The way he says my name makes my stomach flip.
“I’m just busy,” I say.
“You’re running.”
“I’m not?—”
“I dream about you, Ledger,” I say. The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Every night. I dream about chapels and dancing and you calling me princess. I dream about your hands on me and your mouth on mine. It’s driving me crazy because I know it happened. I know we got married and spent the night together, and all of it was real. But I only remember pieces, and it’s not enough. It’s never enough.”
He takes another step closer. “What would be enough?”
“I don’t know. Maybe if I could actually remember instead of just dreaming about it.”
“Then let me help you remember.” His hand comes up to cup my face. “Let me show you.”
“How?”
“Like this.”
He kisses me, and I’m lost.
The kiss is claiming, sure, and exactly what I’ve been craving since Chicago. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and his arms wrap around me, holding me against him. He tastes like whiskey and something darker. Something that makes me dizzy.
His hands slide down to my waist, then my hips, pulling me flush against him. I can feel how much he wants this.
“Ledger,” I gasp against his mouth.
“Say it again.”
“Ledger.”
He groans and walks me backward until I hit his desk.
He lifts me onto the desk, stepping between my legs, and I’m already reaching for his shirt. My hands shake as I work the buttons open, revealing the tattoos I saw that first day in the conference room. Dark ink swirling across his chest, disappearing beneath the fabric.
He pulls my blouse over my head, and his mouth finds my collarbone, my shoulder, the swell of my breasts above my bra.
His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher, and suddenly I’m remembering.
Flashes. Fragments becoming whole.
His hands doing this exact thing in a hotel room in Vegas. The way he touched me. The way he kissed down my body, taking his time.
More memories surface. The chapel with Elvis and terrible decor and laughter that wouldn’t stop.
He unhooks my bra, and I remember him doing this before.
“Ledger, it’s all coming back.”
The second the words leave my lips, the air between us detonates. Ledger’s shirt is half-open already, and I can’t wait another second. I stretch, crashing my mouth to his, and my fingers find the remaining buttons.
One by one, I slip them free while our tongues tangle, the soft pop of each button a quiet promise against the storm of our breathing. His belt is next; I tug the leather loose with a low hiss, the buckle cool against my knuckles as I press closer, swallowing his groan.
My skirt remains bunched up, high and useless. My panties, soaked through, snag on his thumb; the lace tears with a soft, wet rip that shoots straight to my core.
Cool air kisses me, then his hand, hot and sure. He spins me so fast my palms slap the desk.
Behind me, Ledger drops to his knees. His hands grip my hips, thumbs digging into the crease where thigh meets ass, and then his fingers are on me, there, no warning, no mercy.
