Heated

I looked at his outstretched hand, and my mouth went dry, my knees suddenly weak. His lips curved up in the kind of smile that promised long kisses and slow hands, and I think I melted just a little bit right then. My only saving grace was my reflection in the mirror. At least I didn’t look as unbalanced as I felt.

Why was I so twisted up? He’d already touched me intimately—already made me come. I’d already fucked him, taking charge of the moment. Riding him, watching pure passion on his face.

So what about now was keeping me so unbalanced?

But it was a foolish question, because I knew the answer. I’d surrendered to this man despite having no idea what was coming, what he wanted. How far he would go.

This was no longer about Amy. No longer about getting inside Destiny or about Kevin’s accusations.

Right now, this was about nothing but me.

And that simple fact excited me as much as it scared me.

I still hadn’t taken his hand, and now he crooked a finger. “Come here, Sloane,” he said, and there was nothing left of the light banter or even the sharp tones of the man who refused to be played. This voice was sensual, commanding. It was a voice designed to make a woman wet, and to ensure that she obeyed.

I did.

One step, then another until I was standing in front of him. I looked down at him, not wanting to catch my own eyes in the mirror. Not wanting to see the anticipation and desire that I knew colored my face.

I felt like a rookie, unsure of what would happen next. And I was acting like a teenager, craving that first brush of his lips over mine.

Slowly—achingly slowly—his eyes roamed over me. He said nothing, but I could almost hear the low thrum of his approval vibrating in the air. He stood, the motion filled with both grace and power. And then, with unfailing gentleness, he reached out and brushed the edge of his thumb over my cheek. “I wonder,” he murmured, then trailed off into silence.

“What?” I asked, when I couldn’t bear the quiet any longer.

“I still haven’t kissed you,” he said. “I wonder what you’d do if I didn’t try to kiss you at all.”

My breath hitched in my throat, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out in protest. Instead, I managed to collect my thoughts, then tilt my head as I openly studied him. “So is this your fetish? Tormenting innocent women?”

“No,” he said simply. “And you’re not innocent.”

“No, I’m not.” I pressed my palm to his chest, then reveled in the way he drew in air, as if he needed to gather strength. “And I don’t want to be teased.”

“In that case, we have a problem.” He placed his own hand over mine, capturing me against him so that I couldn’t have pulled away if I wanted to. “Because I have every intention of teasing you. Fully. Mercilessly. I’m going to make you beg, Sloane. And only when I’ve taken you far enough will I make you come.”

My mouth went dry and my skin tingled. Beneath my dress, my nipples were as hard as pebbles. I wanted more, so help me I did, and I think the only reason I didn’t press myself shamelessly against him was that the doors behind us hissed open, and the gentle wash of cool air was as potent as a bucket of ice water. Especially when I saw the elegantly dressed couple waiting to enter.

I cleared my throat and, with my head high, stepped around them and off the elevator. Beside me, Tyler chuckled. “Shocking to think that they must know where we’re going and what we’re planning to do.”

I shot him a sideways glance. “They couldn’t possibly,” I said. “I don’t even know what we’re planning to do.”

He laughed. “You make a good point. But isn’t the anticipation delicious?”

I kept my mouth shut, deciding that silence was the wiser course, and followed him down the narrow ninth floor hallway. I’d never been on the guest level of such a fancy hotel, and I was just as impressed by this simple space as I had been by the Palm Court downstairs.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, letting my fingers stroke the molding and cream-colored wallpaper as we walked past door after door.

“It was built in 1920, and no dollar was spared. Did you know that Peter Ustinov once said that walking in The Drake was like walking on diamonds?”

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