She half smiled, half...what? before she turned, picked up her belongings and sauntered away.
Whatever it was he’d glimpsed in her eyes, he had a good feeling that his bottle of champagne was going to taste very sweet indeed.
* * *
A punctual woman.
Of course she was. Everything in Olivia Wishart’s life was organised and shipshape. He stood near the lobby windows, his body in lockdown as Olivia walked towards him. His throat went dry as his eyes feasted on the scrumptious vision. Thank you, Tyler.
The metallic sheen changed from shades of blanched asparagus to aubergine to sage depending on the down-lights. It flowed to mid-calf and caressed every curve. He thought vaguely that someone had forgotten to sew in a bodice then realised it was some sort of sheer lacy stuff studded with tiny beads. What fabric there was clasped her breasts, showing them off to glorious perfection right where he wanted to put his hands.
She looked like a goddess and he wanted to worship at her shiny stilettoed shoes, then work his way up.
She smiled, secure in her feminine knowledge that she was making an impact. ‘Good evening.’
‘I reckon it is.’ He took her hand. ‘And it’s about to get a whole lot better. We’ll walk—it’s not far.’
The tables were set amongst trees lit with fairy lights, the early evening summer sun glinted off nearby buildings, turning the white linen cloths gold.
Over drinks and appetisers they talked about the day. As the evening wore on and the sky turned to purple conversation turned more personal.
And he found himself telling Olivia stuff about his life, about himself. General stuff. His years in foster homes, his time as a sous chef in Paris, but he’d never opened up so candidly to anyone before. Unlike other women she didn’t prod or try to get him to talk about things that made him uncomfortable and yet she was interested in what he did share.
It was later than he’d intended when they finally finished their coffee. He reached across the table, touched her hand. ‘I had plans to take you to the casino in that spectacular dress and make every man there jealous that you’re with me.’
Her cheeks flushed and she smiled. ‘Honestly, Jett, can I take a rain check on that? I’d just like to go on up to the room.’ She turned her hand over beneath his and entwined their fingers.
Her eyes met his, darkening as desire and anticipation brought a flush to her cheeks. He watched the way her lips parted ever so slightly, giving him a tiny glimpse of pink tongue.
‘We can do that.’
She hesitated then said, ‘I didn’t notice your bag there earlier.’
‘It’s there now.’
Her eyes darkened. ‘I’m glad.’
He smiled. So am I.
In the elevator with another couple they stood millimetres apart, watching the numbers light up as they ascended.
The moment they were out of the lift, he gathered her in and touched his lips to hers. ‘Are we on the same page here?’ he murmured against her mouth.
‘Yes.’ She sounded breathless.
With his hand on her back, he steered her to their room, pushed open the door and pulled her inside. No need for lighting; the glow from the city bathed the room, giving her skin a pearlescent sheen. Eyes on his, she reached up behind her neck. ‘I’m going to need some help getting this dress off.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
He loved the sexy sound of the zip sliding down her back, the warm sensation of her smooth skin against his palm, her little shiver of delight. He drew the dress down and she stepped out of it, leaving her in nothing but lacy black panties and stilettos.
Her breasts. Plump and full and tantalising. He moulded his hands around them, taking their weight, and blew out a slow breath. ‘You’re the sexiest woman alive.’
‘You make me feel sexy.’ She undid his tie, slid it off, dropped it on the floor. ‘It’s a good feeling.’ Tracing a fingernail down his shirt, she stopped at his belt buckle. ‘I’ve never felt sexy the way you make me feel sexy. From the first time we met on that little balcony you’ve made me feel desired and all woman.’ She looked up at him. ‘You were a master seducer then and you’re a master seducer now and I’m afraid I’ve fallen under your spell.’
‘You’re wrong,’ he told her, lost for a moment in the warm sea of her eyes. ‘You’re the spell-weaver.’
‘This—us—like this...together...isn’t meant to happen.’
No, he thought. It wasn’t. He hadn’t expected to feel the way she made him feel. Out of control one moment, invincible the next. Right now he was more out of control than superhero.