Skye laughed. “I guess it really doesn’t matter.” She glanced around the suite. “Neither of us is hurting for money.” She started to turn away, but he pulled her back into his arms.
“The thing that matters is there’s only one bedroom in this suite, and as soon as we get back to the room tonight, we’re going to make use of it.”
Skye flushed. Edge bent his head and softly kissed her, forcing himself not to linger. “Until then, we have work to do.” He eased away before his body took over and said to hell with waiting for tonight.
“What’s on the agenda?” Skye asked.
“After we get rid of Cross, we’re going to supper at the Four Winds. According to Zoe, Petrov’s practically a fixture. With luck, we’ll get a look at him, see what we’re up against. I checked the place out on Tripadvisor. It’s first class all the way. If you didn’t bring the right clothes, you can probably find something in one of the shops downstairs.”
“I’m fine. You said to come prepared.”
He smiled. “So I did.”
As evening approached, the expression on his face changed to one of awe as Skye walked into the living room. He had never seen her in a dress. With her leg injury and the brace she sometimes wore, pants were typically the best option.
Or so he had believed.
Tonight she wore a floor-length gown made of sleek bronze fabric that clung to her curves and gleamed like burnished gold. Thin spaghetti straps held up the front, which draped so low he could see the tempting swells of her breasts. She turned in a circle so he could see the back, which matched the front, draping almost to the crack in her perfect little ass.
He wanted to lock her in the suite, keep her all to himself, keep her from wearing that sexy dress in front of a roomful of randy men.
Edge silently cursed. He had no idea where the thought had come from and no right to think it. They were sleeping together, but there were no strings attached, nothing permanent, nothing that would last.
His insides tightened at the thought.
As Skye walked toward him, his gaze went to the knee-high slit in the right side of the dress that revealed a gold sandal, a trim ankle, and a portion of shapely feminine leg.
It occurred to him that he never thought of Skye’s scarred limb. It never entered his head. She was just Skye, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, one of the smartest, the sexiest, and by far the bravest.
She had swept her silky locks up in a twist, but wispy strands floated beside her ears, where long gold earrings dangled. The gleaming bronze gown set off the same rich highlights in her hair.
He was hard as a brick by the time she reached him, rested her hands on the lapels of the black, custom-tailored suit he was wearing with a black shirt and black tie. Leaning up, she settled her mouth very softly over his, and those damp, full lips set him on fire.
He caught her waist, pulled her in and deepened the kiss, let it go on as long as he dared, finally forced himself to pull away.
He ran a finger down her cheek. “I’m hanging on by a thread here. This stops right now, or we’re heading for the bedroom.”
Skye laughed. It was a sexy, crystalline sound he had never heard before. She was reclaiming her feminine power, he realized, finally understanding that her injury did nothing to blunt the sharp stab of sexual desire he felt for her, that any red-blooded male would feel for her.
“You look beautiful,” he said gruffly.
Sea-green eyes ran over him, from his freshly trimmed black hair to his polished black shoes. “You look amazing. That suit fits those wide shoulders of yours perfectly.”
He smiled, pleased by her approval, grateful for his mother’s sense of style and the manners she had drilled into him. “It should, for what I paid for it.”
Skye returned his smile. “I’ve never seen you this dressed up before.”
“Yeah? Maybe we should have done this sooner.” His gaze went to her breasts, getting a tantalizing glimpse of plump, satiny flesh, and his arousal strengthened. “Room service is beginning to sound a lot better than a night in a crowded restaurant.”
The laughter came again. Edge felt a sliver of sexual heat that tightened every muscle in his groin. He cleared his throat. “We need to leave.”Now. Before it’s too late.
The doorbell rang.Saved by the bell. He had completely forgotten his appointment with Cross. He flicked a glance at Skye. He had placed his backup weapon in a drawer in the entry table within easy reach, but after a quick check of the peephole to confirm who it was—dark brown suit, pale yellow shirt, spit-shined shoes, and perfectly styled brown hair—he relaxed and pulled open the door.
“Agent Cross. Right on time. Come on in.”
Cross walked into the suite with another man, taller, broader, African American. with very dark skin and intelligent black eyes.
“Edge Logan and Skye Delaney, this is Special Agent Oliver Jackson. As I said on the phone, we need a word with you.”
