The One Who Got Away. Jo LeighЧитать онлайн книгу.
still see the girl in her. Made better by the years, and not just because her body had ripened to perfection. There was something whole about her, confident and sure. As if she’d grown into someone she liked very much. He couldn’t remember ever thinking that about a woman, and he couldn’t even give any particulars as to what had brought on the impression. The way she dressed, the way she held herself. Who cared? It was just hot as hell.
She stopped three rooms before his and pulled out her key card. It took her two tries to get the green light, but once she did, she flung the door open and dragged him in behind her.
Before she let him go, she kicked the door shut, then shoved him against the wall. He barely had time to grin before her hands were on his shoulders and her lips were crushing his.
His eyes closed as her tongue thrust into his mouth. It was her show, and he wasn’t about to interfere. Not when she made full body contact, rubbing against him from breasts to hips.
If she couldn’t feel what she was doing to him, then something was seriously wrong, but he figured she got the drift. Especially after she gave him the little bump and grind right where it counted.
Taylor pulled back just enough to nip his lower lip, then she was off him, walking toward the minibar.
He, on the other hand, felt like a moth pinned to a Peg-Board, unable to move. “Damn, girl. A drive-by ravishing.”
She laughed, and the sound shot right to his groin. After a moment pondering the inside of the small fridge, she brought out a bottle of white wine. “It’s not a martini, but would you like some?”
He shook his head. “I already had one. Too early for another.”
“I know. Hey, it’s Vegas. No rules.”
“No mercy, no rules. What have I gotten myself into?”
She put the bottle on the dresser and her hand on her hip. “You’re right. If you were smart, you’d peel yourself off that wall and march right out of here.”
He chuckled as he complied with the first part, but instead of leaving, he joined her near the dresser. “I’ve never forgotten you,” he said.
“Oh?”
Shaking his head, he moved in closer, not touching her with his hands, but with his body. “That weekend rates right up there with the moon landing and getting my first bike.”
“Wow, and I thought you were just humoring me.”
“Hey, you needed a guiding hand, and God knows at that age, I was all hands.”
“You sweet-talker. I’m all aflutter.”
“No, you’re not. But you will be.” He leaned in then, touching her lips lightly with his own. He wanted to take it slowly this time, learning her with due diligence and patience. They had almost a week, and he planned to milk each step for all it was worth.
She didn’t try to rush him. In fact, she simply parted her lips slightly and shared her sweet breath as he lazily ran his tongue over her silky contours.
He thought about moving to the bed, but that could wait, too. For now, the only thing that mattered was her mouth, the way she tasted, the softness and the heat.
Her body, touching him at his waist and slightly below, melted back against the credenza, but she didn’t use her hands to steady herself. It was as if they had choreographed the whole scene beforehand. To test his theory he pulled back and she followed effortlessly, neither increasing or decreasing the pressure of the kiss. Damn. He thought immediately of how the principle would apply when they got to the bed. Like synchronized swimmers without the water. Maybe he should try it now, while the magic was still in the air.
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