Blocking her exit with his body, he pushed a button as the doors closed.
“Wait. What are you doing?”
He waited for the elevator to climb a few floors before stopping it and disabling the alarm so that it couldn’t sound. His job had its benefits.
“Stop!” She realized what he was doing, but it was too late. Not that she could have stopped him. “What is this about? Why are you keeping me here like this?”
“I wanted a little privacy, but if you’d rather, we can talk about this in your room—unless you rented it by the hour. What was it, 6307?”
He remembered too well she liked to meet in hotel rooms. They’d done it themselves when they’d first started dating. He’d teased her that she liked the illicitness of it. The tawdriness. She’d said it was to protect their privacy—a believable explanation with their respective jobs—but the blush on her cheeks had made him wonder.
She blanched at the recitation of the room number but recovered quickly. “I don’t know what you thought you saw, but this has nothing to do with you.”
“You’re right. Does the ambassador know you’re screwing around on him?”
He’d closed the distance between them without realizing it, until her chest started to heave against his and he realized everything in a hot pull of lust fueled by anger. Anger that felt as fresh as it had three years ago.
“I’m not screwing around on him,” she said through gritted teeth.
She was angry. Maybe just as angry as he was.
But Colt wasn’t listening. “I almost feel sorry for him,” he said, backing her up against the handrail. “Although I’m not surprised he couldn’t satisfy you. Does he know what a naughty girl you are yet, or does he still think you are as prim and proper as you look?”
She tried to push him back, but his arms were pinning her on either side of the brass handrail that circled the elevator. If looks could kill, he’d be lying in a pool of blood. “You’re a bastard, Colt. You’ve always been a bastard. A vile, crude, cruel-hearted bastard.”
“And you’ve always been hot for it. Even now I can see it on your face. You’re turned on. You like it a little rough. A little dirty. That’s why you wanted me.”
Years ago she would have denied it. She would have said she wanted him because she loved him. She didn’t saythat now. She stood there, eyes blazing, cheeks hot, heartbeat pounding, not saying a damned thing. Angry, turned on, but yet oddly detached in all the ways that mattered.
He didn’t like that at all. He wanted to get to her. To prick beneath that haughty facade the way he’d always done.
He bent his mouth closer, grazing the soft strands of her hair as his lips swept over the even softer velvet of her flushed skin. “Does he know how you like to be sucked?” he whispered, his lips hovering close to her ear. The shiver that racked her body only egged him on. “Does he know how to make you cry out with the flick of a tongue between your legs?”
She sucked in her breath in a gasp that was more of pleasure than of shock, and Colt found his body responding.
Fuck that. His body had been responding since that elevator door had closed behind them and he’d caught the scent of that damned perfume.
He hated peonies.
But they fucking smelled like heaven. They smelled like sex. With her.
He wasn’t supposed to be getting turned on. He was supposed to be pissing her off. Outraging her. Angering her the way she’d done him.
But he’d miscalculated. His lips made full contact with the silky skin of her neck as her hands circled his head and brought their bodies together in a sizzle of raw heat. Like water hitting a pan of oil with a hard snap and a burning splatter. It almost hurt.
His hand skimmed down over the familiar slender hip and the firm, tight ass. “Does he know how much you like it from behind? How you like to be on your hands and knees when I ram into you?”
He could almost feel her opening for him. Feel her dampness as his rigid cock rubbed against her. It felt so fucking good. He wanted to groan at the contact.
Maybe he did. He didn’t know because his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her. Devouring her like a man who’d been starving for three years.
Longer than that. It had been a long time since they’d kissed with this kind of intensity.
His tongue was in her mouth, fighting with hers for dominance. For depth. For how much they could take of each other.
He was on fire. The elevator was on fire. It had become a sauna. A sensual den of erotic pleasure.
He was out of control, and she was meeting him stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust. But it wouldn’t be enough until he was inside her. Until he was pounding and she was grabbing and lifting and demanding more.
