Stephanie Bond (3 page)

CHAPTER Five

Gabrielle stopped in the split-level lobby of the Belvedere Hotel to soak in the casual elegance of the place. The lights were dim, casting an ambient glow over sleek upscale furnishings in muted colors. Attendants were sharply dressed and spoke to guests in understated tones. She hadn’t asked where Henry was staying because she wanted to meet him on neutral ground. She’d never had an occasion to visit the chic hotel, but since Lewis had raved about it, she’d rightly assumed it was a classy place.

Because if she was going to have a one-night stand, she wanted it at least to be classy.

Her hands were sweating as she pulled out her phone, but she’d decided to err on the side of caution and let one of the women from the book club know her plans in case things went awry. She pulled up Cassie Goodwin’s cell number and texted
Meeting man
from Dallas named Henry Wells at Belvedere Hotel…wanted someone to know.

A few seconds after she hit the send button, her phone chimed, indicating she had a new text message. Cassie had responded
Have fun and let me know when you’re home safe.

Gabrielle took a deep breath, then exhaled and walked up to the registration desk. “A guest for Mr. Henry Wells.”

She could’ve called his cell, but part of her wanted to make sure he was registered under the name he’d given her. There was still time to turn back if something didn’t seem right.

Her heart beat wildly as the clerk checked a computer monitor, then picked up the phone. “Mr. Wells, you have a guest in the lobby…yes, sir, I will.”

The man hung up the phone, then smiled and handed her a magnetic key. “The penthouse suite, ma’am. You’ll need this key for the elevator to access the top floor.”

The penthouse suite? Gabrielle’s hand shook slightly as she accepted the key. Her cheeks burned because she felt as if the clerk knew the reason she was there—to have illicit sex with a stranger. As she walked toward the elevator, she felt conspicuous in the turquoise wrap dress and high heels she’d dragged from the recesses of her closet. Did she look like a hooker?

She felt like one.

Then Gabrielle bit back a smile because frankly, it felt…good. For once in her life, she felt naughty and daring and exhilarated. She stepped onto the elevator, suddenly hoping that people
were
looking at her and thinking she was wanton. It beat everyone looking at her and guessing she was a librarian.

When the doors slid closed, she inserted the penthouse floor key, then turned to a mirrored panel to check her lipstick and her outfit. The turquoise dress was flattering to her toned figure, and fell just short of the knee. Sheer black pantyhose hugged her legs made more shapely by the height of the heels she wore. Silver hoop earrings and a simple diamond-cut chain accented her face and neckline. She’d swept up her dark hair into a loose French twist instead of its usual chignon. Her brown eyes looked dilated and bright, mirroring the heightened color in her cheeks.

She was, in a word,
ready
.

Ready to be taken advantage of.

The elevator doors slid open to a small foyer leading up to the only door. Gabrielle swallowed hard and lifted her hand to knock. But before she could, the door swung open to reveal Henry Wells standing there in black slacks and a collarless black shirt. He was so big and handsome and sexy that it stole her breath…and his smile nearly did her in.

“Hello, beautiful,” he murmured.

“Hello,” she said on a sigh.

“Please, come in.” He stood back and allowed her to walk into the room.

Gabrielle gasped. “It’s amazing.”

The suite was larger than her townhome, and more richly appointed, with a sunken seating area of low, overstuffed couches and various chairs upholstered in rich fabrics.

The rugs were plush and welcoming, the accessories luxurious. A tall row of pale green bamboo shoots rose up from a rock garden in the middle of the room. From hidden speakers came the chiming notes of soothing music from the Orient.

On the upper level, an enormous bed reigned over an entire corner, dressed in gray and white linens, facing an expanse of windows that offered a spectacular view of the twinkling Atlanta skyline. Next to the bed sat a masseuse’s table, draped with bright white towels. Gabrielle’s midsection tingled and she quickly averted her gaze down to the dining table that was laden with dome-lid trays.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Henry said, leading the way down the short set of steps toward the table. “I took the liberty of ordering room service in case you were hungry.” He lifted the lid of one tray to reveal a mound of artfully arranged fresh fruit.

Gabrielle had opened her mouth to say she wasn’t hungry, but at the sight of the glistening, engorged fruit, she found herself saying, “Maybe just a strawberry…or two.”

“Allow me,” Henry said, then lifted a perfect ruby-red strawberry by its stem and held it up to her mouth.

She looked into his eyes and the warm passion she saw there loosened her inhibitions.

She opened her mouth and took a bite of the juicy fruit, then drew it into her mouth and chewed slowly. They maintained eye contact throughout, and by the time she’d nibbled away the entire berry, blood rushed in her ears. Her tongue flicked out to catch a stray drop of juice and caught the tip of his finger. His lips parted and she sensed, rather than heard, his groan.

She was seized with the compulsion to start ripping off clothes and satiate their carnal curiosity on the spot, but she realized he was holding back, and she appreciated his efforts to make the evening a truly romantic interlude.

“Champagne?” he asked.

She nodded, and accepted a flute of the frothy liquid.

“Cheers,” he said, then clinked his glass with hers lightly. “To chance encounters.”

Gabrielle smiled and drank deeply, marveling over the sheer coincidence of their meeting, and the instant chemistry.

“There’s one thing I’d like to get out of the way,” Henry announced.

She froze. Oh, God—he
was
married. He had children. He was going to ask her if a third person could join them. “What?” she squeaked.

He took her champagne glass and set it down, along with his. “This,” he said, then stepped closer and pulled her into his arms.

He lowered his mouth to hers in slow motion, then made contact with an intensity that stole her resistance. She leaned into him and all her lingering questions were answered.

Her body fit his perfectly, tongue and groove. His kiss roused every dormant sensation that had gone fallow, and she needn’t have worried that she was out of practice because her body took over. She returned his kiss, tasting him thoroughly and selfishly stealing his breath when she needed air. Every nerve ending in her body came alive, like dominoes in a chain reaction. Pressed against his hardened body, her breasts bloomed and her sex throbbed.

When he broke the kiss, she was gratified to see his eyes mirrored what she was feeling—

surprise and anticipation. He pulled back and seemed to collect himself. They made small talk about the city while they grazed on the delicacies uncovered with the lifting of each domed lid on the table—fresh shrimp, caviar, oysters on the half shell. Gabrielle idly wondered what the suite and trappings cost the man, and nervously wondered if, after going to such elaborate preparations, she would meet his expectations.

After a light sampling of the buffet and a second round of champagne, Henry took her empty glass, and set it aside. Then he kissed her palm, and began a slow exploration of her arm with his lips.

She sighed and closed her eyes, almost giddy with the thought of what was to come. If the man could make her feel like this fully dressed, what kind of magic would he work unclothed?

He nuzzled her shoulder, then murmured, “Did you bring the books?”

Gabrielle’s eyes flew open. “Hm?”

“The poetry books. Did you bring them?”

“I did,” she said with a laugh. “Just in case you were serious about reading them. They’re contemporary translations of early Eastern verse, so they shouldn’t be hard to understand.”

“Actually…I was hoping you would read to me.”

She turned her head. “Read to you?”

His tongue grazed her ear, sending shivers over her shoulders. “You have an amazing voice, and I can’t think of anything more provocative.”

“O…kay,” she agreed. But apprehension plucked at her. For some reason, she felt more nervous about reading to the man than sleeping with him.

“And while you’re reading to me,” he said, “I’d like to give you a massage.”

At the thought of his large hands roaming her body with purpose, her nipples budded.

“That sounds…nice.”

“Good.” He turned her in his arms to face him. “I’m going to put on a robe. Why don’t you undress and lie down on the massage table? You can wrap up in a towel if you like.”

Gabrielle nodded. He lowered a kiss on her mouth, then turned and climbed the steps to the upper level. He walked past the massive bed, lowered the lights a bit more with the slide of a switch, then disappeared into what she presumed was a bathroom.

Left alone, she poured herself another glass of champagne and drank half of it in one gulp before climbing the steps and eyeing the masseuse’s table. Stepping into a curtained area next to the bed, she disrobed self-consciously, debating if she should leave on her underwear. Then she chastised herself—now wasn’t the time to be coy. They both knew why she’d come here tonight.

The black panties and bra went over a valet stand along with her dress and hose.

CHAPTER Six

Gabrielle gave her nude reflection a quick once-over and decided that while she couldn’t compete with nubile twenty-somethings, her body was above average for her age.

Besides, it would simply have to do.

She retrieved the book of poetry, then climbed onto the masseuse’s table to lie face down and arranged a towel over her. The champagne, thank goodness, had gone to her head, giving her a pleasant, warm high that took the edge off her nerves. But despite the calming music that filled the room, her body tingled with anticipation. She wanted to freeze this moment, when all the erotic possibilities were yet to be realized.

At the sound of the bathroom door opening, she turned her head to see Henry emerging in a knee-length black robe. The sight of his feet and muscular bare legs sent a jolt of awareness through her naked body—how long had it been since she’d seen a man in such intimate circumstances? Years…

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

“Yes,” she murmured, even though under the towel, every muscle tensed with adrenaline.

“More champagne?”

“Not for me,” she said with a laugh.

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

He leaned down and gave her a painstaking kiss. There was something so amazingly sexy about being nearly naked and touching only on the mouth. When he pulled back, he uttered a little groan of frustration that was reinforced by the bulge straining at the front of his robe. Gabrielle longed to reach out and stroke him, but he stepped back and withdrew a bottle of body oil from the pocket of his robe.

“I’ll start with your feet if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” she murmured, then held up the poetry book. “Shall I begin reading?” She needed something to do while he aroused her body with those amazing hands.

“I’d like that very much.”

Gabrielle was conscious of him moving to the foot of the table. The soft texture of his robe brushed her leg. She breathed deeply to calm her racing heart, then opened the book and scanned the first poem entitled
I Know You
. Was it appropriate? Too intimate?

She was distracted by the
click
of the bottle of body oil being opened, and the sound of Henry rubbing his hands together to warm the lubricant. She dove into the poem.

“This is called
I Know You
,” she said, then began to recite the verse.

“I know you’re worried by that little thing you do with your hands.

I know you’re happy by that little thing you do with your mouth.

I know you’re sad by that little thing you do with your chin.”

At the sudden sensation of his hands caressing her feet, she stopped with a sharp intake of breath. The exquisite pressure of his sliding fingers sent arrows of pleasure up her legs, straight to her sex. She moaned.

“Keep going,” he urged. “I love hearing your voice.”

She looked back to the page to find her place.

“I know you’re angry by that little thing you do with your chin.

I know you’re excited by that little thing you do with your tongue.

I know you’re coming by that little thing you do with your breath.

Lover, I know you.”

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “I could listen to you for hours.”

Gabrielle paused and looked over her shoulder. Henry’s eyes were closed. He massaged her feet by touch alone. The sight of the big man paying such careful attention to her struck her hard—she could get used to this. She inhaled to fill her lungs with the scent of the fragrant body oil, then looked back to the book.

“This one’s called
The Magician
,” she murmured.

“You are a magician.

One moment I am me, and

then you appear and

I change into another person, someone

softer and keener,

quicker and finer,

brighter and freer,

lighter and gladder.

Better.”

He had moved his ministrations from her feet to her lower legs, slowly and methodically caressing each inch of flesh. His touch was light, less of a rubdown, more of a tantric massage.

And yet she was on fire. She moaned and flexed her legs to let him know she was enjoying his touch. He moved upward, trailing his fingers over the backs of her thighs.

Almost involuntarily, her legs inched open. Beneath the towel, her sex was wet and welcoming.

But after he brushed her inner thighs, he folded the towel down and moved to her lower back. Gabrielle tamped down frustration, telling herself to be patient. Henry couldn’t know how long it had been since a man had touched her.

“You have an amazing body,” he whispered in her ear. “Does this feel good?”

Basking in his compliment, she could only groan her response.

He traced the indention of her spine and swirled his fingertips over her shoulders. “Can I take down your hair?”

She nodded and held up her head while he removed the two combs that secured the French twist. He pushed his fingers into her hair and massaged her scalp before leaving her heavy tresses in a tousled mess around her shoulders.

Gabrielle reached up to clasp his hand. “Will you take off your robe?”

In answer, he untied the garment and shrugged out of it. Gabrielle drank in the sight of him unabashedly. She had imagined he had a big, strong body, with a cock to match…and she wasn’t disappointed. His Rocky Mountain shoulders gave way to a broad chest and wide, flat stomach. His legs were long and wrapped with muscle. And his cock was massive, jutting in the air.

“Apparently, everything is bigger in Texas,” she observed.

He grinned, obviously gratified that she approved.

She reached for him, but he dodged her hand, leaning down to whisper. “Are you trying to get out of reading? I’m not finished here.”

She relented, turning back to the book. “This one is titled
Little Death
.” She poured all the throaty passion she felt from his hands moving over her into the erotic words.

“Last night when you filled me,

a thousand lovers exhaled,

carrying me along on clutching gasps,

when I died a little in your hands.”

“I like that one,” he said, then removed the towel, exposing her buttocks.

Gabrielle felt vulnerable, but beautiful, because he’d made her feel so special. He murmured his appreciation, then caressed her ass lovingly, running his finger up and down the sensitive crevice. She spread her legs slightly, inviting him to touch her more intimately. He slid his hand lower to tease the swollen lips of her sex. The torture was exquisite…and unbearable.

“Slide your finger inside,” she moaned over her shoulder. “Please…”