Was he really back for his jacket? Had he left it there on purpose? He watched her, keeping his distance, like she was some sort of black widow. She mentally laughed. She was about as threatening as a baby bunny.
Putting her back to the bar, she gave him room to get his belongings and go. Reaching past her, he slid the jacket off the back of the chair and stilled, close enough for her to see the contrast of silver threaded in the dark hair at his temples.
Her skin tingled as breath locked in her lungs, his scent crawling into her. A million moments she should have had collided in her mind, borrowed memories from novels and cinematic romances and what she knew most girls experienced years before approaching her actual age.
His arm brushed the front of her blouse and his eyes shut on a whispered curse. Every breath she took tightened her clothing. She was winded, yet standing perfectly still.
"Tell me to go. Tell me to forget the jacket," he whispered, voice low as it scratched along her every tender nerve.
She said nothing and he let the jacket slide down the chair and onto the floor. She couldn't blink and she began to tremble subtly as he turned to fully face her, staring into her eyes.
Each inhalation lifted her breasts higher. Her lips parted, the scent of expensive scotch, rich cologne, and sin clouding her mind. She wasn't a small woman. Thin, yes, but too tall. Yet, looking up at him now, she found her height perfect, and his stature arrestingly right. Strong.
"Tell me to go, Isadora," he repeated, voice rasping in a way that prickled the back of her neck, seeming to lift the fine hairs along her collar.
There was something more than drunken secrets here. She edged closer, never one to act audaciously, but maybe this was the self-indulgent moment she'd been waiting for. Brazen seemed right.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she softly whispered, "I didn't want you to leave in the first place."
Uttering another curse, he reached for her so fast she took a startled step back, only to be blocked by the bar. His hand swept into her hair, fingers terrorizing her sensible bun, as he jerked her body to his on a gasp. His aggression was as unexpected as his intensity. The shocking press of his lips was a welcome delight. Warm. Unquestioning. Experienced.
His other hand surged low on her back, pulling her body flush to his as their heads tilted and his mouth opened against hers. Heat swirled low in her belly as her hands sought a place to rest.
A fever took hold, burning hot, as her knuckles flexed and her fingers dug into his broad shoulders. The distant thud of the bottle hitting the carpet only vaguely registered, as he spun her and backed her toward the desk.
His mouth opened wider, his tongue spearing between her lips, greedily taking as he dipped her over the surface, arching her backwards and exposing her neck. The five o'clock shadow covering his jaw scraped over her delicate skin, making her toes curl.
He lifted her and objects moved along the desk, the lamp light jostling in the shadows. Her knees drew up as a chair skidded out of the way. He towered over her, kissing, licking, biting. And her body was on fire.
Objects clattered to the ground as his touch dragged up her leg, hiking her simple pencil skirt higher. The bunched material gave way, sliding as high as her hips when he fit his legs between hers.
The weight of his arousal pressed against her core. She gasped and everything stilled.
His heavy breathing mingled with hers as his stormy eyes flashed in the light shining from the desk lamp. She'd never been in such a tangle. They were so close it was difficult to determine whose parts were whose.
"Shit." He made to rise, but her grip on his shirt tightened. "Isadora," he rasped, almost pleadingly.
Hating the regret she recognized in his gaze, she almost let him go.
Almost.
She could do this—they could do this. Who would know? They were both adults.
Lifting her head, she gently brushed her lips against his. Shockingly, it seemed enough to hold him there. His mouth tilted over hers, pulling, slowly taunting, until everything inside of her seemed to stretch like warm taffy and melt her body into his. The tension left his shoulders as his weight sank into her.
His hand followed the curve of her hip, tracing the nip of her waist and un-tucking her blouse one ripple of fabric at a time. His warm fingertips scorched the hidden skin of her belly, skimming over her ribs with practiced ease. Her body arched as the swell of her breast filled his palm and her lips parted on a sigh.
"We shouldn't do this," he whispered, his thumb tracing delicate swirls over the hardening tip of her nipple.
There was no way she was letting him leave now. The press of his arousal was leaving her panties slick and his hand was working some sort of magic under her blouse.
"Yell at me, Isadora. Tell me to stop, to take my hands off you."
"Stop fighting it, Sawyer." She loosened the top button of her blouse.
And another. And then another.
He eased back as the silk parted. He looked at her as no man ever had. "Jesus. You're beautiful."
Blinking, he stood and gently pulled her with him. Leaving her shirt open she quickly straightened her skirt.
His attention drifted around the room and he grimaced. "Your bed—" "Is upstairs. Too close to my sister's room. Here's fine."
His mouth pursed. He didn't seem pleased with the options.
Releasing her hand, he shut the door tightly and turned the antique key sitting in the lock. Shoving the coffee table out of the way, he came back to her and glanced at the floor.
She didn't care where they were, so long as he kissed her some more. Nodding, she stepped closer to his front, eager to pick up where they'd left off.
With trembling fingers, she loosened the buttons of his vest. Though she struggled, he patiently allowed her the time she needed. Once she had the garment off his shoulders, she laughed. Another line of buttons awaited under his tie.
She'd never been so close to a man. Her breasts were throbbing, the heat coming from the strong wall of his chest the greatest sensation ever to touch her skin. Her fingers fumbled with the knot of his tie.
"Let me…"
But rather than open his shirt, he tucked her hands at her side and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, removing the clip from her bun. His fingers sifted through the weight of her loose hair, spreading the long locks over her shoulders as he studied her face.
"You're so pretty, Isadora."
His words were disarming and strangely uncomfortable to hear. "I'm not—"
His sharp gaze silenced her. "Yes." Deft fingers slid her blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. "You are."
She followed his gaze to the clasp at the front of her lace bra, her heart trembling behind her ribs. He was still dressed and her breasts wore only a light layer of fabric.
"May I?"
Unsteady on her legs and throat too dry to talk, she nodded.
The lace tightened, plumping her breasts, then gave way. The garment slid down her arms, joining her shirt on the floor. Cool air closed around her, puckering her skin as he stepped back.
Shadows swallowed the stormy pupils of his irises as he stared at her— truly stared—like no man ever had. Something dark was born in that moment and she accepted that nothing, not jewels, not exotic furs nor luxurious gowns, nothing had ever felt as good as his stare on her skin.
With nimble dexterity, he removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, never taking his gaze off of her. Despite being a man in his early forties, his body was unquestionably appealing.
She drew in a shaky breath as the first patch of tanned flesh revealed a light dusting of dark hair over chiseled masculinity. The focus of his attention caused a tremble inside of her that rattled from her limbs all the way to her lips.
Swallowing hard, she took a step forward, her palm hovering just over his heart and slowly touching down. Heat. Virility. So much power rested inside of him.
His heart beat beneath her palm and she glanced up at his face. She couldn't recall ever touching another person so intimately. "I can feel your heart racing."
He tipped her chin, brushing a gentle kiss over her lips and pulling her closer. The warmth of his hand closed over her breast, cupping, pulling, fingers gently pinching as her knees softened and she moaned against his lips.
"Your mouth is pure temptation," he whispered, the zipper at her hip loosening as her skirt slipped to the floor.
Kisses traveled to the corner of her lips, to her jaw, down the side of her throat as chills chased over every curve. Shivers skipped down her spine as he lifted her breasts, his lips closing over the tips and pulling tightly as she struggled to draw in enough air.
Her body came alive, thrumming with a desire for more. His arm banded around her, arching her backward as he lowered her to the carpet.
"Is this okay?"
The carpet was lush and cool against her back, but none of that mattered. As she looked up at him she realized how much trust lay between them. He wouldn't hurt her. On some level he cared about her, always acting so gentle and considerate of her feelings.
"This is perfect," she whispered.
It was like a dream, one she had no desire to wake from. Hair tousled, his head dipped to her throat, kissing and teasing, while his warm hands slowly caressed her curves. She had no idea how badly sh
e needed this until it was actually happening, no idea how hungry her skin had been for any sort of affection.