Текст книги "Tall, Dark and Deadly"
Автор книги: Lisa Renee Jones
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 40 страниц)
Chapter Two
Dancing with Royce Walker, there was no denying the simple truth. He did it for her. And whatever it was, it had her body tingling and her blood pumping at lightning speed. She not only wanted this man, for once in her life she wanted more than the fantasy of being more like Julie. For once, for one night, she wanted to let go, she wanted to just let herself go where desire led her, where this man would take her.
His lips brushed her ear. “You smell amazing.”
Lauren’s lashes fluttered before she looked up at him. There was something so powerful, so provocative about this man. She liked to be in control, normally resisted giving control away, which was one of the reasons the courtroom appealed to her. There she was respected, in charge and without her father’s influence. Royce wouldn’t let her have control. She knew this instinctively, but somehow didn’t care. Royce’s power was all his own, not bought or jockeyed for, a lethal quality she found alluring and sexy. A power he owned naturally, like a second skin, that simply existed as he did. And she wasn’t going to let this night with him escape because of insecurity.
She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “You asked if you scare me.”
His gaze dropped to her lips, and lifted. “Actually, I asked if I was making you nervous, not scared.”
“Right. No. You don’t make me nervous. And you don’t scare me.” She allowed herself the freedom, the luxury, to run her hand discreetly across one of his broad shoulders and then down his arm, loving the feel of his muscles. It was bold for her to do so in public, at one of her father’s events, yet all she was thinking about was how every inch of this man was hard, male perfection. “But I think I might be scaring me.”
His hands tightened on her waist and his eyes narrowed. “Explain.” He pulled her a bit closer. “What’s wrong, Lauren?” He stopped dancing and just stared down at her with intense, probing eyes. “What are you telling me?” Desire spiked between them, and then lingered, a fine mist that seemed to travel over her entire body.
His reaction overwhelmed her, and sent a dash of uncertainty through her. What had made her think she could pull off the coy, flirty thing? She wasn’t Julie. She knew how to play the courtroom game. The bedroom variety was another story. “Nothing. I… It was silly. Forget I said anything.”
Abruptly, Royce took her hand and led her off the dance floor, forcing her to double-step to keep pace in high heels. Too quickly, before she could gain her wits back, Royce had her in a corner, where she leaned against the wall as he rested a shoulder next to her. He was so close and so big that she was successfully blocked from the view of the room.
Looking up at him, feeling a bit intimidated as he towered over her, and a lot nervous about his reaction to her words, she questioned him, “Royce?”
His voice was raspy when he spoke, his eyes so intense she felt they might burn her skin, his voice urgent, and oddly edgy. “What are you saying to me, Lauren? Is something scaring you? Is there something you need to tell—"
“No,” she said quickly, thinking again how terribly, horribly bad she was at seduction. The man now thought she was in some sort of danger. “I mean yes.” She’d gone this far, she wasn’t going to back down. Not when Royce Walker had her trapped in a small corner and she liked it so very, very much. Lauren reached out, forcing herself to act on her desire to touch him, flattening her hand on his deliciously perfect chest. Inhibitions be damned, she vowed. “I… want...”
“You want what?”
“You.” Oh my God, had she really just said that?
His eyes narrowed, his voice lowering an octave. “Are you saying that scares you?”
“In a good way,” she admitted softly, then louder, “In a good way.
Suddenly Julie’s voice broke into their exchange. “Sorry to break up the party, but it’s cake time, and everyone is looking for Lauren.”
Lauren could have screamed at her friend’s untimely interruption.
Royce seemed to agree, flicking a quick look over his shoulder and saying, rather than asking, “Give us one minute.”
Julie cleared her throat. “Hurry.” And then she was gone.
Royce fixed Lauren with a probing stare, his eyes roaming her face, searching, his expression giving away nothing. “You better go be with your father. We’ll talk afterwards.”
Her heart thundered in her chest, and real fear, the kind made of rejection, balled in her chest. No way was she going to wonder what he meant through the rest of the party. “There’s nothing to talk about. You want me or you don’t. Which is it, Royce?”
His reply came in actions, not words. He tipped his head down and brushed his lips across hers. The touch was brief, but somehow possessive and powerful, and a shiver of pure arousal charged down her spine and spread to other, much more intimate places.
“Oh, I want you,” he said, his voice whiskey rough, where it had been a cool breeze only moments before. “Which is exactly why we need to talk.”
Her stomach lurched. Not the ‘talk’ thing again. Why did they need to talk? Talking was what she wanted to avoid. She needed an escape, not an inquiry.
Royce surprised her and laughed. “Stop frowning.” He chucked her lightly on the chin. “Go celebrate with your father so we can get out of here.” His mouth was so near her ear, she felt the warmth of his breath. “Together, Lauren.”
***
Ten minutes later, Lauren was on stage in the front of the room, trying to focus on her father and the birthday gifts he was opening, not on Royce and what would come after the party. But truth be told, her father’s public persona meant far more to him than she did. Oh, he wanted her here, and he wanted her to run for office, but only because it was good for his image, for his politics, for that damn dynasty he, and his father before him who’d also been a politician, aspired to create. And because her political career would keep him in the spotlight without the pressure of holding office.
As usual, her stepmother Sharon stood quietly by his side, her long brown hair swept into an elegant knot at her neck, her exotic features carefully crafted into a mask of happiness and dedication. The press loved her. Her husband adored her for all the wrong reasons.
Sharon’s gaze rushed over Lauren and she moved towards her, her clingy light blue dress bringing to mind the word inappropriate. She was so tired of that word, but the truth was, Sharon was inappropriate. Sharon knew it too, and she knew Lauren knew it. It was her father who didn’t seem to see things clearly. Mr. Practical and Conservative looked the other way for a set of surgically enhanced breasts that made him feel vibrant and young.
“Lauren, dear,” Sharon drawled, stepping to her side. “You seem distracted.”
Lauren’s teeth ground together but she managed a nonchalant shrug. “You know how I feel about these events.”
Sharon cast her a reprimanding look. “This event, as you call it, is your father’s birthday party.”
Lauren fought the childish urge to roll her eyes, and with it, the pang of hurt inside her, a longing for the family she’d once had, and lost. “I’m going to suggest we have a backyard picnic or intimate dinner next year. You know, the normal things families do.”
Sharon smiled, smugness radiating off her like a second skin. “We’re not most families, and thank God for it.”
“Exactly my point,” Lauren mumbled and accepted a champagne flute from a waiter, feeling the hot stare of Royce without even looking at him. But she knew where he was in the far corner, leaning on the bar, waiting for her. She tipped her wrist back to drink and silently vowed that tonight was about indulging, about living a little.
“I see you received the watch,” Sharon said, glancing at Lauren’s wrist. “At least thank us for it.”
Lauren didn’t bother commenting. Sharon would never understand the difference between giving love and buying it. “Where is my dear brother Brad?” she asked instead, unable to stop the intended jab from slipping past her lips. She didn’t like Sharon’s son any more than she liked Sharon. He’d been eighteen and Lauren seventeen when her father had remarried, not three years after her mother’s cancer had shattered her world, and though they were siblings by marriage, his creepy flirtation had been almost instant. Now, seven years later, nothing had changed.
“Brad,” Sharon replied, “is off taking depositions in an important case for your father’s firm, and your father would expect nothing less. In case you forgot, he runs it now, after you refused the job.” Sharon's eyes darted toward Royce. “I see you have caught the eye of the oldest Walker brother. You should be more discreet.”
No, Lauren thought, downing the rest of her champagne. She was tired of discreet. Really darn tired of it and Sharon. She might have said as much, had Sharon stayed by her side one more second.
Lauren’s gaze immediately sought Royce’s and found it. He was watching her exchange with Sharon. He knew they’d fought, she realized. He was too attentive not to have noticed. And oddly, considering the man was a complete stranger, she had this sense that if she needed him, he was primed and ready to act, to be there for her. For a girl who normally valued her independence, Lauren was shocked to find that idea beyond sexy, while still dipping into the realm of being downright comforting. And for the first time all week, she let herself admit that she’d been feeling uneasy, like she needed to look over her shoulder, for no explainable reason. Correction, Lauren thought. No explainable reason besides the obvious that she was readying for a murder trial and dealing with her stepmother both in a two week span. If those two things didn’t deserve a dose of comfort Royce Walker style, she didn’t know what else did.
***
If Royce had ever seen a woman looking for escape, it was Lauren. She didn’t like the politics of her father’s world, nor most definitely the disposition of her stepmother. It was clear to him that Lauren was realizing that she had no real control that it all belonged to her father. She wanted out desperately yearning for freedom. He’d spent years as a hostage negotiator, seen how people dealt with the feeling of being trapped, of having all control stripped. So when Royce watched Lauren reach for yet another glass of champagne, he knew she was in trouble. He knew she never had more than one drink. He knew this from her profile. He knew a lot about Lauren that he’d venture to say she didn’t want him to know. Most importantly, he knew it was time to escort her home before she did something she’d regret in the morning.
He shoved off the bar, intending to go after her, when Lauren headed down the stairs, and began weaving or rather wobbling her way in his direction. In several long strides, Royce was in front of her, gently shackling her arms to steady her. Her hand went to her forehead, distress in her delicate features.
She looked at him with wide eyes. “Thanks. I think”
“You drank too much.” He kept his voice low, and then leaned down near her ear, and whispered. “Perhaps regretting the invitation you gave me earlier?”
He felt her shiver, and then watched defiance flash in her eyes. “No. I’m not.” She paused. “It’s not you. It’s me.” She let out a breath. “It’s my stepmother. It’s the party. It’s my… I’m rambling and I never ramble but I’m only a little bit tipsy. That doesn’t mean I don’t know what I am doing, though. I do.”
She might know what she was doing, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t regret her actions in the morning. He wasn’t in the habit of causing regret in women, and he wasn’t going to start with Lauren. The best thing he could do was get her home safely, and walk away. Lord, please give me the will to do that and nothing more. “Did you drive to the party?”
She shook her head. “I’m a sensible subway and taxi girl. I won’t pay to park a car I barely drive.”
“That leaves you with two options to get home. I can get you a taxi or I can drive you home.” He wanted her to say ‘taxi,’ for her sake, for his. But he couldn’t let that be her answer, not and do his job. He needed to be her ride, to get to her home, to get closer to her.
She didn’t blink, didn’t look away, her voice soft and raspy, and oh so sexy as she said, “You know I want you to take me home.”
The obvious reiteration of the earlier invitation he couldn’t accept no matter how much he wanted to punched him in the gut. “Consider me your ride then.”
A few minutes later, the two of them stood in the lobby of the hotel while a valet pulled his truck to the bottom of several flights of outdoor steps. He slipped his arm around her waist and they headed into an unseasonably cool April evening air. They managed to make it as far as the bottom of the first set of stairs on the terrace area, when they were suddenly swarmed by reporters. Cameras flashed and microphones were shoved in their direction.
“Ms. Reynolds, how do you feel about the Sheridan execution?”
“Ms. Reynolds, tell us about your new murder trial.”
“Ms. Reynolds, do you consider yourself a legal vigilante?”
“What is Senator Reynolds’ feeling on the death penalty?”
Lauren tried to hide from the flashes.
“Get back,” Royce ordered. “Leave her alone.” He bent close to Lauren’s ear. “Just keep walking, and stay close.”
Someone stuck a microphone in Royce’s face. “Who are you? Are you her date?”
They were only a few steps from his truck when something ice cold splattered all over them. Lauren jumped and screamed. Several reporters cursed. Royce didn’t take time to consider what had been thrown or if there was real danger. Instinct and training had taught him to assume the worst, and act.
He yanked the passenger door open and helped Lauren inside the vehicle. At that moment, an egg smacked into the panel beside him and Lauren gasped at the thump. “What was that?” she asked, leaning toward him. He eased her back into her seat.
“Stay inside,” was his only reply, before he shut her inside the vehicle.
The hair on the back of Royce’s neck lifted as he moved to the driver’s side, and climbed inside the cab. The FBI had taught him to never ignore his instincts, and his instincts were screaming of trouble where he might otherwise find only irritation.
He locked the doors and started the engine. “You okay?” he asked, glancing Lauren’s way as he maneuvered them onto the highway.
She ignored his question. “That was an egg that hit your truck, wasn’t it?”
“It’ll wash off.”
“We should go to a car wash before it destroys your paint job. I feel horrible about this, Royce.” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “You have no idea how much I want to wash the cobwebs from my brain right now, while we’re at it.”
“Hey,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. You don’t control what people do.”
“But I should have considered how I might put you in the line of fire. And I would have had I not stupidly drank too much champagne, which is not like me, by the way. I have a murder trial starting in two weeks, and when I juggle a high profile case, on top of the attention I get because of my father, it can get intense. I feel really, really horrible that I dragged you into my mess.”
“You said that already,” he said. “My truck will be fine. Stopping somewhere will only make us a target for ambitious reporters who might be following.” Or someone else who intended for them to stop, and intended to take advantage of the seclusion of a late night car wash stop.
“I’m willing to take the risk to save your truck.”
“I’m not and I have insurance for a reason.”
She hesitated and nodded, then touched her dress and smelled her fingers. “Champagne. I think someone threw champagne at us. Either that or I spilled it on myself and I’m more tipsy than I remember. But then, drunks don’t remember, now do they?”
“You’re not a drunk, and don’t put yourself down for relaxing a little. And yes, what was thrown on us was champagne, which is far better than getting hit with an egg.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I guess there’s that to cling to.” She hesitated, then, “Maybe it’s the tipsy part of this equation for me, but that scene back there rattled me way more than it normally would.” She shivered and hugged herself. “I’ve been around my share of creepy bad guys and I got that same feeling of malice rolling off the crowd.”
“It’s called a typical Friday night in Manhattan,” he said lightly, not about to tell her he’d felt it too, and because he wasn’t supposed to know where she lived, he added, “I need your address for the GPS.” She murmured a reply and he punched the information into the program. “Why don’t you rest your eyes until we get there?”
She nodded and slid down into the seat, a little too willing to do as he suggested from what he knew of her personality. She was rattled all right. She knew she was in trouble.
Chapter Three
Fifteen minutes later, Royce had paid the doorman a hefty tip to park his truck without hassle. Now on the fifth floor of the twenty-story Upper West Side residential building Lauren lived in, he waited while she fished a key out of the small beaded purse she’d gotten from the coat clerk back at the hotel. She produced a silver keychain which she proceeded to drop to the ground.
Royce scooped it up. “Let me,” he offered, and when she nodded, crossing her arms in front of her, he couldn’t help but notice how adorably nervous and vulnerable she appeared. He was being allowed to see what he doubted many had before him. This was a glimpse of what lay beneath the confident Assistant DA’s public persona, and it was so much more than what he gambled on. Lauren wasn’t a spoiled senator’s daughter, or even an arrogant public servant with too much power, as he imagined she might be. She was so much deeper, so much more than her beauty, and she didn’t even seem to recognize it.
He slipped the key into the lock and shoved open the door, flipping on a light and illuminating a marbled floor. He stepped back into the hallway to let Lauren enter, then followed her inside, shutting the door and locking it behind them. He took a step forward, noting the kitchen to his left, at the same time that Lauren said, “Royce,” and whirled around and right into him.
He closed his arms around her, righting her footing. “Easy, sweetheart. Big guys like me take up a lot of space.” He swiped a strand of hair from her eyes, fighting the rush of desire. “What were you going to say?”
“Kiss me,” she said, and pressed to her toes and melted her mouth against his.
His will to resist this woman, to make sure she was inside her apartment safely, and then leave, faded with the touch of their lips, damn near crumbling into ash when he felt her tongue press past his teeth. A low growl escaped his lips as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding around her back to mold her closer. There was innocence in the kiss, sexuality undiscovered, a trait so rare, so raw, so intimately just for him, that he knew nothing but need possessive, hot need.
Before Royce knew what he was doing, he had her pinned against the wall, his legs trapping hers, his body molding her close. He deepened the kiss, drinking her in, craving more of her, wanting more of her. And when she whimpered, there was no right or wrong. There was only the moment, the woman, the… cold gust of air coming from his right. He stilled, his ears registering the too evident sound of car horns coming from the street level.
Royce tore his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged, hers as well. “Is your window open, Lauren?”
Another loud horn sounded and she stiffened, her eyes going wide. “I never leave my window open.” Her brows dipped. “Is it broken?”
He pulled her into the kitchen. “Stay right here to be safe and let me check it out.”
She nodded. “Yes. Okay.” He started to turn and she grabbed his arm. “Be careful. I have a fire escape. It would be easy to crawl into my window.” She let him go and reached for her purse. “I’ll have my phone in hand in case there’s trouble.”
Royce was already rounding the corner by the time she finished the statement, making sure he was out of her sight when he pulled the gun from under his pant leg. He eased into the darkness of what appeared to be a living room, with a fireplace in the center of the wall directly in front of him which was framed by windows, one of which was open, a curtain fluttering wildly around it. No obvious sign of forced entry, but that didn’t mean anything.
He flipped on a light, taking in the huge, overstuffed blue couch and matching chairs with plush cushions that would be far too easy to turn into a bed. The image of slipping Lauren’s naked body beneath his on that very couch sent a wave of pure heat through his loins, his cock thickening uncomfortably against his zipper. Royce scrubbed his face and loosened his tie. Holy hell, he was in big trouble when he was holding a gun, and thinking of turning a living room into a bedroom, instead of who he might need to shoot with that gun.
With the dining room to his left, Royce could see Lauren staring at him over the bar from the kitchen.
She’d seen his gun so he stopped trying to hide it. He motioned to the only other room, which had to be her bedroom, warning her he was headed to her private space.
He entered the room and flipped on the lights, illuminating the elegant antique furnishings that included a large, too suggestive, sleigh bed. The now familiar scent of vanilla and honey flared in his nostrils, taunting him.
Quickly, he surveyed for an intruder, checking the closet, bathroom, and yes, under that damnable taunting bed. When he returned to the living area, he called out, “All clear,” and went to the window, using the curtain to shove it closed, intending to get finger prints later, if he decided the situation merited it.
She appeared at the end of the hallway, her lipstick smudged, her gorgeous green eyes wide with worry. Her gaze lowered to his weapon, then shifted to the curtain he’d pulled shut, dismissing his gun as if it were expected but then, she worked around law enforcement, so maybe it was to her. “Was my window open?”
“It was,” he confirmed and shoved his gun back into the holster at his calf. “But nothing’s out of order that I can see. Why don’t you take a look and be certain?”
She was already scanning and heading to the other room her bedroom where he wanted to follow her, but would not. He stayed by the window and waited until she returned, her shoes gone, and somehow that little detail made his cock twitch. It was as erotic as if she had taken off much more. This woman got to him; she got to him in a bad way.
“Did maintenance have a reason to be in here?” he asked, stopping near the doorway to the bedroom in case she needed him, or so he told himself.
“No,” she said returning to the living area, stopping just in front of him. “Well, sometimes they do fire alarm inspections. Maybe it was something like that. But they shouldn’t have left it open. I’m calling them tomorrow to tell them so, too.”
He smiled. She was such a contradiction. All sweet and shy, but also feisty as hell.
She cleared her throat. “Um well. So. I guess we are… safe.” She hesitated. “Can I get you something? A drink? Something to eat?”
You. I want you. “I should go,” he said. “Before we both do something you’ll regret tomorrow.”
She stared at him a moment, then crossed her arms in front of herself protectively, as he’d seen her do before, withdrawing into herself. “I understand,” she said. “Thank you for… everything. And I’m sorry for your truck. And the fact that your picture will probably be in tomorrow’s paper.”
He knew right then that she thought he didn’t want her. If he let her believe that, she’d never let him inside these walls, or hers, ever again. And for reasons he didn’t try to understand, that had nothing to do with why he’d sought her out tonight, he couldn’t live with that.
“I want you, Lauren,” he said, not allowing himself to think about what he was doing, about how she might read his actions when he confessed all to her. There were only the consequences of doing nothing, and those, he simply couldn’t live with. He stepped forward, closed the distance between them. He slid a hand to her cheek. “You have to know that by now.” He bent his head, brushed his lips with hers, a soft caress meant to seal his message, meant to be brief. Her arms uncurled, her hands settling on his chest, the touch searing him with the promise of more. She swayed toward him, her body seeming to melt into his. Suddenly, the brush of his mouth over hers turned to something more passionate, something he’d vowed to leash.
He started to pull back, he meant to pull back, but she moaned, soft and sexy, and he had to have another taste of her just one last taste and then he’d leave. He’d leave but she’d know he wanted her.
Somehow, he ended that one last kiss several kisses later, and before she could protest, he bent down and scooped her into his arms. This woman wasn’t just any woman. She was his duty and… more. She was more. He didn’t know why. He didn’t need to know why. He simply needed to do what was right. And though stripping her naked and burying himself deep inside her might sound pretty darn right it wasn’t, not now, not tonight. But later. Oh yeah, later, he was going to do that and so much more.
He crossed the room and sat down on the couch the same one he’d imagined her naked and beneath him on settling her back against the arm and backside across his lap. Over the thick ridge of his cock he had no hope of hiding.
“We need to talk,” he said, brushing ringlets of long auburn brown hair out of her eyes.
She blinked and shifted just enough to press her soft, round bottom a bit more directly against his erection. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me think. Don’t make me analyze or worry. For once, I just want to escape it all.”
He knew that feeling, knew it all too well. And he also knew it was dangerous; it drove exactly what he didn’t want regret. “Why tonight, Lauren? Why me?”
“I don’t want a politician, or someone my father would approve of, or someone who”
“I get it,” he said, cutting her off, stopping the rest of an answer that had come too fast, too easily, when he was tormented by this woman, by what he was feeling, by why her ‘be careful’ had tightened his chest.
“I’m your rebellion sex, the guy who isn’t good enough for you except when you want to get back at your father? Is that the deal here, Lauren?”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh, God, no. That’s not what I was saying.” She brushed her lips over his. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love that you’re everything I never allow myself to experience. You’re… ”
“What?” he asked, feeling a gnawing in his gut. “I’m what?”
“Everything I want to be and I’m afraid I might never be,” she whispered softly, her lashes lowering with the confession. Her emotion, and more of that delicate vulnerability she’d shown him earlier, washed over him, softening him. It hit Royce then just how much trust she’d given him by showing him this side of herself, by declaring her reasons for doing so. Trust he didn’t deserve, trust he was certain she would regret. Resolve formed inside him. He was destined to fail her, but that failure wasn’t going to be now. He wasn’t going to leave her believing she wasn’t gorgeous and desirable.
He scooted her off his lap and settled down on the floor in front of her, his hands sliding up Lauren’s calves, to her knees that she’d primly pressed together. The heady scent of her perfume, her home, her very feminine presence, seeped into his senses.
She stared down at him, a soft ‘doe in headlights’ look on her face. “Royce?” His name was a soft plea on her lips, filled with uncertainty. He’d confused her, sent her mixed messages, in his effort to do what was right.
He felt like a wolf, a hungry wolf who wanted to devour this woman, and there was no way that didn’t show in his eyes, no way the energy, the need he felt for her, didn’t radiate off of him.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, softly, calmly, when the rage of hormones inside him was anything but. He kissed her knees, one and then the other, reaffirming his decision to let her pleasure be his tonight. “And I’m going to show you how much I mean that.”
She swallowed hard, her delicate, kissable throat bobbing with the action. “I’m not sure I know what that means.”
He brushed her dress up her thighs. “You will,” he promised and kissed her delicate little knee again.
She laughed a nervously feminine sound. “I’m not sure I know what that means either.”
“You don’t need to know what it means,” he said, his fingers tracing the lace of her thigh high pantyhose, the sexy lingerie choice confirming what he’d always suspected. Lauren might be prim and proper on the outside, but there was a sensual woman beneath the exterior who wanted to come out and play and he wanted to be the man who she played with. He wanted to be that man tonight, but no matter how tempting that might be, tonight wasn’t the night. But he’d be damned if he’d allow her to doubt his desire for her, his absolute, complete attraction to her. “You just need to know how it feels.” His hands slipped inside her thighs, easing her legs apart, his lips trailing a path up one of them.
She moaned softly as his tongue traced the top of the lace hose and she slipped further back against the sofa. “Royce, I” His fingers slid over the damp black silk of her panties. She moaned again. “Oh.”
He slipped his finger beneath the fabric, the sweet sound of her pleasure spurring a hunger in him for more. He caressed the sensitive, swollen flesh, and explored the slick proof of her arousal. She moaned again and dug her fingers into the cushion, trying to sit up.
“Royce”
He moved to frame her body with his, his elbows hitting the cushion, his mouth above hers. “I’m going to take you to bed Lauren, but not for the reasons I want to. I’m going to take you to bed and put you to sleep.”
“What?” she gasped against his lips. “No. I don’t want… I”
He smothered her protest with his mouth, kissing her, deeply, passionately, then promising, “I’m going to put you to bed right after I make you come,” he assured, scooting down her body, his palms caressing her breasts, making her pant. He settled in front of her now closed knees, his fingers finding the lace of her panties under her dress. “You do want to come, don’t you?”
