Jesus, did she know what a delicious temptation she was? How he’d fought following after her that evening he’d let her walk out of his house? That had required strength he hadn’t realized he possessed. Doing it a second time...
No, she might feel certain here in this office, but she was still upset. Could feel very differently in the morning, hell, hours from now. Maybe after they talked this out, she would see—
She rose on her toes and crushed her mouth to his.
Oh fuck.
His control snapped.
Like a flash fire, the press of her lips to his poured gasoline over the lust that had been steadily simmering. He took possession of that sweet siren’s mouth, claiming it with a thrust of his tongue. Possessing it with a long, wet lick. Corrupting it with an erotic tangle and suck that left little to the imagination about what he wanted from her.
And he wanted it all. In this moment where the lines between platonic friendship and desire incinerated beneath his greedy mouth and her needy whimpers, he wanted everything she had to give him.
With an almost feral growl, he reached between them and grasped her wrists, tugging her arms behind her. He cuffed them with one hand and thrust the other into her hair, fisting the strands and jerking her head back for a deeper, dirtier kiss even as he pressed her curves flush against him. Her breasts, so soft, so full, pillowed against his chest and her belly welcomed his erection. His legs bracketed hers, and he shamelessly used the position to grind against her, letting her know without any question how much she affected him. How hard she made him.
Though he dominated her body, she wasn’t submissive to him. God no. Her mouth moved over his as if he were her first or last meal. Her teeth nipped at his lips, and he knew when this feasting ended, his lips would be as swollen as hers. She met him thrust for thrust, lick for lick, sweep for sweep. She was his equal.
No. He shuddered as she drew on his tongue, sucking. He was her supplicant. And he would do any goddamn thing for her as long as she didn’t stop.
The loud buzz of his intercom blared in the room like the blast of a horn, seconds before his assistant’s voice intruded. “Mr. Holloway, I’m sorry to interrupt. But you asked me to remind you about your two-o’clock meeting with the marketing team.”
Ezekiel stared down at Reagan, his chest heaving, his breath like a chain saw. Equal parts shock and grinding lust tore at him, and fuck, where had this need come from? How had it burned out of control so fast?
Anything that uncontrollable, that hot, that addictive wasn’t good. Not for him. Not when he needed to maintain that careful emotional distance. Not when she would possibly want more from him then he was able to give.
Yet...she’d come to him; she needed him. Maybe he couldn’t help her obtain her inheritance, but he could unconditionally support her, be that person she could finally lean on. Still rescuing her, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his brother whispered through his head. Possibly. Probably. But, she’d assured him she didn’t desire more than he was capable of offering, that she didn’t love him. Obviously, she craved him as much as he did her—that combustible kiss confirmed that. And, as she’d just stormed in here and told him, she made her own decisions, knew her own mind.
If she did, then they could go through with this marriage, maybe, once Douglas calmed down, still have a chance to obtain her inheritance and have scorching-hot sex, too. He could have her and when the time came, walk away.
Because there were no ifs about that. He would walk away. As she would.
Slowly releasing her, he returned to his desk. Planting a hand on the desk, he looked at Reagan again. She hadn’t moved, but gazed at him, mouth wet and puffy from his kisses.
Ezekiel pressed a button on his phone.
“Laura,” he said to his executive assistant, “please cancel the meeting as well as clear and reschedule my calendar for the next week. I’m going to be out of the office. If anyone asks, I’m getting married.”
Eleven
Good God, they’d done it.
As of two hours ago, she was Mrs. Reagan Holloway, Ezekiel Holloway’s wife. She stared out the floor-to-ceiling window of the luxury suite into the bright, dazzling lights of the Las Vegas strip. Ezekiel hadn’t spared any expense for the place they would spend their honeymoon.
Honeymoon. She wrestled with the emotions twisting and tumbling inside her. Jesus. This was unreal. As unreal as the whirlwind trip to Las Vegas after leaving his office twenty-four hours ago. As unreal as the unexpectedly lovely and private ceremony under a candlelit and crystal-encrusted gazebo in the back of a chapel made of glass. As unreal as this elegant and richly appointed penthouse with its Italian marble foyer, sunken living room and lavish master bedroom.
Was it how she’d imagined her wedding and honeymoon to be?
No.
It was better because it was all her choice.
Somehow, it didn’t seem possible that just yesterday she’d rushed into Ezekiel’s office and demanded he marry her. She winced, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wineglass. Thinking back on her uncharacteristically rash act, she still couldn’t believe she’d done it.
Or that she’d kissed him.
Her belly executed a perfect swan dive as she lifted trembling fingers to her lips. A day later, and the imprint of his mouth was still on hers. He’d branded her. Years from now, she would no doubt still feel the pressure, the slight sting, the hungry possession of that kiss. What a sad commentary on her love life that it’d been better than the best sex she’d ever had. Ezekiel Holloway could own a woman’s soul with his mouth. No wonder he’d never lacked for company. No wonder women vied for a chance to spend just hours in his bed. Or out of it, for that matter.
She needed to stop thinking about him and other women.