I'm completely and totally turned on, and I swear that if he spun me around and stripped me bare right then, I wouldn't blink at all.
I shouldn't want this. Shouldn't want his touch or the fantasy that this could lead somewhere. I should just play the role I'm supposed to play and move on.
But there's this craving inside me...
And that's really not a good thing.
His hand rises, the edge of his thumb brushing my nipple, and the wave of longing that cuts through me is so intense it's almost painful.
As Kelsey continues her dance in front of us, I step forward, breaking contact. Immediately, I breathe easier, but the sense of loss that washes over me is almost as overwhelming as the heat that lingers from his touch.
"Sugar?" His voice is low, barely audible above the music.
I turn and manage a smile, trying to seem unaffected. Even nonchalant. "I know you're supposed to be proving to the world that you have a girlfriend, but you still have to keep up the nice Iowa boy rep, right?"
A grin tugs at his mouth, and in that moment I'm certain that every one of my thoughts is completely transparent. "I think my reputation can handle it."
"Oh." I draw in a breath. "Right. It's just that we should probably go. Because it's already getting close to nine, and we have to get back to Venice, and I have to change before Blacklist, and--"
He cuts me off mid-babble by taking my hand. "You're right. Let's go."
We ease toward the exit as the music starts to build to a crescendo. And as it explodes--as I turn to see Kelsey slide into her final, sensual pose--Lyle squeezes my hand, meets my eyes, and says very simply, "Soon."
12
Christ, he wanted her.
Those photos. That music. That seriously hot dance.
It all combined to work on him like an elixir. A damned potent one, too, considering he was still hard, despite the fact that they were miles away, now speeding down the 10 in his Volvo as they headed toward the beach.
But while the show may have started the fire, it was Laine who turned it into a raging inferno. Laine, who'd somehow managed to work a spell on him.
Because it had to be magic. How else could he explain why he'd been unable to get her out of his head since the moment he'd met her? Or why all he could think about was touching her, losing himself in her?
Soon.
That's what he told her, and he wished that that he'd said now. Because at the moment, waiting was torture.
Lyle couldn't remember the last time a woman had gotten under his skin like this. For that matter, had a woman ever gotten to him this much? He didn't think so. Not even Jenny, who'd been his best friend and his first. He'd been a walking pile of hormones back then, but even that wild and woolly teenage lust had felt tame compared with the driving, demanding need that pounded through him now.
A need so intense he couldn't even wrap his head around it.
He wanted her--that was the long and short of it, though want seemed uniquely inadequate. Especially since he'd wanted each of the women Marjorie sent him. But that had been an entirely different kind of craving.
With them he'd wanted--needed--something like a drug. A quick fix.
With Laine, it wasn't about quick. Wasn't about the explosion.
It was about the journey, and he intended to savor every minute.
The back and forth of conversation and flirting. The slow seduction of caresses and kisses. And all of it--every touch, every caress, every moment--dedicated to her pleasure, not his.
He intended to see her writhe. Beg.
His goal was to spend the entire night taking her to the absolute heights of pleasure, and then holding her close as she cried out his name.
Damn, but he wanted it. Wanted her.