she saw him extract a condom from the wallet in his discarded pants. She wasn’t on the pill. She’d stopped months ago. Or was it years? Sarah couldn’t remember. She suspected her decision to quit birth control had a lot to do with the realization that taking care of Grandmama and keeping a roof over their heads were more important to her than casual sex.
Showed what she knew. There was nothing casual about this sex, however. The need for it, the gnawing hunger for it, consumed her.
No! Her mind screamed the denial even as she opened her arms to Dev. This wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t just raw need. This was so elemental. So...so French. Making love in the afternoon. With a man who filled her, physically, emotionally, every way that mattered.
His hips braced against hers. His knees pried hers apart. Eagerly, Sarah opened her legs and her arms and her heart to him. When he eased into her, she hooked her calves around his and rose up to meet his first, slow thrusts. Then the pace picked up. In. Out. In again.
Soon, too soon, dammit, her vaginal muscles began to quiver and her belly contracted. She tried to suppress the spasms. Tried to force her muscles to ease their greedy grip. She wanted to build to a steady peak, spin the pleasure as long as she could.
Her body refused to listen to her mind. The tight, spiraling sensation built to a wild crescendo. Panting, Sarah arched her neck. A moment later, she was flying, sailing, soaring. Dev surged into her, went taut and rode to the crest with her. Then he gave a strangled grunt and collapsed on top of her.
* * *
Sarah was still shuddering with the aftershocks when he whispered a French phrase into her ear. Her eyes flew open. Her jaw dropped.
“What did you say?”
He levered up on one elbow. A flush rode high in his cheeks and his blue eyes were still fever bright, but he managed a semicoherent reply.
“I was trying to tell you I adore you.”
Sarah