“I’m not saying this to pressure you. I just want you to know.” I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear,letting my fingers linger against her cheek. “You’re not just a piece of paper to me. You never were.”
She stares at me and parts her lips, and I watch the battle play out across her features. Logic versus desire. Caution versus want.
Want wins.
She grabs my tie and yanks me down to her. Our mouths meet, and this time there’s no holding back from either of us. I wrap my arms around her and pull her flush against my chest, kissing her the way I’ve wanted to all night.
She tastes like wine and tiramisu, and I’m already addicted. I walk her backward until her shoulders meet the door, cradling her face in my hands while she grips the lapels of my jacket. She makes that sound again, that little moan that drives me wild, and I kiss her harder.
This is a terrible idea. We both know it.
Neither of us stops.
Chapter 13 - Kirsten
I should stop this.
The thought flickers through my mind as Menlow pushes me against the penthouse door, his mouth hot on mine as his hands cradle my face. I should push him away, go to my room, and pretend this never happened.
Instead, I pull him closer.
He groans against my lips and fumbles for the door handle behind me. We stumble inside together, still kissing, and he kicks the door shut. The sound echoes through the dark foyer.
He walks me backward toward the hallway. “Do you want me to stop?”
I should say yes. I should be smart about this. But I know exactly how good he is in bed, and my body remembers every single detail from that night at the bar.
“No.”
That single word unleashes something in him. He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me down the hall. Not to my room. To his.
He lays me down on his bed with a gentleness that surprises me, then stands back to look at me. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.
“You’re overdressed.”
He laughs, low and warm, and reaches for his tie. I watch him unknot it with agonizing slowness, then toss it aside. His jacket follows. Then his shirt, button by button, revealing the chest I’ve been trying not to stare at for weeks.
God, he’s gorgeous. All lean muscle and smooth skin, with a light dusting of hair that trails down his stomach and disappears beneath his waistband. I want to trace that trail with my tongue.
He joins me on the bed and hovers over me, bracing himself on his forearms. “Your turn.”
I sit up enough for him to find the zipper at the back of my dress. He drags it down inch by inch, pressing his lips to each new patch of skin he exposes. My shoulder. My spine. The small of my back. Each kiss sends a shiver racing through me.
By the time he slides the dress off my shoulders, I’m trembling.
“Cold?” he asks.
“No.”
He smiles against my collarbone. “Good.”
The dress pools at my waist, and he eases it down over my hips, taking his time, making me feel every whisper of fabric against my skin. I lift my hips to help him, and he tosses the dress somewhere behind him.
Now I’m lying beneath him in nothing but my bra and underwear. He takes a moment just to look, and the hunger in his eyes makes my stomach flip.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he admits. “About you. Every night since the bar.”
“Just thinking?”
