At my eagerness, he gives me an assessing look, too damn smart not to know that I’m a ball of anxiety and not because of my secret. Because he’s amazing and I want this and him in a way I am not sure I’ve ever wanted anyone before him. He pours a golden brown liquid into one glass only and replaces the stopper, clearly having no intention of filling another. “It’s cognac,” he says, picking up the glass and closing the two steps between us. “Expensive, strong, and smooth.”
I take the glass and start drinking, warm spices exploding in my mouth. Three swallows in, he grabs it and stops me. “Easy, sweetheart. I said I want you to remember me.”
“I want to remember you, Shane.”
“But it’s not me you’re trying to forget.”
“Something like that.”
He downs the rest of the cognac, setting the glass on the table, and before I know his intentions, his hand is under my hair again, cupping the back of my neck, and he’s aligned our bodies, his powerful legs pressed to mine. “What are you running from, Emily?”
I’m taken less off guard by the question that forces me back to my secret, than I am by my desire to tell him what I can’t. “Everything or nothing,” I say. “And I chose to tell you nothing.”
“So you don’t deny you’re running?”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I’m not or I wouldn’t be in Denver.”
“Ironically,” I say, daring to tell a piece of the truth because it is only one night, “the opposite is true of me.”
“I already knew that.”
“Of course you did. You see too much.”
His fingers flex at my neck, and he lowers his head, his lips a breath from mine. “I haven’t even begun to see enough of you,” he declares, and then his mouth is on mine, his tongue a soft caress, a tease that promises that even if I will give him nothing, he will give me everything.
I am breathless when his mouth leaves mine, my tongue flicking over my lips. “You taste like cognac.”
“I’m going to taste like you,” he says, and after hours of wanting this man, my sex clenches with this certainty that very soon he will make good on that promise. “Come,” he orders, once again leading where he wants me to follow. This time it’s the door opposite the minibar that I hadn’t noticed before now. He opens it and motions me forward into a dark outdoor abyss that’s a bit spooky. I step outside, and not only is Shane quickly by my side, motion detectors trigger lights, and we are instantly cast in a warm, intimate glow.
I glance around a balcony hugged by tall concrete privacy walls that successfully block the wind and cold, finding a couch and chair, and dangling teardrop lanterns that might actually be heaters. “This is spectacular,” I murmur.
“The view is the best part of the apartment,” he says, twining my fingers with his, and damn it, there is a hot spot in my chest that isn’t about sex, but about how he makes me feel with him. Together, we walk toward the steel railing that sits atop a glass half wall, allowing it to feel as if we are almost standing in the middle of the sky.
I grab hold of the railing, staring out at the city, while he does the same beside me. “How high are we?”
“Fifteen floors.”
“Low enough that we can see every street and building.”
“But high enough to be on top of our new home,” he murmurs. “It even looks worth staying from here.”
I glance over at him to find he is already looking at me. “You’ve been back here a year,” I remind him. “And you’re from here.”
“I didn’t decide to stay until today.”
“Why today?”
“It should have been sooner.”
It’s not a real answer, and he doesn’t give me time to decide if I want to press for more. He steps behind me, his hips framing my backside, his hand at my sides. “And thanks to you,” he murmurs, his lips near my ear, “I’m not thinking about what I left behind. I’m thinking about what I have right here.”
The words infer more than a night, or maybe they don’t, but it doesn’t matter right now. He is caressing up and down my sides, his fingers grazing my breasts, and I can no longer think. My nipples are tight, aching nubs, and my sex is clenched tight. I bite my lip and tighten my grip on the railing, sucking in air as his exploration moves to my hips and then my backside. And suddenly, or not so suddenly, I want to touch him and see him. I try to turn, but he is quick to step to my side, holding me steady. “Stay facing forward,” he orders, his fingers splaying on my belly where they’ve settled, that other hand, still branding my backside, gliding upward until his fingers find the zipper to my skirt, deftly dragging it down. “Shane,” I say, not sure why, and when I turn my head to look at him, he kisses me, a sultry, sexy, slide of tongue against tongue that leaves me breathless, and wanting more.
“I like it when you say my name like it’s a pleasure.”