“Isn’t it?” he asked low as he put aside his snifter and touched her shoulder with the palm of his hand, slowly caressing her bare arm down to her hand. And up again. And then he was standing in front of her, his eyes gone so dark they were almost black, his smile soft and terribly enticing.
“What do you think, baby?” he asked, taking the snifter of cognac from her hand and putting it aside, too.
“I think you’re nuts?”
He shook his head. “I’m not. Neither are you. So tell me,” he said, his eyes dark, his hand moving softly from her shoulder to her neck. “Tell me you want me to make you come,” he whispered as he touched his lips to her neck.
Oh God, she did. She really, honestly did. The ground felt like it was melting away beneath her feet, and she clutched his arm, let her head drop back, and against all common sense, she whispered, “I want you to make me come.”
He made a guttural sound deep in his throat and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her into his body as he lowered his mouth to kiss her. Leah’s heart began to pound in her chest as his lips moved from her mouth to her neck, then her earlobe, and across her jaw to her mouth again. But then he abruptly spun her around and pushed her up against one of the columns, pressing his body against hers, as his tongue dipped hungrily into her mouth.
Her heart leaped to her throat as his hands flit down her arms to her hips and up again, reaching her breasts. But then he lifted his head, braced his arms on either side of her head. That lock of black hair had fallen over his eye, and he smiled roguishly, just like a man who knew he was in control and on the verge of having fabulous sex.
This would go his way—he would do what he wanted to her, and something about that sent another shiver of delight through Leah.
Michael’s gaze roamed her figure, lingering on her neckline. He touched her collarbone with the back of his hand. “I’ve thought about making love to you for years,” he said, his voice low. His hand dipped to her cleavage, from where he drew a line up to her neck again. “I’ve thought about all of the ways I would touch you.”
Leah sucked in a breath.
“I’ve thought of where I would touch you. If I would use my hands,” he said, his fingers flicking over her breast, “or my mouth,” he said as his hand dipped down to the apex of her legs, “or my cock.”
This was going to be good. This was going to be so good that she could hardly contain herself, and she bit her lower lip to keep from trembling like some blasted recluse who hadn’t had anything but mediocre sex in five years—okay, so she hadn’t—and would, at that moment, kill the doorman if that’s what it took to have fabulous sex.
“I’ve thought of how you would respond,” he added, reaching for his tie and pulling it free of its knot. “Especially if you were my captive audience.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered. She felt damp, intoxicated, her body turning to mush, and he’d really done nothing more than talk. The effect was so overpowering that she pressed her hand against the column behind her for support.
Michael knew her too well, though, and he knew that she had jelly knees. He laughed a low, dangerously seductive laugh that sent an electric charge through her. “Would you like that, baby?” he asked, and pressed the palm of his hand against her cheek.
“Yes,” she said instantly, unabashedly. She wanted to be his captive audience. She wanted to be his captive audience right now.
Michael wasn’t laughing as he pulled the tie free of his neck and held it up for her to see. “Give me your hand.”
She did it without question, holding it up to him. He tied the black silk tie around her wrist, made a knot, kissed her palm, then stepped back and pulled her away from the column. “I am going to make you scream.” He dropped her hand and stood back. “Undress.”
Leah hesitated only a moment, then slowly turned and presented her back to him to unzip. When he had lowered the zipper, he pushed the dress from her shoulders, down to her elbows, then dropped his hands. “Turn around.”
She turned, pushed the turquoise sheath from her body, stepped out of it, and handed it to him. He tossed it onto the couch behind him without a glance, watching her, his gaze taking in her lacy bra, the thong bikini panties she was wearing, the high heels. Her only other accessory was the black silk tie dangling from her wrist.
“Go on,” he said, and watched as she reached behind to unfasten her bra, then slide it off her arms. She held that out to him, too. That, he pitched over his shoulder. When she put her hands on the panties, Michael shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I want you to wear those.” And then he was the one to take a steadying breath.