Read Online Rich Bitch: Everything's Going to the Dogs by Nancy Warren - Free Book Online
Authors: Nancy Warren
Tags: Suspense, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, romantic suspense, Mystery & Suspense
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that?”
“Come on and I’ll show you.” He didn’t say another word, simply took her wrist and pulled her along with him.
She could have pulled away; she could have said,
non, merci
. She could simply have stopped in her tracks. But she didn’t do any of those things. She acted as though her wrist was welded to his hand and she had no choice but to follow.
She was aware of everything about the moment: The way her short gown brushed her thighs as they walked, the comparative silence of New York in the middle of the night—the traffic sounds diminished to a rumble, a siren wailing somewhere. The feel of bare feet on hardwood, the cool night air on her arms, the heat in her wrist where Vince held her. She saw him dimly ahead of her, a big, forceful shape. Solid, reliable; a man a woman could turn to in a crisis.
A man who made a woman feel small and dainty and feminine.
They entered Vince’s bedroom. He kept walking until he reached the side of the bed, then without releasing her, pulled open the drawer on his bedside table. The gun made an unpleasant thunk as it landed inside, and she was glad when Vince slid the drawer shut on the thing.
He straightened and turned toward her then, and she felt every cell in her body snap to full alert. Dawn filtered smudgy light into the room, so the man standing before her seemed like solid shadow, dark and mysterious.
He took a moment simply to gaze down at her; then he raised his free hand and traced an eyebrow, as though it were the first feature he’d noticed. Next he touched her cheek, her lips, her chin, and suddenly her wrist was free as he brought one hand to her hip and the other slid from her chin, followed the line of her jaw, and slipped to cup the back of her neck.
There was probably an inch separating them, and she felt the back-and-forth current of desire pulling them inevitably together. His head came down slowly, and she raised her face to receive his kiss.
His lips touched hers—warm, and firm, and surprisingly gentle, and yet she felt the power within them, within him. His hands touched her lightly, but the echo of great strength was in the soft brush of his palm against her skin.
He held himself in check, and she liked him for it. She took pleasure from the banked promises in his quiet kiss and slow-moving hands.
She enjoyed American men with their cleanliness and crisp edges, but this one combined the earthy sensuality of the Frenchman. The best of both worlds, she thought as she sighed and molded her body to his, so they touched, her breasts to his chest, his erection rubbing at her belly.
He deepened the kiss, and she tasted the faint mint of his toothpaste, and the hot taste of aroused male.
He smelled of the Ivory soap she’d seen in his bathroom, of the herb shampoo she’d uncapped and sniffed when her curiosity about him had surfaced.
She heard him sigh, heard herself murmur some nonsense that wasn’t French or English, but a muddled mixture of the two.
He licked at her, toyed with her mouth, seemed happy to make up for the hours of sleep they’d both missed by spending as many hours again standing here kissing her while dawn tracked its slow way toward full day.
Vince seemed fascinated by every detail of her. Having kissed her mouth until a drumbeat of heavy desire built, thudding inside her with a steadily increasing tempo, he traced the muscles and bone of her back through the slippery silk of her nightgown. He cupped her hips in his big hands and explored her body through her clothing.
She ran her hands down the front of his body, letting her fingers slip through the coarse hair on his chest. She toyed with the bumps of nipple, hit the smooth warmth and surprisingly silky slide of skin below his rib cage, then slipped her hand into the waistband of his boxers to find him hot and oh, so very . .. She searched her English vocabulary for the correct word.
Enorme. Magnifique
. Imposing. Yes, she liked that word. A good English word.
“Come on and I’ll show you.” He didn’t say another word, simply took her wrist and pulled her along with him.
She could have pulled away; she could have said,
non, merci
. She could simply have stopped in her tracks. But she didn’t do any of those things. She acted as though her wrist was welded to his hand and she had no choice but to follow.
She was aware of everything about the moment: The way her short gown brushed her thighs as they walked, the comparative silence of New York in the middle of the night—the traffic sounds diminished to a rumble, a siren wailing somewhere. The feel of bare feet on hardwood, the cool night air on her arms, the heat in her wrist where Vince held her. She saw him dimly ahead of her, a big, forceful shape. Solid, reliable; a man a woman could turn to in a crisis.
A man who made a woman feel small and dainty and feminine.
They entered Vince’s bedroom. He kept walking until he reached the side of the bed, then without releasing her, pulled open the drawer on his bedside table. The gun made an unpleasant thunk as it landed inside, and she was glad when Vince slid the drawer shut on the thing.
He straightened and turned toward her then, and she felt every cell in her body snap to full alert. Dawn filtered smudgy light into the room, so the man standing before her seemed like solid shadow, dark and mysterious.
He took a moment simply to gaze down at her; then he raised his free hand and traced an eyebrow, as though it were the first feature he’d noticed. Next he touched her cheek, her lips, her chin, and suddenly her wrist was free as he brought one hand to her hip and the other slid from her chin, followed the line of her jaw, and slipped to cup the back of her neck.
There was probably an inch separating them, and she felt the back-and-forth current of desire pulling them inevitably together. His head came down slowly, and she raised her face to receive his kiss.
His lips touched hers—warm, and firm, and surprisingly gentle, and yet she felt the power within them, within him. His hands touched her lightly, but the echo of great strength was in the soft brush of his palm against her skin.
He held himself in check, and she liked him for it. She took pleasure from the banked promises in his quiet kiss and slow-moving hands.
She enjoyed American men with their cleanliness and crisp edges, but this one combined the earthy sensuality of the Frenchman. The best of both worlds, she thought as she sighed and molded her body to his, so they touched, her breasts to his chest, his erection rubbing at her belly.
He deepened the kiss, and she tasted the faint mint of his toothpaste, and the hot taste of aroused male.
He smelled of the Ivory soap she’d seen in his bathroom, of the herb shampoo she’d uncapped and sniffed when her curiosity about him had surfaced.
She heard him sigh, heard herself murmur some nonsense that wasn’t French or English, but a muddled mixture of the two.
He licked at her, toyed with her mouth, seemed happy to make up for the hours of sleep they’d both missed by spending as many hours again standing here kissing her while dawn tracked its slow way toward full day.
Vince seemed fascinated by every detail of her. Having kissed her mouth until a drumbeat of heavy desire built, thudding inside her with a steadily increasing tempo, he traced the muscles and bone of her back through the slippery silk of her nightgown. He cupped her hips in his big hands and explored her body through her clothing.
She ran her hands down the front of his body, letting her fingers slip through the coarse hair on his chest. She toyed with the bumps of nipple, hit the smooth warmth and surprisingly silky slide of skin below his rib cage, then slipped her hand into the waistband of his boxers to find him hot and oh, so very . .. She searched her English vocabulary for the correct word.
Enorme. Magnifique
. Imposing. Yes, she liked that word. A good English word.
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