“I had sex with my married boss.”
“I’m not that guy. And I’m definitely not married.” I reach for her with my other hand, slipping my fingers beneath her chin and lifting her face up. “And I don’t have any kids either. You can kiss this boss all you want.”’
She smiles in spite of it all, a beautiful, bright, and toothy smile unlike any I think I’ve ever seen her display. “I like you, Matthew DeLuca. A lot.”
“Enough to kiss me again?” I ask, my heart starting to pick up speed.
“We shouldn’t.”
“There are lots of things we shouldn’t do.” Leaning in, I hover just above her lips, feel her breath feathering across my own. “Sometimes we just have to do it anyway.”
Chapter Eleven
Bryn
HE KISSES ME after he says that. His mouth touches mine gently before he lifts away from me to flash a quick smile. He dips down and kisses me again, for real this time, with heat and tongue and little moans and rough groans. I lose myself in his taste, in the way he squeezes my fingers in his, how his fingers hold my chin and softly caress my skin.
Right here in a booth in the middle of a restaurant in the middle of Times Square, Matt kisses me like he means it. After he hears bits and pieces of my sordid story, it’s like it didn’t even affect him. Oh, he showed sympathy in all the right places—shock and horror and disgust—but never at me. It was like he understood what happened.
And kissed me anyway.
Someone clears their throat, and I spring away from Matt to find the waiter standing before our table, holding a tray with our plates on it and a smug smile on his face. Matt scoots away from me reluctantly, letting go of my hand as the waiter scoops up his appetizer, which he’d hardly eaten.
The salted caramel cake is set before me, and my mouth waters at the sight. It’s white cake with caramel sauce and berries sprinkled on top, the sticky sweet smell making me breathe deep, a little smile on my face. I glance over in Matt’s direction to see he’s watching me, his expression hungry, his massive steak sitting in front of him forgotten as he continues to watch me.
“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter says before he vacates, and I can’t help but think yes, indeed we’re going to enjoy our meal.
But what I’m really looking forward to is what we’re going to do after the meal.
I know Matt feels the same way.
“HAVE YOU SEEN my room?” Matt asks the moment he pulls me into the empty elevator, my hand clasped in his.
I slowly shake my head, loving how close I’m standing next to him. I can see the dark stubble dotting his cheeks, the scar just on the underside of his chin. He glances down at me, smudges of darkness just below his eyes show that he hasn’t been sleeping very well. Considering how busy he’s been lately, this doesn’t surprise me.
“I’m pretty sure we have identical rooms,” I say, hoping he realizes I’m teasing.
“Ah, mine is better. I can almost guarantee it.” He squeezes my hand and tugs me close, so I’m standing in front of him, my back to his front. Releasing his grip on my hand, he settles his big, warm palms on my shoulders and starts rubbing. “You’re tense.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s the one making me tense. All the sexual tension that’s swirled between us for the last few weeks and months—it’s overwhelmed me.
The elevator doors slide open and Matt gives me a push so I exit with him right behind me. We go to his room, and I wait with jumpy anticipation as he slides the keycard into the slot, the little light above the handle turning green. He opens the door, and I trail behind him inside, a shocked gasp escaping me when he turns and presses me against the door.
His hands rest at my waist as he pins me in place, his head dipping toward mine. Our mouths meet. I exhale against his lips, feel him smile before he takes the kiss deeper and then there’s no time for breathing or thinking or saying a word.
All I can do is savor. Savor the sensation of his mouth on mine, his fingers digging into the fabric of my dress, my skin. The cool metal of the door is shocking against my backside, paired with the pure heat radiating from Matt’s big body as he steps in so close to me, he’s all I can see and feel and smell. His tongue thrusts, his hands tug at the fabric of my dress, lifting, lifting, until I feel cool air on my thighs and realize he’s pulling my skirt up.
I tear my lips from his, desperate for us to slow down. My brain needs to catch up with my body before I do something really crazy and stupid. “I thought you were going to show me your room.”
Matt drifts his mouth down the length of my neck, covering it in hot, wet little kisses. I grow slick between my legs with just his mouth pressed against my neck, and I clutch at him for fear I might fall. “I thought you said your room is exactly like mine,” he whispers against my skin.
“I’d still like to see it.” I press at his shoulders, trying to get him to back off just a little without having to say it. I need the space. I like having him in my space but still . . .
I’m not real good at this sort of thing. As in, I don’t have a lot of experience. Especially with a man surely as experienced as Matthew DeLuca—in his previous life as a ballplayer, he must’ve had beautiful women constantly throwing themselves at him.
He lifts his head, his dark gaze meeting mine, and then he drops his hands from my waist as he steps away. “Come on, then. I’ll show you around.”