Unravel MeBy: Tori St. Claire
“Oh?” The fantastically erotic husky way she addressed him had heat barreling through his veins.
“In exchange for anonymity, there are no masks behind closed doors.”
No masks… It took a moment, but the blatant suggestion that brimmed in her eyes settled around him fully. No boundaries. No need to keep up appropriate facades. No expectations on behaviors.
Sweet angels above, he’d died and gone to heaven. It was like she’d ripped a page right out of his personal book of fantasies. One night where he could let down everything. Sure, he’d had more than his fair share of memorable sex. But there were…rules of engagement. Certain delicacies that most women expected.
Yet this one, this strange combination of confidence and hesitation, didn’t want any of those expectations. She’d just given him a blank check and demanded he take it to the bank.
He dropped his hand to her wandering fingers, catching them a hairsbreadth from the swollen length of his cock. Bending his head toward hers, he brushed his lips across her cheek and whispered, “My hotel’s fifteen minutes away. I’ll call a cab.”
Her fingers laced with his. She turned her face to his, her mouth a breath away. God, how he wanted to taste her.
“I have a car. My house is closer.”
When he quirked an eyebrow, surprised by the invitation into her home, she pulled away with a light laugh. “And I have neighbors who will come to my rescue if I scream.”
Ah. Okay then. Brad grinned. The faster he could get his hands on her, the better.
Forcing himself to not leap to his feet, he slid out of his seat and motioned for the bartender. His heart beat a strangely uneven cadence as she rose and slid into her coat. He hadn’t been this keyed up since high school. But between the two martinis, the restaurant’s intimate atmosphere, and that damned jasmine perfume, all he could think about was sliding his hands over those never-ending legs and sampling those bare breasts with his mouth.
The bartender brought him his credit slips, and Brad quickly signed his name on one. The other he stuffed into his wallet. Fastening her hand in his, he escorted her from the bar toward the front door.
He had just cracked it open when the hostess called out, “Oh, wait!”
Biting back a mutter, Brad glanced over his shoulder to find the young woman hustling after them, a long-stemmed red rose in her hand. “You forgot this. It’s complimentary for our guests tonight.”
Brad glanced at the rose, hesitating for a moment before he accepted the blood-red bud. In thirty-five years, he had never once given a woman flowers, except his mother. Come to think of it, he’d made it a point to never put himself in a place where he’d had to acknowledge the holidays. He was devoutly single. Work demanded too much of his time, and frankly, he’d never really found domestic life appealing.
His date’s attention drifted to the flower. What the hell—there were always firsts. He passed the rose to his companion without production. One rose couldn’t harm much, considering he didn’t even know her name. It was about as romantic as those corny hearts drizzled across their dessert.
Her smile as she accepted the rose, however, nearly knocked him to his knees. His gut cinched, and his breath lodged like someone had wrapped steel bands around his ribs.
In that moment, he would have sold his soul for the price of her name.
As Cassie hit the remote to unlock her Cherokee and reached for the door, strong masculine fingers wrapped around her wrist. A gentle pull drew her to a halt, and she slowly turned to face her companion. His step forward forced her to take a step back. His body followed hers, and he braced one arm on the doorframe, caging her between hard planes of muscle and the cold unyielding steel of her vehicle. His body hovered near hers, his expensive suit pants barely brushing her knee. But oh how she felt his heat. It radiated into her, calling to her hands, begging her fingers to slide around his neck and draw him closer.
His darkly sensual expression sent chills rushing down to her toes. He bent closer, whispering his lips across her temple. “I’ll drive.”
Her breath caught audibly. Drawn to the temptation of his mouth, her chin tipped up. Her lips parted of their own accord. A bit of logic filtered through the sudden haze of sexual awareness that clouded the rest of her thoughts. “You don’t know where you’re going.”