Oh, my. So much for getting steady. He’d very soundly knocked me off balance again. I licked my lips. “Is that a particular fetish, Mr. Sharp?”
“A rather common one, I believe.” We were near the lobby’s plush couches, and he gestured for me to sit. When I did, he took a seat next to me, then lifted one of my legs and rested my ankle on his thigh. My hem hit just above my knee, and I wore no stockings. Fingers of cool air crept under the folds of my dress, soothing my already overheated skin.
Not that Tyler was helping to cool me down. Just the opposite. Slowly, he traced a path along my hemline, his fingertip burning a trail along my bare thigh. “It’s not, however, one of mine.”
“Tyler.” I couldn’t manage any more. I was surprised I’d managed that much.
“Hmm?”
“You really should stop.”
“Perhaps. But I don’t want to.” His attention turned to the back of my knee, his clever fingers stroking a spot so delicious the sensation pooled between my thighs and I actually moaned. “I’ve had you,” he said. “But I haven’t yet savored you.” I looked at his face, and the pure, open desire I saw there was as deep and vivid as my own.
“Please,” I whispered. I meant to say please stop. At least I think I did. But it didn’t come out that way.
His hand cupped the back of my leg and stroked down my calf slowly, slowly, so painfully slowly.
“Please,” I said, trying again. “People will stare.”
“People might. I don’t believe you care much. I know I don’t.”
I closed my eyes. He was right.
Finally, his fingertip brushed lightly over my ankle, then skipped over the leather of my sandal before finding the arch of my foot and gently tracing the edge. On any other day, I might have cringed from being tickled. But right then I wasn’t remotely ticklish. I was too damn turned on.
“No,” he murmured, as he carefully returned my foot to the floor. “I don’t have a foot fetish. But if I was going to develop one, I would surely start with yours.”
“So you have no interesting proclivities?” I teased, trying to sound bold so that he wouldn’t see how well he’d twisted me up. And, yes, trying to get a sense of what he intended for me once we reached his room. “No fetishes of your own?”
“I didn’t say that.” He stood, then held out a hand to help me up.
“If not feet, then what?” I asked, appreciating the firm way his fingers closed around mine.
His gaze skimmed slowly over me, the inspection both unnerving and very, very erotic. “You’ll know soon enough.”
My stomach fluttered as he led me toward the elevator.
The doors snicked open, and Tyler released my hand, only to replace it at the small of my back as he directed me into the well-appointed car. More like a little room, actually. A floor to ceiling mirror dominated the back wall, flanked on either side by wall-mounted light fixtures. At the base of the mirror, and directly in front of us, was a charming little couch.
“A fainting couch,” Tyler said as I met his eyes in the mirror, my own brows raised. “A throwback from the days of corsets and minimal air-conditioning, I assume. But it certainly raises some interesting possibilities in our modern world.”
“There aren’t that many floors in this hotel,” I countered, looking over my shoulder at the man rather than his image. “We don’t have time for that many possibilities.”
“A valid point.” He stepped around me and moved to sit. “But it’s a sad fact of our society that we don’t ever seem to enjoy the time that we do have.” He held out his hand, palm up. “As I mentioned, I believe in never squandering time.”