Tonight hadn’t been trivial or obvious. Quitting meant catastrophic changes; she wasn’t sure if she was ready to give him that part of her soul.
Either way, she had been wrong about wanting to fight and needed to set that straight. Vanka swung her legs over the side of the bed. She didn’t know what to say when she knocked on his door, but an apology was in order. She wouldn’t have accepted her own flat-out refusals without an explanation, and he deserved better than an argument without reason.
Floorboards creaked. She froze and listened. Footsteps moved through Spiker’s bedroom and into the hall. The old hardwood floor groaned under his weight, and her senses sharpened as if it had chirped like a modern-day security system.
She was now viscerally alive and aware of her surroundings. He crossed the landing at the top of the stairs and, with zero hesitation, knocked on her door. “You awake?”
An emotional boomerang of nerves flew through her chest. “Yes.”
Spiker didn’t wait for an invitation. He opened the door, saw her sitting at the edge of her bed, and padded across the hardwood floor. He wore running shorts and a shirt as though he were ready for daylight, but his tousled dark hair said he’d tried to sleep, and like her, failed.
Spiker glanced at her pillow on the far side of the bed and studied her, understanding that she’d been unable to sleep. He stepped closer, so that Vanka had to lean back to meet his gaze.
The silk strap of her nightgown slipped down her shoulder and, in the moonlit quiet, Spiker lifted it into place. His knuckles grazed her skin. Goosebumps trailed across her skin where he touched it. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“I couldn’t either.” She inhaled the faint, shower-fresh scent that clung to his body. “I thought about knocking on your door.” Heat crawled into her cheeks. “But you beat me to it.”
He let the silence surge, then swallowed hard. “Why?”
Vanka pressed her lips together. Her insides trembled. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”
His eyebrows arched. “For what?”
Were men always this obtuse? Dramatically, she waved to herself. “For being an obnoxious twit.”
His deep laughter rolled. “Give me a break, princess.”
“What? Don’t tell me I wasn’t nuttering about when I went upstairs.”
“Tonight—today, everything . . . it’s been a lot.”
Well, yes . . . “I haven’t explained myself well.”
Spiker nudged his head toward the door. “You wanna talk somewhere else?”
“Not really.” She scooted farther back and patted the side of her bed. “Sit with me.”
His arms crossed, and he hesitated as if they’d never used a hotel-room bed like a sofa or office worktable.
Vanka drew back. “Oh, get over it. I don’t bite.”
Spiker chuckled. “Yeah, actually, you do.”
Blimey. She walked into that, but she’d disarmed him of his reticence. He perched on the edge of her bed. Vanka laid on her side and rested her head on her favorite pillow. From this perspective, Spiker’s stature seemed monumental. The faint moonlight shone through the blinds and cast a silvery glow over his profile. He was absolutely, soul-crushingly handsome.
“I wanted to apologize, also,” he finally said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I do.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Asking you to leave before you’re ready . . . pushing you, really . . . That’s asking a lot.”
She bit her lip. “Can we forget that for now?”
Spiker agreed and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not all I need to say.” He eased onto the bed and rested his head on a pillow so that their gazes locked. “When we were dropping off the Maserati, I told you that I was losing my mind.”
The rough texture of his voice vividly anchored her to this late-night discussion. “I remember.”
“I said that I wasn’t sure if I could tell you why.”
Vanka’s hair rustled against the pillowcase as she nodded.
Spiker broke away and rolled onto his back. For a long spell, he remained silent until finally returning to her again. “It wasn’t that I didn’t know why, Vanka.”
Uncertain anticipation rolled down her spine. It should’ve scared her, but instead left her breathless. His fingers touched her cheek and traced her jaw. The caress created an aching cavern of need that was impossible to fill unless they melted together.
“It was more like . . .” He pulled his hand away. “I wasn’t sure what would happen when I did.” A cool spot remained where his touch was fading like a windblown kiss. “Things have changed between us. I was losing my mind before I kissed you, and now that I have, I’m losing it again. I don’t want us to end before we start.”
When he whispered about them, raw and vulnerable, she wondered if she was already in love. “That won’t happen.” Vanka reached for his hand. “We will figure out work. It won’t get in our way.”
He interlaced his hand with hers and held on, as though her promise was wrapped in naivete.
“I promise, we’re on the same page.” She pulled his hand to her chest. “Let me figure out my exit strategy.”
“I can do that.”
“Thank you.” Her lips nuzzled his knuckles with a warm breath of a kiss. “Stay with me tonight.”
Spiker stretched their locked hands over her head and caged them on the far side of her pillow. His long, lean body blanketed her, and his eyes never looked away. “That’s what you want?”
With her free hand, Vanka pulled his shirt up his back. “I want us.”
His lips quirked. He released her hand and held her face to his, taking her mouth in a kiss that set her mind on fire. His tongue roamed; his lips explored. Breathless curls of desire caught in her throat and, a master of control, he fanned her frenzy and coaxed her into a mind-altering fervor. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
His pleasure-hunting laughter drowned between their mouths, and he kissed her with a ferocity that could sink ships. Spiker trailed his tongue down her neck. His lips skimmed over her pulse and stoked its drumming beat.
Vanka arched into his rock-hard body. Her legs spread and beckoned for him to give her his weight. His hips met hers. His erection pressed between the silky softness of her nightgown and the stone slab of his abdomen like a thick iron length. Her need was blinding.
Vanka pulled at Spiker’s shirt. He stole away, ripping it from his chest, then yanked her silk gown overhead, finally releasing his tight hold on control. But he stilled, chest heaving. She wriggled for his attention. His rakish eyes glittered, and returning to the discipline he had briefly released, Spiker lowered his lips to the swell of her breast.
His tongue lashed over her pebbled nipple. The kiss created pressure that rushed straight to her pussy. Wet heat readied the neediest part of her body. Spiker kissed the valley between her breasts. Cool air rolled over her kiss-savaged nipple until his large hand covered its mound and massaged. His tongue flicked over her other breast and lashed against the nipple, keeping the same pace—pure bliss.
His mouth trailed to her throat. Vanka groaned for the loss—and for more. His five-o’clock shadow scratched, and he teased, sliding his hand over her stomach while breathing just behind her ear. Spiker’s long finger breached her panty’s silk waist and smoothed over her pubic hair. Vanka arched for his touch, begging him to explore in the same mind-alerting way he kissed.