He moved closer, finally, until he was standing next to the bed where she sat.
Leaning low, he cupped her face, brushing his thumb across her lower lip. His eyes, filled with need, dropped as he focused on the action of his finger.
She realized she was biting her lower lip in anticipation of his touch. They were both affected by whatever this pull was between them, even with as unlikely a pair as they made.
But right now she wasn’t thinking about red or blue or which side of the aisle Peter supported. Right now they were simply two human beings who needed each other.
As slow and deliberately as she’d expected, he moved his hands down to her thighs before pushing the hem of her dress up.
She watched him as he focused on every inch of skin his motion exposed.
Braced on her hands, she lifted her butt off the bed so he could slide the dress up farther. He sucked in a breath as her hips rose, but kept going, pushing the fabric up to her waist, then higher.
She’d forgone a bra this morning. When Peter reached her bare breasts with his hands, his eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. She raised her arms to help the process of getting them nude and down to serious business.
He pulled the dress over her head, bunching the fabric in one fist before tossing it to the side. It landed on top of the folding metal snack table that served as his bedside nightstand.
Her D.C. apartment was furnished with Vanderbilt family antiques she’d borrowed from the attics of her dad’s estates in Maryland and New York. As much as she liked to be independent and on her own, it seemed her family always followed her. And that was her fault for not going for thrift store décor like Peter.
Maybe that’s why she liked him—
Wait . . . She liked him. She really liked him.
The full enormity of that concept started to sink in as she wondered when exactly her feelings had changed. She’d been nothing but angry and annoyed by him at the bar.
She had a feeling it was more that he’d slowly started to grow on her, like a flower starting to blossom, rather than happening all at once like a switch being flipped on.
Of course, how good he looked naked—or nearly naked since he was still in his boxers—might have something to do with her warming to him even more.
His passion-darkened eyes met hers. “You’re so beautiful.”
The compliment and the desire in his gaze didn’t hurt her growing affection for him either.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
He didn’t laugh at her joke, but he did brace one knee on the mattress between her legs.
She leaned back, reclining on the narrow bed while gazing up at him as he moved over her.
His gaze landed on her white lace underwear. His throat worked as he swallowed hard and stared at the garment still very firmly on her body.
Just when she began to fear he might be frozen in place, rendered motionless by the enormity of having sex with her, he hooked his fingers in the waistband and eased them down. He had to move from between her legs to get them off but he was back soon enough as the underwear joined her dress on the table.
He reached between them. His fingers connected with her core and all her random, wandering thoughts fled as her hips jerked up.
Peter drew in a breath as, his gaze intense, he watched her face while working her harder with his fingers.
The guys she’d been with usually just wanted to get inside as fast as possible. Peter obviously wasn’t one of them. Again, that should not have been a surprise given his deliberateness in all things.
Slowly he worked her, concentrating on teasing her body until she was ready to cry out and beg him to take her. To give her sweet relief from the building need.
The orgasm broke over her like a wave crashing on the shore. Hard and fast, receding slowly and leaving her wet and breathless.
She was still trying to regain her breath, and her sanity, when Peter whipped off his boxer shorts, followed by his glasses.
He set both on the bedside table before he positioned himself between her legs. His eyes remained pinned to hers as he tipped his hips forward and nudged inside, just a bit at first. Then there was nothing stopping him from sliding deep inside her.
At the bar, and even when they’d first spoken at the rally today, Peter had given her the impression he was wishy-washy. A man who didn’t get angry. A man who tried to ride the fence on the issues, not taking a firm stand either way. A man without passion.
Oh how wrong that impression had been because he was sure passionate now as he lifted her hips and plunged deep.
He loved her until both of their cries filled the small room. She felt him come but he didn’t roll away from her. Instead he stayed buried inside, taking the time to kiss her deeply, thoroughly.
His tongue loved her mouth with passionate strokes that had her muscles clenching around him.
The sensation of him growing hard again, filling her slowly, wrenched renewed sounds of pleasure from her throat as she pressed up, tighter against him.
She was already on the verge of coming when he started to move inside her again.
That was all it took. She was bucking beneath him, writhing with the pleasure as he pumped himself into a second orgasm countless minutes later.
This time he did roll off her, flopping onto his back next to her on the bed, his flat stomach heaving as he breathed.
It had been meant to be a one-time thing. Just a fling because why not? He was attractive. And after all that had happened at the rally, she felt connected to him.
She’d figured she’d act on her attraction. Thought they could both have a nice time before parting, probably never to see each other again.
That was the problem. She wanted to see him again. That was the last thing she’d thought she’d want.
What she hadn’t counted on was being with him feeling so good. So perfect. So . . . right. As if they were meant to find each other.
She didn’t believe in fate, yet here he was, the most unlikely person in the world she should be thinking about being with.
The whole situation was confusing as hell. An enigma.
But then, so was Peter.
CHAPTER FIVE
Peter slipped his glasses back on and reveled in the sight as his slightly blurry view of the beauty reclining naked in his bed came into clear focus.
“I’m gonna go get a glass of water. Can I get you one?” he asked and wanted to slap himself in the forehead afterward.
The most beautiful and intriguing woman on Earth was naked in his bed—not to mention she was from probably one of the richest families in the state—and he’d just offered her a glass of city tap water.
Worse, he’d be serving it in an old jelly jar because that’s what they were reduced to using for drinking glasses in this apartment that cost far too much a month, leaving not much left for décor.
This woman deserved champagne served from the finest crystal. At this moment in time, he didn’t have any of that to give her. But one day, he would.
If only he could get her to stick around long enough for that day to come.
What were the chances of that happening? Let’s just say he wouldn’t bet his half of next month’s rent on it.
“I’m okay. Thanks,” she answered. “I might use your bathroom though.”
Christ. How dirty was the bathroom? He couldn’t remember when the last time he’d scrubbed the tub or the sink or the toilet, for that matter. Shit. Too late now.