Peachy Pam pats my arm. “How you met Roarke. There are women around here who have been trying to nail him down every time he comes home. Liv didn’t know what she lost until he came back to town as a successful lawyer with his fancy car and big billfold.”
“Well…” I try to push away thoughts of Roarke and Liv in love so jealousy won’t have a way to take a foothold in me.
I’ve had men in my life before. It’s not like Roarke and I are committed to one another. Heck, I haven’t even slept with him, but the thought that Liv was the love of his life disturbs me to the point of becoming a psycho woman.
“We met in court.”
“You were married before?” Edie asks me, eyes wide.
I nod. “I was.”
“Roarke was your divorce lawyer?” Millie asks, downing the rest of her wine staring at her friends like I’m giving the lowdown on her favorite celebrity.
“No. He was my ex’s.”
It dawns on me that this is the story I will have to tell people over and over again if we’re a couple. That he represented my ex in my divorce.
“Oh.” Millie smirks at her friends and I peg her as the mean girl in high school.
“That’s interesting,” Pam remarks never looking at the other women.
I glance over my shoulder, finding Roarke talking to a few guys. Our eyes meet and he smiles.
“Yeah, unconventional I suppose,” I say, turning back around to face the firing squad.
“We’ve heard a few rumors about him down in Chicago. Doesn’t he have a nickname?” Blue Betty asks, her huge blue eyes filled with question marks.
“Not sure about a nickname, but Roarke has made a name for himself in the divorce attorney circuit to be sure.” Look how polite I can be.
“So how did it all happen?” Edie asks as a man drops another beer can in front of her.
“I tracked her down,” Roarke’s voice says from behind me. His hands on my shoulders, his thumb running along the length of my neck under my hair. “I knew the minute I saw the PI photos that she had to be mine.”
Pam clutches her heart and falls to the back of her seat. “So sweet.”
“You see how beautiful she is, but did you know she runs a charitable foundation to empower young girls?”
His kind words make my cheeks heat and goose bumps rush up my arms when he leans forward to set his glass on the table and takes my hand.
“I should have told my client I couldn’t represent him. That it was a conflict of interest after I saw Hannah.”
I shake my head as the women look on at him in awe.
Well, everyone but Millie. She’s giving the stink eye. “That would have been a good choice,” she snips.
Roarke chuckles. “The best thing about this woman is that she keeps me on my toes. Keeps me honest.” He leans over and his lips connect with my cheek. “If you don’t mind ladies, I’m going to steal her away. I’m sure we’ll see you tomorrow.”
All the woman nod in agreement and he guides me away with his hand on the small of my back.
“Just keep going,” he mumbles and I weave my way through more guests.
“We should say goodbye.”
He stops and glances at Allie. She’s lip-locked with Wyatt again.
“I think we’re good.” He threads his fingers with mine as he leads me around the side of the restaurant to his car. “I needed you like a year ago.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Roarke pushes the hotel room door open and we circle around the entryway, our lips attached. The door slams and I have no idea if it’s his doing or not but I don’t really care. He tears his lips off mine and I lean forward only to find him stepping away from me.
“What’s the problem?” I ask.
“If we don’t slow down, I won’t remember this and I need to remember the first time I take you.”
The small piece of me that was still unsure if this is a good idea or not shatters with his words.
He remains a few feet away, his gaze feasting on me, a flame of heat searing along the path his eyes take over my body.
“You’re so gorgeous.” He toes out of his shoes, taking one painfully slow step toward me.
My stomach tightens and I let the moment sink in because one thing is for certain—Roarke will be someone I need to remember, too.
The back of his hand runs across my cheek and along my jaw, his fingers threading through the hairs at the back of my neck, thumb running up and down the center of my neck.
“I feel like I’m in the middle of some teenage kid’s wet dream right now.”
The weight of the moment breaks and I laugh, my head falling forward and landing on his shoulder. His own chest vibrates with amusement and the scent of his cologne sparks the want that’s inside of me when he’s near.
Without missing a beat, he nudges my head up and his lips take mine. Slow and leisurely our tongues slide against one another’s. I sink into his strength, toeing out of my own shoes.
My heels fall to the floor and Roarke’s neck cranes farther down. At some point as I’m lost in our kiss, his hands grip my ass, propping me up in his arms. Not missing his unspoken intention, I wrap my legs around his waist and he sits down on the edge of the bed.
His bulging erection rocks me at my core only spurring me to grind against him more as all my pent up lust for this man demands a release. My hands cling to his shoulders as I rock back and forth, my head falling back.
I need him. I need to be closer.
The sound of my zipper echoes in the quiet room. His teeth scrape along my collarbone while his fingers slide the fabric over my shoulders, falling down my arms. Removing my arms from the top of my dress, it pools around my waist, revealing my black lacy bra.
Roarke’s eyes feast on my breasts and I love that he appears to struggle to shift his vision away. No man has ever made me feel as beautiful and wanted as Roarke. With one searing look, my body engulfs in flames that only he can dampen. I crave that feeling the more it comes.
“Fuck,” he bites out, one hand cradling my breast, his thumb running over my already pebbled nipple.
My back arches, demanding more of his touch and hopefully his mouth.
Roarke is a man who picks up on signals though. He lowers his head, taking my nipple in his mouth, wetting the lace of a bra that did little to cover me. I grind harder into his lap, the need for a release skyrocketing to new heights. He unhooks my bra and the lace fabric pulls away from my chest. My breathing staggers as his lips travel the same path of his fingers down my arms until my bra falls to the floor.
“Hold on to me,” he says and I move my hands back to his shoulders, my fingers digging into his muscled flesh.
He raises both of his hands, grabbing hold of my breasts, teasing my nipples. My eyes fall closed, reveling in his touch. Firm but gentle, nothing like I thought he would be. In my mind, he’d have my dress up to my waist and be thrusting inside of me by now.
“Time to lose the dress, Firecracker.” The nickname he’s taken to calling me makes it feel like cupid shot an arrow at my heart. I’ve never been given a special term of endearment by a man. I can’t explain it, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it’s something only the two of us will ever share with one another.