“Oh?”
“See, the thing is, I’m feeling exceptionally naughty tonight.”
“How interesting.” There’s amusement—and heat—in his voice. A heat that is definitely doing a number on my senses.
I lick my lips, then stifle the urge to cup my own breasts and stroke my sensitive nipples. I’m in public, after all. “Well, I was wondering…”
I trail off as I reach the marble pillars that mark the entrance to the dark-paneled bar. I lean against one, surveying the customers, many of whom have their backs to me. My body is thrumming with desire. I want hands. Lips. Heat. Passion.
Most of all, I want Ryan. But at the moment, he’s not at my side.
“It’s just that there are some interesting people here. Stunning women. Seriously gorgeous men.” The guys in this bar are the kind of candy I would have recklessly collected back in the pre-Ryan era when I was the walking definition of a wild child. Notches on my bedpost, Nikki used to say, and always with a bit of worry in her voice. The kind of worry I ignored then. And, to be fair, I’m ignoring tonight, too.
“I’m intrigued.” I hear the question in Ryan’s voice even before he asks it. “What game are we playing, Kitten?”
I lick my lips, thinking of the earpiece and its tiny microphone, well-hidden under my hair. “What if I seduced one of them?”
I take a step into the room and see him. The one man who puts all the other customers to shame. He’s sitting at the bar with his back to me, so I can’t see his face. But his posture telegraphs confidence, and his short dark hair is thick. I long to run my fingers through it, imagining how silky it would feel against my skin. I can make out just a hint of his jawline—strong, with an evening shadow. I close my eyes, craving the rough feel of stubble against my inner thigh, and I actually whimper.
“Is that really what you want?” His voice is tight, but otherwise entirely unreadable.
“Is that okay?” I bite my lower lip, surprised by how fast my heart is beating. I’m genuinely nervous. More, I’m afraid he’s going to deny me. “You’ve always said you like my wild side.”
“I do,” he says. “You have a man picked out?”
“Yes.” I hear the breathiness in my own voice as my body sags with relief. Until right then, I hadn’t realized how much I feared that he’d shut down this fantasy tonight.
“Then I think you need to do that, Kitten.”
I drag my teeth over my lower lip, heat pooling between my thighs as I take a step toward the man sitting at the bar. “Are you sure?” I ask my husband.
“Have I ever denied you?”
“Never,” I say, then draw an excited breath as I approach the man at the bar. He sits up straighter, as if he knows I’m behind him, and when I slide onto the empty stool next to him, he turns just enough to face me. His eyes are as blue as I saw them in my mind, and for a moment, he only looks at me, his gaze roaming over my body, the icy blue leaving a trail of heat.
I clear my throat. “This seat’s not taken, is it?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Would it matter if I said it was?”
“No. Buy me a drink?”
One beat. Then another. He’s been focused on my lips, but now he lifts his head, then places his hand on my thigh, just above my knee. The contact sends lust curling through me, and I actually have to swallow a moan. I’m already wet and desperately turned on. And in that moment I realize exactly how much I need this night. This adventure.
His eyes lock on mine. “Why don’t I have a bottle delivered to my room?”
“Oh.” That was faster than I anticipated—I do enjoy the chase—but I can’t say that I’m disappointed. Already, I’m imagining his hands on my skin, my dress a tattered heap on the floor.
Still, I don’t want to seem too eager. I see his phone on the polished wood beside an almost empty glass, the screen face down. “Were you on a call?” I ask as I reach for his glass, then swallow the last sip of Scotch along with a few ice chips.
“I’m not anymore. You seem like a woman who’d insist on my full attention.”
He slips the phone into the interior pocket of his bespoke Brioni suit, then gets off the stool and holds out a hand to help me. I slide off as well, my dress riding up, the slit revealing quite a bit of thigh. And, possibly, a quick flash of my red thong panties.
He signals to the bartender, then puts his hand on the small of my back, bare in the halter-style dress. I stifle a moan, the heat from his touch filling me. I want to say something into the microphone, to whisper in Hunter’s ear about how my cunt is throbbing and my panties are already soaked. But that’s not possible, and it would sure as hell destroy the moment. And so I simply stay silent as a wild and wanton heat curls through me.
The elevators are all the way across the lobby, and by the time we get there, I’m weak with desire, and if the way he’s looking at me is any indication, I’m not the only one who’s desperate. There’s nobody else around, and when the doors open, he steps into the car, passes his room key over the control panel, then pulls me roughly toward him. I stumble into him, my breasts pressing against his hard chest as the doors close, and he pushes the button for the thirty-eighth floor.
“You must have a nice view,” I say.
His mouth crooks up into a smile as his eyes look me up and down. “I do.”
He takes his phone out of his jacket pocket, taps the screen a few times, then tucks the phone away again.
“What are you—”
He presses a fingertip against my lip. “Yes. My room has a nice view.” He steps closer, then reaches behind me and unzips my dress, exposing my ass. I draw in a sharp gasp, my eyes automatically seeking out the small metal and glass disk mounted in the elevator’s upper corner. A security camera.
“But—” I begin.
“No,” he says. “No argument. No protest. Remember that you’re the one who approached me.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and slides the thin straps slowly down my arms. “This is what you want.” He pauses, the bodice of the dress just barely covering my nipples. “Or am I wrong?”
I draw a breath, then exhale slowly. I glance once more at the camera, then tell myself it’s okay. It has to be because I want it so much.
“Tell me,” he presses.
My mouth is dry, my skin tingling, as if I’ve inched too close to a fire. “No,” I say.
His head tilts to one side, then he raises a brow. His hands on my dress, however, don’t move. “No, what?”
I lick my lips. “You’re not wrong.”
He says nothing, just takes a single step back, releasing the dress, which slides over my hips and falls to the elevator floor, leaving me bare except for the tiny thong. I let my purse fall, too, then draw in another breath, my heart pounding so hard he must surely hear it. But this isn’t fear. This is a wild, intense, crazed need. A wanton passion that is coursing through me, making my nipples painfully tight and my sex throb in a silent, demanding plea.
“Take them off,” he orders.
I do as he says, sliding the panties down, then holding the rail as I balance on one high heel so that I can step out.