Her dark lashes fluttered. “So I’m special then?” She sounded as if that was the strangest thing she’d ever heard.
“Why shouldn’t you be?”
“No reason I guess.” Her gaze fell away, down at the tumbler in her hand. “It’s just … you don’t know me.”
“No, but I do know I haven’t felt this with anyone else in a long time.”
“This … ?” She let the word hang, slowly looking back up at him.
He met her gaze, read the dare and the challenge in her brown eyes. It touched something inside him, an instinct he didn’t even know he had. Oh, she was going to test him; he could already feel it. “You know what I’m talking about. Or is that your way of asking for a demonstration?”
She flushed an even deeper red yet her gaze remained locked with his. “Maybe.” The silk across her breasts pulled tight as she took a breath. “Or maybe I genuinely don’t know what ‘this’ is.”
No, she had to know. He’d seen the flare of response in her eyes the moment they’d looked at each other. Had felt it right down in his bones. There was no way she didn’t feel this. “Come here,” he said, the order coming out of him before he could stop it.
She’d gone very still. “Why?”
“Because I asked you to.”
Slowly, she put her tumbler on the bar and slid off the stool. Took a step toward him. Stopped. “What are you going to do?” Still no fear, but there was wariness now. Very definitely wariness.
“I believe you wanted a demonstration?”
At that moment the bar door opened and she stiffened, a bright flicker of fear on her face. But she didn’t turn around. Instead, she took a step toward him, then another, coming to stand between his spread thighs.
He didn’t know why the opening of the bar door should make her afraid, unless she was running away from something, but right at this particular point in time, he didn’t much care. Because the warmth of her body was almost touching his and he could smell the scent of her skin. And again it surprised him because she didn’t smell of some expensive, luxurious perfume, but of vanilla.
He’d never done this before. Never allowed himself to get so carried away by lust he forgot his cool, logical approach and touched a woman he didn’t know in a bar.
Because he was going to touch her. And he did. Reaching for her, letting his hands come to rest on the warm silk of her hips, bringing her closer. She didn’t protest, but he heard her inhale sharply as he touched her, saw again that flare of response.
“Now do you understand what I’m talking about?” he asked softly.
*
Yeah, she did. Admittedly, she’d already guessed that the heat burning inside her was probably the ‘this’ he was talking about. But having never felt it in her entire life, she wasn’t sure. Now she was. The moment his palms had settled on her hips, she’d felt the shock of response go through her, all the way down to her toes.
No one had ever touched her with desire, at least not with desire she wanted to reciprocate. In fact it had been years since anyone had touched her at all. Literally years. Her father wasn’t a physically demonstrative man and since her mother had died, she didn’t have any other relatives or even any friends. Not ones who weren’t online or daughters of her father’s lieutenants at least.
God, it was intense, almost overwhelming. Like he was touching her bare skin.
She shivered, her hands automatically covering his to pull them away, to lessen the sensation somehow. But the look in his eyes stopped her. Fire burned there, a twin to the fire that also burned in her. And it challenged her. Dared her.
He was dangerous. She knew it. Felt it. A fascinating, beautiful kind of danger. The kind that made you want to stroke the man-eating tiger just to see if he were as sleek as he looked. Or leap off the cliff to see if you could fly. You could destroy yourself chasing that kind of danger.
And that was okay. She could use a little destruction. God knew she’d burned every bridge she had by escaping the limo tonight anyway so it wasn’t like she had anything left to lose.
Shouldn’t you be planning your escape?
Probably. But escape where? With what? She had nothing but the clothes she wore and a credit card she couldn’t use. At least going with this man would get her off the streets.
So why the hell not? She was still a virgin for Christ’s sake. She’d never even kissed a guy since either Thing One or Thing Two would have castrated any male who got close. That was, if her father didn’t get to them first.
But this guy—no, she couldn’t call him a guy, he was a man—didn’t know who she was. And if she were quick, she could maybe even get out of here with him before her bodyguards found her. Which meant he’d be safe from her father’s wrath, too.
She could have this, couldn’t she? A night to feel like a normal woman instead of a stupid princess locked up in a tower. A night to make her own choices for a change.
Pandora let her hands drop away, relaxed against his hold. “I think I’m getting some idea of what you’re talking about,” she said in a voice that sounded way more breathless than it normally did.
“I thought you might.” He didn’t move, kept his hands right where they were. Then his thumbs shifted, a caressing movement on her hip. Gentle and light.
Sensation flooded through her, a wave of heat that made the breath catch in her throat.
“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” she said thickly. “I’ll be twenty-five.”
“In that case, happy birthday. I’ll have to get you a gift.” His thumbs continued their movement, a slow sweep across her hipbones, causing ripples of fire to move outwards over her skin.
“It’s okay. I already know what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
She stared right into his blue eyes and gathered her courage. “You.”
He didn’t smile but the flame in his eyes burned hotter. “You have me.”
“Good.” She tried to get more air in her lungs, because she couldn’t quite get in enough oxygen.
His thumbs kept moving, a steady, hypnotic kind of caress that made her knees want to give out. “Are you sure you don’t want to know who I am? Going home with a stranger isn’t the type of thing I’m guessing you normally do.”
“How would you know what I normally do?”
“I don’t, but you’re nervous, Snow. You admitted it. And now you’re shivering.”
Yeah, she was. “It’s not because I’m afraid, Hunt.”
“Hunt?”
“I’m Snow, you’re Hunt.”
“Fair enough, but still. You don’t know me. I could be anyone.”
All this was true. And yet she didn’t care. It was either go home with him or let her father find her. Be forced into an engagement to a man she didn’t want—what kind of choice was that?
“As long as you give me an orgasm before you kill me, I don’t care.”
He smiled, that slow dangerous smile and she knew it was too late. Too late to refuse. Too late to leave.
She’d made the mistake of petting the tiger and now he was going to swallow her whole.
“Only one?” he said lazily. “I think I can do better than that.”
“I was keeping my expectations low.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I like a challenge.”
The sensual movement of his thumbs was driving her crazy, the heat of his body only millimeters away. She’d tried sex once basically the only way she could—via the Internet. Cybersex with some guy called Deathlord832. But all it had done was only emphasize how isolated she was. How arid her existence.
She wanted contact. Closeness. Someone to touch her. Not some words on a screen describing what was happening.
And Jesus, this was closeness. This was touch. This was everything she’d been craving and it was going to destroy her, but hell, at least she’d die happy.
“You’re right,” she said, because if she didn’t speak, her eyes were going to roll up in her head and she’d melt in a puddle at his feet. “I don’t normally do this. I’ve never had a one-night stand in all my life and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
His fingers spread out, pressing lightly, a fan of heat against her hips. “Then it’s lucky you’ve got me, because I do.”
A weird sort of relief gripped her. She didn’t want to tell him she was a virgin just in case he might walk away and she’d die if he did that. But then she couldn’t pretend experience she didn’t have because he’d probably see through it in a nanosecond. A half-truth seemed the way to go.
“Thank God for that.” She let her hands rest on his forearms, feeling the heat of him seeping up through the charcoal wool of his jacket. “In that case, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
Shit, he wasn’t going to argue with her. If she wanted to go now, he was good with that. Except leaving involved taking his hands off her and that was the last thing he wanted to do. She was hot beneath the silk of her dress and with every sweep of his thumbs she shivered. Her eyes had gone black in the dim light of the bar, that sexy flush still burning on her cheekbones. And her mouth … Christ, he couldn’t leave here without tasting that lush mouth of hers.
What was it about her that caught him like this?
As long as I get an orgasm before you kill me, I don’t care.
She seemed so nervous and slightly awkward, yet full of defiance at the same time. The combination of sarcasm and painful honesty intrigued him, fascinated him. There were secrets behind those dark eyes, he was sure of it. And goddammit he wanted to know what those secrets were. Like why such an obviously inexperienced woman would go home with a complete stranger, for example.
Are you sure that’s a good idea? It’s hardly your style …
It definitely wasn’t. Lust was a driving force for others, not him. Because apart from his views on emotions and business, he had a reputation to uphold, the never-a-foot-out-of-line heart of the Morrow empire.
A reputation you should be upholding right now, asshole.
Yeah, he should, but fuck it. He always put the company first and just once he wanted a night off. Take something for himself for a change. An escape. And she was it.
He gripped her more firmly, closing his thighs to trap her between them, holding her in place.
“We really need to go,” she said, her fingers tightening on his forearms and even that slightest touch made the blood catch fire in his veins.
“Hey slow down, Snow. Where’s the rush?”
The look in her eyes flickered. “It’s been a long time between orgasms, okay? I’m impatient.”
No, that wasn’t the reason, he was sure of it. “There’re plenty of other men here who could give you one of those.”
Another flicker in her eyes. “Oh, so you want to know you’re special too?”
“Of course. Every guy likes to think he’s special.” He said it with a hint of amusement, but he didn’t feel like laughing. Suddenly it became important to him to know why he was the one she’d chosen, especially considering she didn’t do one-night stands. Or know who he was for that matter. This was out of the ordinary for him and he wanted it to be for her, too.
She shifted on her feet, her impatience obvious. “Do I really need to give your ego a stroke? I’d rather be stroking—”
“Tell me.” It was an order and he didn’t hold back with the command.
That luscious mouth of hers parted, her eyes widening at the edge of authority in his voice. Good. Let her hear it. Let her know straight up what kind of man she was dealing with here.
She swallowed, her throat moving. “You’re … you’re dangerous,” she said at last. “And I’m sick of being safe.”
Satisfaction settled down in him, a response he probably shouldn’t like, but hell, he did all the same. All Morrow’s business rivals called him dangerous in the boardroom and he was, but he preferred to keep that danger well away from the bedroom. Keep everything under control.
Except tonight?
Yeah. Perhaps not tonight. Perhaps tonight he’d let himself off the leash.
“Dangerous, Snow? Are you sure that’s what you want to get yourself involved in?”
“It’s a good kind of danger.” Her fingers moved over the wool of his jacket. “It’s exciting. I like it.”
“Are you sure?” It killed him to say it but he had to. “Because if you don’t want this, you can walk away now. I won’t try to stop you.”
“I’m not walking away, Hunt.” She’d gone very still, staring into his eyes. “In fact … perhaps it’s my turn to give a demonstration.”
“What kind of demonstration?”
“This kind.” Her searching fingers gripped his sleeves and she leaned forward, coming close, her mouth brushing his.
It was light, tentative. Unsure. Almost as if kisses weren’t things she gave out often. Yet the brush of her mouth against his was … intense. Like being in a lightning storm and feeling the hum of electricity in the air. Anticipating getting struck. And shit, he wanted that lightning. Wanted that bolt to go straight through him.
Jax couldn’t help himself, he lifted his hand and slid his fingers around that long, elegant throat of hers. Not holding her, merely letting them rest against the silky heat of her skin. Then he covered that pulse with his thumb.
You’ve got your hand around her neck. What the fuck are you doing?
The thought was a dim one, uttered by the more civilized part of him. But he’d long gone past the stage of being able to listen. He’d already decided she was his. That tonight he’d break the habit of a lifetime and follow the need that gripped him in tight claws and wouldn’t let go.
She was his. His and his alone. And she needed to know that.
She’d gone utterly still, tension in every line of her body. Yet she didn’t pull away. Beneath his thumb her pulse was racing.
He slid his hand up the back of her neck and gripped her. Opened his mouth and let the lightning in.
The taste of her spilled through him, heat and sweetness and warm sensuality. Yet with the edge of something sharp, tart as an unripe blueberry. It was intoxicating. Like the oldest and most expensive of the Highland single malt whiskies, and just as potent. Just as addicting.
She made a soft sound deep in her throat, a moan he could feel through his fingers where they rested against her neck. Then quite suddenly she pulled away, breathing fast and hard, eyes wide with shock.