“Sure were.”
Abe’s grip moved to my wrist, turning my hand open. He examined my palm like he planned to divine my future. “I’m sure all of those details about Bernard dovetail nicely with everything else you’ve uncovered as you’ve been tracking him.”
“Certainly,” I said evenly. “But I’m not sure why I’d share that information with a private detective insisting he’s not here tracking the same man. Insisting he’s on vacation.”
His nostrils flared. He wanted in. It was written all over his handsome face. “You’re right. I don’t want it. And since you clearly work alone…”
“And since you’re on vacation…”
“We’re back at square one,” he said dryly.
I reached forward, hit the elevator button. The machine started again, gears grinding, taking us to the sixth floor. We stared at each other for the entire thirty seconds it took to reach our floor, his grip on my wrist never loosening. When the doors finally creaked open, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. If we weren’t competing for the same prize, then couldn’t I allow this man into my bed for one night?
As I stepped up to my door, and he stepped to his, I saw his hand on his doorknob. He dragged one finger down the panel, head down, body language suddenly full of shy hesitancy. Was Abe like me in every way? Beneath his steadfast independence, was there a core of loneliness?
He turned, stared right at me, slightly bashful and a little bit too real. I was already unsure if I could truly open myself up to the instant attraction between the two of us. That look on his face convinced me I couldn’t give in. Nine fucking days to achieve the case of my dreams, and the very last thing I could allow was a distraction that would devastate me. Because this man was hotter than sin, brilliant, ambitious, a challenge to my talent in every goddamn way.
One taste of Abe Royal, and I’d never kick the habit. He didn’t have the makings of an anonymous fuck. And I wasn’t made to do anything but.
“Having trouble?” His voice was velvet, low, tempting. “You can’t seem to open your door.”
“Oh, my key card won’t…” I trailed off because he was walking toward me, panther-like, stunning me into silence. He plucked the card from my fingers with an irritating confidence. My back brushed against his chest. His lips landed in my hair. One large hand pressed against the door, turning this banal act into something erotic. Seductive.
“Do you prefer being alone in all aspects of your life?” he asked. With a firm stroke, the key card beeped. My door opened an inch. Abe gripped the handle, holding it still. Holding me in.
“It’s my natural state,” I said, turning my head slightly. I could feel his breath on my cheek. “I’m guessing you don’t let any women into that stone-cold heart of yours.”
A raspy chuckle. “Access is denied to most everyone, yes.”
“What about a woman that devours men’s hearts for breakfast?” I asked, voice barely a whisper.
“Allowances could be made for a woman like that.” He brushed a few wayward strands of hair from the nape of my neck, baring me completely.
I felt his mouth there. A kiss. Almost a bite. A low rumble rose from his chest.
Another kiss, this one on the side of my neck.
One more, lower still.
My eyes closed, soaking in this seduction. Savoring it. “Abraham,” I said, voice a plea.
“Yes, Sloane?”
I steeled my spine and accessed the very dregs of my willpower. Turned my head to the side, and still avoided eye contact. I couldn’t—couldn’t—look him in the eye right now. “I think you and I are smart enough to know the kind of devastation that sex between the two of us could leave in its wake. Complicating devastation. Not an easy night between strangers.”
Oh god, every word of that physically hurt. The casual sexual experiences I had rarely involved more than our first names and a frank discussion of birth control and testing. I’d basically told this man I was too attracted to him to fuck him for fun.
“I am smart enough to know that,” he said. “I am smart enough to feel the same way actually.” He kissed my throat one more time, a searing burn. “And because you were so honest with me, I’ll tell you that I’m also stupid enough to still want this, Sloane.”
“You’re not a stupid man, though,” I said.
His mouth dragged to my ear, and I whimpered. “Generally, I am known for my brilliance, yes. But you’re the first woman who’s ever robbed me of my senses.”
He stepped back, stepped away, and I almost begged again, begged for more, wept at the loss of his masculine strength, and his hard chest, and the confident grip of his fingers.
I finally did catch his eye. There was that shy vulnerability again. My throat was dry, body trembling. “I feel pretty senseless around you too, Abe.”
A smile, a sad smile from him. “I know what’s needed to win a case like the one you have. I know what’s needed from you. The focus, the time, the stress. Please forgive my—” He waved a hand at my door. “—reckless actions. I know you can’t afford distractions right now.”
I opened my mouth to tell him his apology was so unnecessary it was laughable. He unlocked his own door, held it open as he stared at me one last time. “Don’t doubt yourself, Ms. Argento. If anyone can succeed in that man’s capture, it’s you. I’d wish you luck, but I don’t believe you need any.”
18
Abe
What about a woman that devours men’s hearts for breakfast? Sloane purred, slipping first one bra strap, then the other, down the curve of her shoulder.
Allowances could be made for a woman like that, I said, although it was more guttural growl than words. I was naked on my bed, fingers wrapped around my cock, the sole witness to Sloane’s strip tease.
You want me to devour you? She stared at my length, tongue darting out to wet her lips.
Christ, get up here, I begged. She only shook her head, endlessly coy, knowing it drove me up the goddamn wall. Fingers hooked into the fabric, she dropped her bra to the ground. Began teasing at the sheer material of her panties.
Should I keep going? I was so close, so close to seeing everything.
Yes, I demanded. I was going to come. Yes. I was going to—
The ringing crack against my hotel door startled me awake from the hottest sex dream of my life. Gasping, naked, cock aching, I stumbled out of my bed. Glared at the clock, which read 2:15 a.m.
Only silence filled the room.
“Shit,” I sighed, relieved. I sank back onto the bed, scrubbing a hand down my face. The dream—that dream—had been so real I could still taste my desperation, could still feel my skin, hot for her touch. I’d fucking pleaded for her touch, which I’d never, not once, done for a woman.
Instinctively I placed my palm to the wall behind me, the one I shared with Sloane. It slowed my heart to a manageable rhythm.
Another sharp crack shattered the stillness. A third and another. And the unmistakable sound of a doorknob being rattled and jarred—an attempt at a break-in.
But it wasn’t my door. It was Sloane’s.