Текст книги "Release Me"
Автор книги: Ann Marie Walker
Соавторы: Amy K. Rogers
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Chapter Twenty-five
Allie had never been to Venice. Rome, Milan, even Florence, but never to the waterfront municipality commonly referred to as the “floating city.” She loved the idea of visiting what was arguably one of Europe’s most romantic locations for the first time with the man she loved. Which was why she was so disappointed when they spent the majority of their one day in Venice sleeping off their jet lag.
Most travelers tried to sleep on the plane during their overnight flights, arriving the next morning well rested and acclimated to the time zone. But other than her one brief nap, there’d been no sleep aboard Hudson’s jet. Not that she was complaining. A smile curved her lips as she thought of their transatlantic flight and almost involuntarily she sought him out across the hotel lobby.
He was standing at the front desk speaking to the concierge. His back was to her, affording her the opportunity to admire his very fine, denim-clad backside. As smoking hot as Hudson Chase looked in a suit, there was just something about the way the man wore a pair of jeans that had her shifting in her chair.
As if hearing her wayward thoughts, Hudson turned. Judging by his expression, it was quite possible he had read her mind. That or he’d merely caught her checking out his ass. She watched him as he sauntered across the marble floor, marveling at how he managed to make even a simple pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater look so fucking sexy.
“You have that look on your face,” he said, his blue eyes lit with amusement.
“Which look is that?”
“The one that says you’d like me to check us back into the hotel.”
Allie blushed. “Tempting. But we’d miss our train.”
“Ready to go?”
She stood, gathered her purse and coat, and smiled. “Lead the way.”
Hudson placed his hand on the small of her back. But instead of guiding her to the front door of the hotel, where she’d half expected to find Max and an Italian security team waiting with an armored car, Hudson led her to the rear entrance.
“Aren’t we headed to the station?” Allie asked as they stepped out into the crisp morning air. The temperature hovered just under fifty degrees, but in the sun it felt much warmer.
“I thought we could take the canal.” He gestured toward a gondola waiting alongside the hotel’s dock. “Couldn’t have you leave Venice without experiencing their most famous form of transportation. I’m afraid it’s not as romantic as it would be at night, but—”
“It’s perfect.” Allie launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace.
Hudson steadied them and laughed. “I take it this was a good idea, then?”
She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “It was a great idea. Thank you.”
His gaze softened. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispered. Then his mouth slanted over hers, kissing her long and slow and deep. Her arms tightened around his neck, holding him to her as their tongues stroked and their breaths quickened. His hand slipped inside her jacket and she felt the weight of his palm pressing against her back. She arched into him, wishing she could feel his bare skin against hers and wondering if it was too late to explore the idea of checking back into the hotel.
Behind her someone discreetly cleared his throat. Allie turned to find their gondolier gesturing to the boat. He was dressed in the traditional uniform of black pants, a black-and-white striped shirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat with a red ribbon tied around the middle.
“Scusi, but the stazione,” he said in a mix of English and Italian.
Hudson glanced at his watch. “Grazie,” he thanked the gondolier, then to Allie he whispered, “We’ll continue this on the train.”
Warmth spread through her body at the silky, sensual tone of his voice. “I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Chase.”
His answering grin was almost boyish as he climbed gracefully onto the rocking boat. He held his hand out to Allie and she grasped it, somehow managing to climb into the gondola without tumbling into the canal.
“What about our luggage?” she asked as they settled onto a bench that was fashioned to look like a tufted red-velvet settee.
Hudson reached for the folded blanket on the table in front of them and draped it across their laps. “Max took it in the car. He’s meeting us at the station.”
Allie reared back to look at him. “No security? Aren’t you afraid ninja scuba divers might attack us?”
Hudson tried his best to hide his smile. “No, Alessandra, I’m not worried about ninja scuba divers. But we’re covered in the event that they do.” He nodded to the far side of the canal. Allie followed his gaze to a small motorboat driven by two rather imposing-looking men in dark jackets and aviator glasses.
She rolled her eyes. “I feel like I’m in a Bourne movie.”
Hudson chuckled. “Just enjoy the ride.” He wrapped his arm around Allie’s shoulders and pulled her tight against his chest as the gondolier took his place at the rear of the boat. With a smooth stroke of his oar, they began to glide forward through the water. He steered them effortlessly through the winding waterway, past hundreds of pastel buildings dating back as far as the fourteenth century, until they reached the terminal.
The Venezia Santa Lucia sat at the foot of the Grand Canal and served as the main train station in Venice. It was a modern building made of concrete and glass, which made it look more than a little out of place among the grand palazzos and hotels. Outside, dozens of people crisscrossed through the courtyard, and even from the dock Allie could see the large crowds milling about the expansive terminal. But once they reached the platform it was though she and Hudson had taken a step back in time.
With its restored 1920s vintage cars, the mere sight of the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express conjured images of the elegance, sophistication, and romance of a bygone era. The carriages themselves were nothing short of a rolling work of art. Painted a gleaming midnight blue, they were trimmed in gold and capped with a snowy white roof.
A row of stewards dressed in a livery of white jackets and gloves stood in a line alongside the train. As they approached, one stepped forward and greeted them by name.
“Mr. Chase, Miss Sinclair.” He bent slightly at the waist. “Welcome to the Orient Express. My name is Andrew and I will be your steward for the duration of your journey,” he said in a refined British accent. “Should you require anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
Allie smiled. “Thank you, Andrew.”
“We’ll be departing precisely at 10:57, where upon our chefs will preside over a three-course lunch in our Etoile du Nord dining car. If you’d like to go ahead and get a table, I can wait for your driver to arrive and see to it that your bags are delivered to your cabin suite.”
Hudson thanked the man with a generous tip before helping Allie up the steps of the dining car. The interior of the world’s best-known luxury train was a heady mix of prewar glamour. Varnished marquetry panels lined the walls of the car along with antique light fixtures and tapestry drapes. Along each side sat tables covered in starched white linen and surrounded by dark green velvet chairs. The crystal goblets sparkled in the late morning sun, and the silver was polished to a high shine. Everything was ready to whisk one hundred travelers on a mystical journey through the Italian Dolomites and the Swiss Alps.
Once the train pulled out of the station, Allie and Hudson enjoyed a leisurely lunch for two, gazing at each other more than the Italian countryside. Andrew appeared shortly after the waiter served dessert to inform them the train was about to arrive at their first destination. Allie was grinning from ear to ear by the time he finished talking.
“I assume Verona is a city you’d like to tour?” Hudson asked when they were alone.
“I’d love to visit Casa di Giulietta.”
“Ah yes, Juliet’s house,” he said, referring to the home where the Cappelletti family is said to have lived.
“I know they might have only been figments of Shakespeare’s imagination, but—”
“But never underestimate the power of storytelling,” Hudson said, finishing her thought.
Allie nodded. “Exactly. So can we go?” Excitement bubbled up inside her. She was practically bouncing in her seat as she waited for his reply.
“I was thinking we could spend the time in our cabin, perhaps pick up where we left off at the hotel.” He smiled at her indulgently. “But if you have your heart set on Juliet’s balcony, Verona it is.”
***
The driver dropped them at the Piazza delle Erbe, where they wandered the cobblestone streets eating gelato and browsing the various vendors selling everything from jewelry to soccer jerseys. Max was never far behind, although he followed at a discreet distance. Allie still thought the security unnecessary, but Max’s constant presence brought her comfort of a different kind since she knew his watchful eye allowed Hudson to relax and enjoy himself.
When they reached the center of the square they stopped in front of a marble fountain so Allie could consult her guidebook. “It says we should look for the graffiti-covered sign post.”
Hudson read over Allie’s shoulder. “It also says that Shakespeare never even visited Verona.” He lifted the book out of her hands and continued reading while following her through the crowded streets. “And that the balcony was added by the local government in the 1930s to increase tourism.”
“Shhh,” she shushed him, ignoring his dose of reality. Because while it was true that Romeo and Juliet were likely nothing more than fictional characters, what Hudson failed to understand was that their actual existence was inconsequential. The thousands of tourists who flocked to the thirteenth-century home each year came not to stand on the actual balcony where Juliet caught Romeo’s eye, but to experience, even for a moment, what that balcony represented.
Allie rocked on her tiptoes, scanning the alleys and passageways until she found what she was looking for. A smile stretched across her face. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Hudson’s hand and leading him to a stone archway. A plaque with one of Shakespeare’s most famous quotes hung above them while in front of them stretched a long, dark tunnel covered with thousands of small scraps of paper.
“What’s with all the notes?” Hudson asked.
“They’re love letters. Legend says that posting a letter to your true love on Juliet’s wall will make that love everlasting.” Allie slowly walked the length of the tunnel, stopping every so often to read a few of the messages. “It’s a shame people don’t write love letters anymore. All these emotions poured out onto paper. Imagine if they’d have sent them to the person instead of sticking them to a wall with . . .” She lifted the edge of a pale blue page and grimaced. “Chewing gum.”
From behind her, Hudson wrapped his arms around her waist. He dropped his lips to her ear. “Would you settle for a naughty text message?”
“Not quite Romeo and Juliet.” She laughed. “Then again, things didn’t work out so well for them.”
“Good point.” He tucked her under his arm as they strolled the rest of the tunnel. When they reached the brick and stone courtyard, Allie asked a woman to take their photo. She was quite sure Hudson found posing for a photo in front of the legendary balcony on par with posing for a picture with Mickey Mouse, but he humored her nonetheless.
“What’s inside the house?” he asked.
“A museum, costumes and props from the Zeffirelli movie.” Allie started toward the house. She’d only taken a few steps when she realized Hudson hadn’t followed. “Aren’t you coming inside?”
Hudson looked up from the guidebook. “If memory serves, the balcony is for Juliet. You go ahead. I’ll be over there.” He nodded to a bronze statue in the corner of the courtyard. A wicked gleam lit his eyes. “According to this book of yours, rubbing Juliet’s right breast brings good luck.”
“Might need to knock the other fifteen-year-olds out of the way first,” she teased.
“I’d rather rub your breast,” he said with a smirk. “But I didn’t think that was an option at the moment.”
Allie turned, laughing and shaking her head as she made her way inside the stone building. She moved quickly through the various exhibits, pausing only once to snap a photo of the platform bed used in the Academy Award–winning film. Her phone was still in her hand as she stepped out onto the balcony. The moment she did, it vibrated with an incoming text. Her heart swelled as she read Hudson’s words, artfully blended with those spoken by Romeo as he watched Juliet from the courtyard below.
What light through yonder window breaks. . . And in a glance, in the wake of a moment, you’ve seized my heart . . . Oh, it is my love.
Allie’s gaze lifted, searching the crowded courtyard for Hudson. She found him not standing in line to grope the breast of a bronze statue, but leaning against the entrance of the tunnel with his phone in his hand. The instant their eyes met she felt it, the connection that had vibrated between them since the day they’d first met. It had always been there, even when she’d tried her best to push it to the far corners of her mind. And Hudson felt it, too. It was evident in the way his eyes darkened when they raked her from head to toe, in the way his stance changed when she entered the room, or the way his lips parted when she touched his skin.
She clutched the phone to her chest and mouthed the words, “I love you.”
“Let’s go,” he mouthed back.
Allie couldn’t get downstairs fast enough.
Chapter Twenty-six
On the car ride back to the station, Hudson held Allie’s hand, running his thumb in circles across her skin. The contact, though small, was undeniably intimate. Each stroke of his thumb echoed through her core, torturing her with the promise of what was to come.
Biting her lip, she gazed up at him.
“You have that look again,” he murmured.
This time she knew exactly what look he was referring to, because this time it was intentional. “I want to kiss you,” she whispered back.
Hudson nuzzled the side of her face. “I intend to do a lot more than kiss you.” His tongue traced the shell of her ear and then his teeth nipped at the lobe. The sensation shot a sharp twinge of pleasure straight to her groin. “Come,” he said. “We’re here.”
In a matter of minutes they had boarded the train. Hudson moved briskly through the corridors, tugging Allie by the hand as she hurried to keep up. But when they reached their cabin, he stopped abruptly. Turning, he pushed her against the door, pinning her with his hips.
“I want you naked. Now,” he growled, before sealing his mouth over hers. Allie heard the jingle of keys behind her back. A moment later the door gave way and they tumbled into the suite, all hands and mouths and tongues.
A startled British accent greeted them. “Mr. Chase, Miss Sinclair.”
Allie and Hudson turned as one to find their steward bent over a small table, fussing with what appeared to be an already perfectly arranged setting of tea. “Afternoon tea is customarily served in the guest’s cabin. I assumed you’d be arriving shortly for departure, so I um, I took the liberty of . . .”
“It’s wonderful, Andrew,” Allie interrupted, trying to put the poor man out of his misery. When he looked up she gave him a reassuring smile. “And just what we need after dealing with those crowds.”
Hudson mumbled something under his breath, and although Allie couldn’t make out what he said, she had a pretty good idea as to the sentiment. The thought had her stifling a giggle.
Andrew straightened and smoothed his starched white jacket. “Cocktails will begin precisely at five o’clock in the bar car,” he began, reciting what was undoubtedly a well-rehearsed spiel. “After which a leisurely four-course dinner, prepared on board by our French chefs, will be served in the Côte d’Azur dining room.”
The description sounded lovely and was exactly what Allie had expected. But she was willing to bet Hudson had merely zeroed-in on the word “leisurely.” Her suspicion was confirmed when he blew out an exasperated breath as he moved to the adjoining cabin. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him adjust his jeans before running a frustrated hand back through his hair. He turned to his left and then to his right before opening a narrow door covered in lacquered marquetry. Behind it stood a small sink and oval mirror. “Where is the bathroom?” he asked.
“The lavatories are at the end of the corridor in the adjoining car,” Andrew replied.
Allie hadn’t given much thought to the restroom situation on a passenger train built in the 1920s. Judging by the look on Hudson’s face, neither had he. Until now.
“And the bed?” he asked with a frown. “Is that down the corridor as well?”
“No, sir.” The steward chuckled, obliviously thinking Hudson was making a joke. “While you and Miss Sinclair are enjoying our five-star restaurant, I will be busy transforming the seating area into a cozy bedroom.”
Allie tried to catch Hudson’s eye but he was too busy regarding the sink with a perplexed scrutiny.
“Thank you, Andrew. We’ll see you at dinner?” she said, hoping he’d take the hint and beat a hasty retreat. But instead he continued giving his rundown of the evening’s agenda.
“Dinner is formal, with black-tie optional but encouraged. The seatings are either in pairs or with another couple. If you have a preference, I can advise the maître d’.”
Hudson’s head snapped up. “We’ll be dining alone.” The look he gave him would have withered a lesser man, but Andrew took it in stride. It seemed the young steward was much better equipped to deal with frustrated CEOs than he was couples wrapped up in a passionate embrace.
Andrew pulled a small leather notebook from his pocket and made a notation before moving into the adjoining room. For the first time Allie noticed their suitcases, propped open on wooden stands. “If you’d like to join Miss Sinclair for tea, I’ll just finish the unpacking and see to any steaming or ironing.” He gestured for Hudson to step forward then reached for the pocket doors that divided the two rooms. “You won’t even know I’m here,” he said before sliding them closed.
But instead of joining Allie on the velvet sofa, Hudson stalked toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
With a rattle of the cabin door he was gone.
Allie leaned back against the seat with a heavy sigh. She raised her hand to the fringe edge of the tapestry curtain and pulled it back. Staring out the window at the passing countryside she wondered how her afternoon could have taken such a disappointing turn. Somehow over the course of the past thirty minutes, she’d gone from reading romantic texts on Juliet’s balcony to sitting alone in their cabin with a china tea set in front of her and a very thorough steward in the next room.
She knew Hudson was disappointed, but although Allie appreciated the gesture he made by planning this trip, details like the location of the bathroom were no more essential to her than the actual existence of Romeo and Juliet. Spending time together was all that mattered. Somehow she needed to show him that.
And she knew just the way to do it.
Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, Allie pulled out her phone and opened Hudson’s text. Calling upon her memories of high school English class, she typed a reply that, like his, blended Shakespeare’s words with her own.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Her phone buzzed with a reply.
I’m apparently back in college. The bathrooms are like a dormitory. But without showers.
No showers? Allie was suddenly very thankful they would be arriving in London the next day. But she chose to ignore this development and pressed on with her creative use of the Bard’s most famous play.
O, then dear saint, let lips do what hands do; And have my lips . . . around your cock.
A few moments passed before the little dots appeared to indicate he was typing.
That was a very naughty text, Alessandra. And if memory serves, not quite a literal translation.
Complaining, dear sir?
On the contrary, but it makes me want to do very dirty things to you. Particularly your mouth.
Like?
Allie felt her face heat as she began to read Hudson’s reply, and she about jumped out of her skin when Andrew knocked on the pocket door. “Yes,” she squeaked before clearing her throat.
“Your clothes for this evening are ready, Miss Sinclair,” he said through the frosted glass panel. “May I be of any further assistance?”
A slow smile curved her lips as an idea took form. “Actually yes, Andrew, there is something you can do for me. One second, please.” She typed a quick reply telling Hudson she would meet him in the lounge car in thirty minutes, then closed the text screen. “Andrew,” she called to him as she slid open the pocket doors. “Do you think you could find me another place to get ready?”
***
In the literature Allie had read earlier in the week, the Orient Express was often referred to as a museum on rails. It was a description that rang true for all of the vintage carriages, but even more so at the Orient Bar. The lounge, or bar car as it was referred to onboard, seemed to be stopped in time, suspended in the golden age of luxury rail travel. Guests in formal evening wear sipped drinks at round tables adorned with vases of fresh flowers while others gathered around a baby grand where a pianist wove classical music with nostalgic romance.
Allie stopped at the entrance to the car, smoothing the ivory gown that clung to her every curve. She’d been saving the low-cut Grecian-style dress for a special occasion, and right now she couldn’t think of any place she’d rather wear it. Her eyes roamed the carriage until she found Hudson, dressed in a Tom Ford tux and sitting at the bar at the rear of the car. His back was to her, but even that view of Hudson Chase was enough to cause her heart to race. Her gaze slid from his broad shoulders to his dark, wavy hair. The mere thought of how her hands would grasp that unruly mane later that night had her fingers flexing against her beaded clutch.
“May I bring you something, Mademoiselle?” a young waiter asked.
“No, thank you,” she said, her eyes locked on Hudson. “I see what I want.” She made her way through the crowd, weaving between the small tables until she stood behind him. “Excuse me. Is this seat taken?” She barely recognized the sound of her own voice, the perfect combination of innocent inquiry and breathless anticipation.
Hudson swiveled to face her and amusement lit his eyes. “Not at all.” He waved a hand toward the empty barstool. “Please, join me.” His gaze dropped as she crossed her legs, intentionally allowing the deep slit to expose her bare thigh. “Champagne?”
She smiled coyly. “I’d love some.”
Hudson caught the bartender’s eye. “A glass of Cristal for the lady.”
“So what brings you to the Orient Express?” she asked, continuing their game.
“Hmm.” He took a sip of scotch from an intricately cut crystal tumbler, the facets catching the light as he lifted it to his lips. “I intended a romantic getaway with the woman I love. But there seems to be a conspiracy in place to prevent that.”
Allie smiled. “Sounds like a very lucky woman. And something tells me she’s enjoying herself immensely. Besides, the night is young. And tomorrow is New Year’s Eve.”
“Indeed it is.”
The bartender set a flute of champagne in front of her on the polished wood bar. Allie took the glass and lifted it in the air. “To new beginnings.”
Hudson clinked his glass against hers. “To new beginnings,” he said, holding her gaze as she sipped the sparkling wine.
“So what are our plans for New Year’s Eve, anyways?”
“I had it in mind to surprise you, but I’m afraid you may be disappointed since you seemed intrigued by the possibility of kissing every damn person in Italy,” he said with a smirk.
Allie smiled over the rim of her glass. “You know I was just yanking your chain a bit.”
Hudson lifted a brow at her unintentional innuendo and Allie blushed from his unspoken reply.
“Tell me, please?”
“No need for the puppy eyes, Alessandra,” Hudson chuckled. “As if I could deny you anything.”
“I do not have puppy eyes.”
“Oh yes, you do.” He shook his head. “And God help me, it works very time.”
She took another sip of champagne. It was crisp and light, and the bubbles made her feel warm all over. “Well?”
“I’ve arranged for us to spend the night aboard a private yacht on the River Thames. We’ll watch the fireworks over London Bridge, then head below deck for the remainder of the evening.”
“A boat? I’m sensing a theme here. Planes, trains, and automobiles?”
“I believe we’ve already covered planes and automobiles . . .”
“So that just leaves trains,” she said, finishing his thought. The promise held in the look that passed between the two of them sent goose bumps racing across her skin.
“Mr. Chase, your table is ready,” the maître d’ said. They followed him to the Côte d’Azur Room, a luxurious dining car decorated with opaque glass panels designed by René Lalique. Either one of them could have suggested they cut the dinner short, or even skip it altogether. But the anticipation of the night to come combined with the knowledge that they not only had all night, but a lifetime of nights to come, was an intoxicating mix. So by silent agreement they remained at the table, savoring each other while enjoying a four-course meal of decadent food, fine wine, and lingering glances. Hudson’s every move, from the way he stroked the stem of his glass to the way he licked the wine from his lips, pulled Allie deeper under his spell. By the time dessert was served, the desire charging the air between them felt like a tangible force, enveloping them in a world where nothing else existed but the two of them, their longing, their need.
“Ready to go?” Hudson finally asked.
“Yes,” she breathed, barely able to speak in her overheated state.
Hudson stood and offered her his hand. He watched her intently, his eyes darkening as she placed her hand in his and rose from her seat. “That’s a lovely dress,” he said. “I believe I was remiss in mentioning that earlier.” His gaze raked over her, and she knew he was thinking about what she looked like beneath that dress, her nipples pebbled and taut, her sex slick and ready.
“Thank you.” She stepped closer, her body shielding her hand as it slipped between them. Hudson went from semi-hard to granite in a matter of seconds.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Find something you like?” he asked. His voice was husky and low.
Allie leaned in so her lips brushed against his ear. “Something I’d like to have inside me,” she breathed. Her fingers curled around his length, and when he twitched against her palm, she couldn’t help but smile. She loved the effect she had on him, that he was as helpless to control his reaction to her as she was to him.
A low groan rumbled deep within his chest. “Let’s go,” he growled.
Wrapping his arm around her waist, he guided her through the train’s corridors until they reached the door to their cabin. Allie pressed herself against his back as he fumbled with the key, her hand reaching around to stroke him through his tuxedo pants. “Trouble with the lock?” she asked, not even bothering to stifle the giggle that bubbled up inside her.
Hudson gave a small laugh. “Perhaps if I wasn’t so distracted.” The sound of a lock unlatching was followed immediately by the creak of hinges as the door finally swung open. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he practically shouted.
Allie peered over Hudson’s shoulder. A promised, Andrew had indeed transformed the cabin into a cozy bedroom. The lamp on the small table had been left on, the fringed shade casting the room in a soft orange glow, and classical music was coming from what appeared to be an antique radio. Small chocolates had been left atop plumped feather pillows, and the luxurious linens had been turned down to entice the guests into bed. Only problem was, the accommodations consisted of two Pullman-style beds, one atop the other.
She followed him into the room and closed the door behind her.
“It’s fine,” she offered, attempting to head off the volcano that was no doubt about to erupt. “Authenticates the experience.”
Hudson met her reassuring smile with bewildered eyes. “It’s not fine, Allie. It’s anything but fine.” He shoved a frustrated hand through his hair. “This was supposed to be a romantic train ride through Europe and I’ve hardly had two minutes alone with you. Tea and tours and goddamn seating charts. And look at this place.” He flung his arms out wide. “It’s bad enough I have to go to the next car to take a piss, but fucking bunk beds?”
He yanked his bow tie loose as he made his way into the adjoining room, bumping into the luggage stand on his way to the makeshift sink and cursing under his breath.
“Who says we need a bed,” she murmured.
The seductive, breathy tone of her voice stopped Hudson in his tracks. He turned and his eyes followed her hands as she slowly lowered the zipper on the side of her dress. She peeled the fabric off her shoulder and down her arm so that it slipped from her body and pooled at her feet in a cloud of ivory silk. Beneath the gown she wore an ivory brocade corset and matching lace thong.
Hudson’s lips parted on a sharp intake of air as she stepped out of the dress. His hungry gaze traveled over every inch of her body, but he said nothing. He just watched her, his eyes dark with desire. Being like this for him, trussed up in ribbon and lace and sky-high heels while he stood there fully clothed, made her feel sexy and wanton and utterly his. Just thinking about how it would feel when he finally took her had her pressing her thighs together in an effort to relieve the pulsing ache between her legs.
“I take it you approve?” she whispered, though she already knew the answer. He was hard, his arousal a visible ridge against his fly.
His fiery gaze met hers and he nodded slowly. “Don’t stop.”
Allie’s heart pounded as she untied the ribbon that crisscrossed over the front of the corset. With a smooth tug the ribbon slid through the loops one at time until the fabric finally fell away. Hudson’s eyes flared at the sight of her hardened nipples and his tongue darted out to lick his lips.
