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Authors: Kimberly Lang
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basically telling her to get lost, it was also
very
clear that he was interested in something else entirely …
Donovan cleared his throat and she snapped her eyes up, finding a focus spot on the wall above the headboard.
“If you’re going—go. Just lock the door behind you.”
Really, the only thing this lacked was him tossing cab fare at her. She didn’t know she could feel humiliated and irate at the same time. “There’s no need to be a complete ass about it.”
“You got what you wanted. Your curiosity has been appeased. And you don’t want to be too tired for that breakfast meeting.”
Donovan sounded downright annoyed about the whole thing. Which, coming from someone like him, seemed implausible enough to be amusing. The idea that she might have
offended
him was just … well, impossible.
Now she was standing here in Donovan’s bedroom, barefoot, her dress gaping at the front because it still wasn’t zipped, with a naked and
damn
pretty man who a few minutes ago had asked her to stay practically throwing her out onto the street while her legs were still wobbly from the most mind-blowing orgasm of her entire life. And she was ready to leave—
should
leave—but she didn’t really want to now.
Her life had turned into a farce. An X-rated farce.
Make a decision. Any decision. Do something other than just stand here
. Leaving was obviously the best option, but she hesitated. Why
shouldn’t
she take what he was offering? There were no strings attached: just a chance to relax and burn some sexual energy without anything being messy and complicated later. It seemed so simple, so easy … and so tempting.
She took a deep breath. “Actually, I’m kind of thirsty.”
Both of Donovan’s eyebrows went up.
“I’ll, um, call and reschedule that meeting.”
When Donovan didn’t move Lorelei wanted to die.She’d read the whole thing wrong. He’d been messing with her. She should have pried her feet off the floor, not gotten pulled into a conversation. Now she’d have to kill him.
Then Donovan held out a hand. Relief rushed through her—only to be quickly swamped by a wave of desire once she touched him and his fingers curled around hers. He pulled her the few steps toward him until she stood between his thighs. Without breaking eye contact, he moved his hands to the straps of her dress, sliding them down her arms until the dress puddled on the floor again.
His hands splayed over her hips, sliding down over the outside of her thighs, then up to her waist. Strong fingers traced her ribs, then her breasts and her collarbones. Hooded eyes followed the path of his hands in an inspection that should have left her blushing and feeling exposed, but left her sizzling silently instead. She felt powerful, sexy, worshiped.
When Donovan began to retrace his path with his lips, her muscles began to melt. She swayed and reached for his shoulders for support. When his tongue slipped into her navel, her knees buckled, and only his hands on her hips kept her on her feet.
Mercy
.
Curiosity killed the cat
.
But the cat would die happy.
A loud, embarrassing growl from her stomach had Donovan tossing her a Saints jersey that hung nearly to her knees and leading her down to the kitchen a couple of hours later. He produced a bottle of wine and poured her a large glass. “A drink. As promised.”
She laughed. “Finally.”
“Now for food …” Donovan opened the fridge door and stared inside.
Donovan’s house had barely registered in her brain when she’d arrived, but now she couldn’t help but notice. The bedroom had been gorgeous—sumptuous and relaxing, without being overdone or competing with the view from the balcony doors—and that sumptuous, tasteful feel extended through the rest of the house. The interior renovations were very modern, with clean lines and a masculine décor that complemented the exposed brick walls and high ceilings of the original architecture. So many people renovated the charm
very
clear that he was interested in something else entirely …
Donovan cleared his throat and she snapped her eyes up, finding a focus spot on the wall above the headboard.
“If you’re going—go. Just lock the door behind you.”
Really, the only thing this lacked was him tossing cab fare at her. She didn’t know she could feel humiliated and irate at the same time. “There’s no need to be a complete ass about it.”
“You got what you wanted. Your curiosity has been appeased. And you don’t want to be too tired for that breakfast meeting.”
Donovan sounded downright annoyed about the whole thing. Which, coming from someone like him, seemed implausible enough to be amusing. The idea that she might have
offended
him was just … well, impossible.
Now she was standing here in Donovan’s bedroom, barefoot, her dress gaping at the front because it still wasn’t zipped, with a naked and
damn
pretty man who a few minutes ago had asked her to stay practically throwing her out onto the street while her legs were still wobbly from the most mind-blowing orgasm of her entire life. And she was ready to leave—
should
leave—but she didn’t really want to now.
Her life had turned into a farce. An X-rated farce.
Make a decision. Any decision. Do something other than just stand here
. Leaving was obviously the best option, but she hesitated. Why
shouldn’t
she take what he was offering? There were no strings attached: just a chance to relax and burn some sexual energy without anything being messy and complicated later. It seemed so simple, so easy … and so tempting.
She took a deep breath. “Actually, I’m kind of thirsty.”
Both of Donovan’s eyebrows went up.
“I’ll, um, call and reschedule that meeting.”
When Donovan didn’t move Lorelei wanted to die.She’d read the whole thing wrong. He’d been messing with her. She should have pried her feet off the floor, not gotten pulled into a conversation. Now she’d have to kill him.
Then Donovan held out a hand. Relief rushed through her—only to be quickly swamped by a wave of desire once she touched him and his fingers curled around hers. He pulled her the few steps toward him until she stood between his thighs. Without breaking eye contact, he moved his hands to the straps of her dress, sliding them down her arms until the dress puddled on the floor again.
His hands splayed over her hips, sliding down over the outside of her thighs, then up to her waist. Strong fingers traced her ribs, then her breasts and her collarbones. Hooded eyes followed the path of his hands in an inspection that should have left her blushing and feeling exposed, but left her sizzling silently instead. She felt powerful, sexy, worshiped.
When Donovan began to retrace his path with his lips, her muscles began to melt. She swayed and reached for his shoulders for support. When his tongue slipped into her navel, her knees buckled, and only his hands on her hips kept her on her feet.
Mercy
.
Curiosity killed the cat
.
But the cat would die happy.
A loud, embarrassing growl from her stomach had Donovan tossing her a Saints jersey that hung nearly to her knees and leading her down to the kitchen a couple of hours later. He produced a bottle of wine and poured her a large glass. “A drink. As promised.”
She laughed. “Finally.”
“Now for food …” Donovan opened the fridge door and stared inside.
Donovan’s house had barely registered in her brain when she’d arrived, but now she couldn’t help but notice. The bedroom had been gorgeous—sumptuous and relaxing, without being overdone or competing with the view from the balcony doors—and that sumptuous, tasteful feel extended through the rest of the house. The interior renovations were very modern, with clean lines and a masculine décor that complemented the exposed brick walls and high ceilings of the original architecture. So many people renovated the charm
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