At Any Turn

I laughed. In my current state, that was the funniest shit in the world. “Actually, I am.”

She raised her hand to get the bartender’s attention and I pulled her arm down. “You’re done unless you’re planning on redecorating his bar with your puke.”

She looked green at that moment—and pale. “Oh God, maybe you’re right.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Maybe you’re right.”

“Huh?” I said again, putting my hand up to my ear with a smile.

She caught on to me. “You’re enjoying me saying that to you too much.”

“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it. I’m always right.” I laughed.

“Fuck you,” she said, giving my arm a playful push.

“Yes, please,” I muttered as I waved the bartender over and settled both our tabs. “I think it’s time for you to call it a night.”

She grimaced at me. “It’s a night.”

I rolled my eyes. “Funny.”

She slipped off her stool and wobbled on those ridiculous heels. “Where the hell did you get those?” I said, steadying her arm. She didn’t pull away this time.

“Alex picked them out for me.”

I laughed. “That figures.”

She wobbled again and looked up at me. “Aw, fuck it.” She kicked them off, opting to go barefoot, and bent over to grab them. When she straightened suddenly, she almost tipped over. I grabbed her and pulled her to me again, when she fell back against me, we both wobbled.

“I don’t think it’s just the shoes,” I said.

She glanced at me sidelong. “Maybe not.”

When we got to the elevator, I asked, “Where’s your room?”

“Third floor…um, 309 or 903 or something.”

“Probably 309.”

“Yeah, no penthouse suite for me.”

“Me either,” I said with a grin. Okay, it was a suite, but not the penthouse.

“Let’s go to yours,” she said. “I have a roommate.”

I’m sorry to say that the suggestion in her invitation sent all my blood rushing straight to my cock. I wish I could claim that lack of blood circulation to my brain had impaired my judgment. But it probably was more like I was thinking with the head below the belt instead of the normal one.

She was drunk. I wasn’t much better and we shouldn’t have been doing anything. All of these things ran through my head in the split seconds between the elevator doors opening and my pressing the button for the eighth floor—my floor.

She was on me the minute the doors closed. Her mouth on mine, her breasts pressed against my chest. She tasted like tequila and lime. I buried my tongue in her mouth, let her push me against the wall as she hooked her hands around my neck and ground her pelvis against mine.

“Fuck yeah, do you look amazing in a kilt,” she breathed. “What do you have under there?”

I sent her a wicked smile. “The usual things.”

She kissed me again, murmuring against my mouth. “You’ve been hard all night,” she said. “I felt it when we were dancing.”

I closed my eyes, enjoyed the pressure of her hips against mine. “Yes,” I said. I could barely get it out. I was so turned on it was difficult to talk.

I hoped to God it was me she really wanted and she wouldn’t have been in this elevator with Richard-Dick or anyone else who might have tried to get with her tonight. The thought pissed me off again.

“Has it been a long time?” she said, looking up to trap my gaze in the tangled web of her beautiful brown eyes.

I scowled at her. “You know exactly how long it’s been,” I said.

“Those interns in marketing are always talking about how hot you are. How they wish they could climb on for a ride.”

I laughed. “Hmm. That’s not really news. They aren’t subtle.”

“You haven’t been tempted?”

“What about you, dancing with that idiot’s hands all over your ass? I could ask you the same thing.” A strange fist of emotion closed around the base of my throat. I was angry, frustrated, confused and completely filled with lust. My arms tightened possessively around her. She frowned, but before she could say anything, the doors to the eighth floor opened.

We fumbled our way out—Emilia dropped a shoe at one point and thought it was the funniest thing ever. I bent to scoop it up, almost tipping over myself and we finally stumbled to my suite.

I stood by the door, trying to clear my head for a moment while she dropped her shoes and moved deeper into the room. It wasn’t a penthouse suite, but it wasn’t bad. I’d stayed in better places, but then I hadn’t spent much time up here during the convention—nor had I planned to bring anyone back to my room with me. It had a sitting room, a conference table, a couple widescreen TVs. The bedroom was on the other side of the suite, separated by a set of double doors, which were now open.