“Or…you can help a girl out and head over there,” she points to a gap between buildings, leading to an area full of tourist crap, “and grab me a pair of their finest plastic slippers. Preferably, the ones with ice cream cones on them.”
“Jackie Rawlings would never,” I tease, already sliding my arm beneath her knees.
She squeals as I stand. “Are you seriously doing this?”
“Come on. It’s not far.”
I look over my shoulder at the guards on duty. They’re more neutral than the beige swatches at Home Depot. I take the lack of broken hands as permission to carry on.
“Quit squirming,” I mutter, though feeling her pressed against me is the best kind of torture.
“You’re insane,” she huffs.
“To be determined.”
Her arms loop around my neck, fingers threading into the hair at my nape, nails grazing my scalp.
“If you keep doing that,” I warn, “this short trip will take an indecent sharp turn.”
Jackie stretches up, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Do you promise?”
I swallow the need to answer with more than words.
In the green and gray stone foyer, my heart pounds against my ribcage, louder than the silence once the heavy front door closed behind us and everyone else scattered to their posts.
“You can put me down.”
I don’t want to. I want to hold her warmth a little longer, catch her scent on my shirt.
Even if it’s the last thing I want to do, I lower her slowly, her body sliding against me until her feet touch the floor, and my hands stay glued to her waist. Now that I’m touching her again, I’m not ready to let go. Not yet.
“Thank you for tonight.”
The chandelier light plays in her blue eyes and dances across the golden ornaments around the columns.
I crouch to unstrap the other sandal, taking my time. As I hook my palm behind her calf to lift her foot and slide it off, a rush of veneration washes over me. I’ve never been on my knees for someone else like this.
I look up, and her lips part just slightly.
My muddled state of mind should be enough to send me back to my room. Alone. But, yet again, the simple feel of her skin and the heat in her gaze make it impossible to let go.
“The night’s not over yet,” I say, voice gruff.
She tilts her head, curious and cautious. I can see the hunger in her gaze. She heads to the staircase without a word.
I’m pulled by that invisible thread. I realize now it never unwound, only tightened, coiling somewhere deep inside me, waiting for the moment she’d tug again. My body is taut, burning for her.
We pass through the carved wooden doors in silence, and head up the stairs, her steps muffled by the thick carpet.
I take in all the details of her silhouette. The beauty mark above her right elbow, the ends of her tousled blonde hair.
The delicate ankles as she takes each step barefoot.
And the way that light green fabric hugs her ass? Glorious.
Shadows play along the banister’s marble embroidery, bringing the statues and oil paintings to life.
When we reach our floor, we pass the silk wall panels, the same color as the lagoon, and stop between our bedroom doors.
