“I’ll make you a deal,” I say as I take a step back. She starts to step back, too, but I put one hand on her upper back and another on her thighs. “Stay where you are.”
She doesn’t respond, but her whole body goes pliant beneath my hands as she lets me press her back up against the window.
“You okay?” I ask as I hold her in place.
She nods.
“You sure?”
Another nod.
“Okay enough to stay there, even when I walk away?”
This nod takes a lot longer to come. But what it lacks in speed, it makes up for in conviction.
Instinctively, I reward her with a kiss to the nape of her neck. With a press of my body against hers, from shoulder to thigh. “If you want this to stop, all you have to do is step away from the window,” I tell her as I lick my way up the slender column of her throat. “Or say no. All you ever have to do is say no.”
She does look over her shoulder then and there’s more than a trace of amusement mingling with the desire I can so plainly see there. “Not a very original safe word,” she drawls, half-amused and half-testing.
“It doesn’t have to be original. It just has to be effective. And memorable.” I give her a pointed look.
“I’ll remember,” she assures me, shivering. This time her hands don’t even start to leave the glass.
She sounds like she means it and that’s good enough for me. Especially considering the fact that it’s obvious from the way her skin is flushed, from the way her chest is heaving, that this thing really turns her on. Just the thought has my dick ready to punch right through the front of my jeans.
I walk over to the closest lamp—which happens to be on the desk—and snap it on. Then I do the same to the one near the armchair. The lamps on either side of the bed. The floor lamp in the corner. The overhead light in the small kitchen area.
I turn every light in the suite on, until the place is lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. If Veronica was concerned that people could see her before, I can only imagine what she’s thinking now.
I wait for her to cry uncle, for her to say no, to step away from the window, to tell me to go to hell. But she does none of those things. Instead, she stays where she is, her bowed head the only concession she makes against being recognized.
I’m reluctantly impressed. So impressed, in fact, that I go to her and pull her hair forward far enough that it nearly obscures her face. As I do, I feel her muscles relax just a little.
“I think we should make a deal,” I tell her, my mouth right up against her ear. “What do you think?”
“That depends—” She gasps, shudders at my touch. “That depends,” she tries once again, when she can finally take a breath. “On what the deal is.”
“That’s easy.” Because I can’t resist, I press one more kiss to her neck, this time at the hollow of her throat. “Every time you answer a question dishonestly, I’m going to take off a piece of clothing—yours or mine.”
“You want to play strip interview?” she asks incredulously.
“I want to play strip Veronica,” I counter.
“Do you really think I’m going to stand here and let you show my naked body to all of Hollywood?” she demands. “Especially, when I’m the only one who will be giving something up here?”
“Ahh, but that’s the catch. For every question you answer truthfully, I’ll turn off one of the lights. If you do things right, the room will be dark before you’re ever nude.”
She turns her head to the side, straining to see just how many lights are on. She doesn’t look impressed with her odds. But she doesn’t move away from the window, either. Just shakes her head a little, so that more of her long, gorgeous hair falls in her face. I don’t have the heart to tell her that her hair color—so blond it’s nearly silver with shoots of gold running through it—is one of the most recognizable things about her.
Besides, while I might enjoy indulging her in what I’m rapidly coming to realize is an exhibitionist kink, that doesn’t mean I’m going to let anyone see any more of her beautiful body than they could on a public beach.
Not that I have any intention of telling her that…
Chapter 12
This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to back away from the window—and from Ian. To get as far away from this hotel room, and him, as I can get.
I don’t follow those instincts. I can’t. Not when his gaze is burning over me. Not when his words are right there, taunting emotions and needs from me that I never knew I had. And definitely not when my knees are trembling so badly that the only thing holding me up is the window I’m pressed against.