Emma furrowed her brow. “Why sad?”
“Because it fosters the unfortunate belief that a few minutes is all you need. Or worse, that a man can only last seven minutes.” He laughed, deep and sensual. “If I’m in a closet with a woman, I plan on being there all night.”
She snickered. “Oh, really? All night? Someone’s very confident about their stamina.”
“Is that your way of asking me to put my money where my mouth is?” he teased. “If so, challenge accepted.”
Another laugh trickled out. She really wished she could see his face. What color were his eyes? Blue? Brown? Whatever it was, she had no doubt they were twinkling playfully at the moment. Or maybe burning with molten heat.
Her breath hitched when a warm hand brushed her arm. Calloused fingers gently snaked beneath the edge of her robe to stroke the feverish flesh where her shoulder met her neck.
“Kiss me,” he murmured.
It wasn’t a plea. Wasn’t a command, either. It was part question, part statement, and the husky timbre of his voice sent a shiver racing through her.
What the hell was happening? She was in a pitch-black closet with a stranger, and rather than feeling afraid, rather than being turned off or repulsed by his brazenness, she was leaning closer. Allowing those rough fingertips to caress her neck, to glide up her jaw and rub her bottom lip.
He didn’t speak again. He just waited. Sexual heat radiated from his tall, broad body, enticing her closer. Anticipation hung in the suddenly sweltering air. Awareness sizzled between them.
She drew a shaky breath into her lungs. Common sense said she needed to put an end to this insanity and politely excuse herself. But instead she found herself reaching up to grip the bottom of his plastic mask.
He tensed but didn’t move a muscle as she slowly lifted the mask off his face. It was too dark to see him, but Emma ignored the pang of disappointment and did the next best thing. She felt him. Traced his features with her fingers, her breath lodging in her lungs as she explored her stranger’s face. Straight nose, high cheekbones, surprisingly full lips. Bristles of stubble scratched her palms, and when she ran her fingertips along his strong, square jaw, the breath he hissed out heated her knuckles.
“You’re killing me,” he whispered.
His voice was low and tortured, and oddly familiar, but Emma pushed aside the peculiar sensation. She could scarcely breathe. She didn’t typically go around touching strange men, but something about this particular one had kick-started her desire. It had been so long since she’d experienced such a visceral attraction to someone. She was too busy to date. Too busy for sex, too. Her entire life revolved around work and travel and putting out the fires her business partner always seemed to be starting.
But right now, she was dealing with another kind of fire. The kind that simmered in her core and licked at her skin, and damn it, she didn’t want to extinguish it. She wanted to stoke it.
With a shaky breath, she raised herself on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.
She expected the earth to move, she was so primed. Yet instead of a cataclysmic rush, a whisper greeted her. Like a zephyr drifting over a dead-calm sea, and where they connected was warmth and life and a vivid contrast between together and alone.
She gasped when his tongue slid into her mouth. Making out in the dark added a level of eroticism to the simple kiss. Not being able to see him, not having him see her. She’d chosen to be invisible in her career, but this invisibility was liberating. It allowed her to stop thinking and just feel. To lose herself in one perfect moment and not worry about the consequences.
“Oh, baby, you taste so good,” he rasped, his lips traveling from her mouth to her jaw, then gliding along her tingling flesh to nibble on her ear.
Emma clung to his shoulders, moaning at the hard, masculine feel of him. She swept her palms down the tight muscles of his chest, then slid them around his waist before sliding lower. Firm buttocks filled her hands. Sweet Jesus. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat anywhere on him, and that micro-thin layer let her feel exactly how rock solid he was.
He growled when she squeezed his ass, his lower body thrusting forward. Holy hell. A hot, thick ridge pressed against her pelvis, and she involuntarily rotated her hips, her body craving contact, friction. This time he groaned, and the next thing she knew, his mouth latched on to hers again and he was backing her into the wall behind them.
Except it wasn’t a wall. It was a flimsy metal rack, and the damn thing creaked and shuddered as Emma’s shoulder blades smacked into it.