“It began something like this,” she said against his lips.
The moment their lips met, Claire knew this was different from what they’d shared at her apartment. No gentle, skilled parry this time. His embrace was hungry and hard. More animal than refined Anderson brother, Will slid off the seat and faced her, then pushed her back against the leather and gripped the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her head to gain deeper access to her mouth.
And she loved it—everything about it. Maybe it was because she’d been alone for so long, or maybe it was because this man was built like a god, but she felt like her blood was supercharged as she surrendered to his touch.
A primal growl came from deep in his throat as he pushed her knees apart and pressed his body against hers, pinning her against the seat. But still, she needed more. To be closer. To touch his skin. “I’m alone, too,” he’d said in the hallway outside her apartment, and perhaps it was that loneliness each exuded that caused this attraction—something they had in common. She ripped his shirttail out from his pants and ran her hands up his spine, reveling in the defined muscles and smooth, warm skin of his back as his tongue moved against hers. She scraped her nails over his shoulder blades to his ribs, and he thrust against her with a groan. “My God, Claire.”
Still pinned to the plush leather seat by his body, she stared into his clear blue eyes, gasping for breath. Never had she been so on fire for a man. Her entire body burned for him. It was as if he’d awakened every cell inside her with some elemental force, and she would die if he stopped. But it was more than physical. She felt connected to him somehow—the proverbial kindred spirits crap she’d read about so many times, but it wasn’t crap. It was real and tangible and necessary.
He covered her mouth with his again, and she ran her hands down over his backside and grabbed him. Hard muscle flexed under her fingers, and a warm thrill pooled low in her belly.
He pulled back from the kiss, erection still pushed against her, and ran his thumbs over her nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt and lacy bra once, then studied her face as if gauging her reaction. She sucked in a quick, silent breath and let her head fall back against the seat, hands still gripping the hard muscle through the back of his jeans.
“More?” he asked, hands bracketing her on either side of her head.
If he stopped now, she might scream. “Yes.” Her voice was so raspy she didn’t recognize it.
“I need to touch you, Claire.” His eyes never left hers. “So much it scares me.”
“God, yes. Do it.” There was nothing she wanted more than his hands on her skin.
“You look like a present,” he whispered in her ear, still kneeling on the floor in front of her. “I’ve wanted to untie this bow all night.” He pulled the tie loose and parted the front of her blouse. The cool air swirled over her breasts and belly, while heat burned lower where he pushed against her still. “So beautiful,” he whispered, releasing the clasp on the front of her bra, baring her breasts completely.
And for the first time in a long time, she felt beautiful. And desired. And powerful. And completely free. She reached between them and unbuttoned his untucked shirt. Then, as he’d done with her blouse, she pulled the halves of his shirt open, baring his chest. He was absolutely perfect. The appreciative moan from her throat at the sight of his broad, muscular body was involuntary, as was his answering growl when she skimmed her hands over his skin.
“That feels so good,” he said as she ran her fingers across his collarbone, then down over his defined chest muscles. Just as he’d done, she flicked his nipples once and waited. Almost immediately, his body reacted with a thrust. Sex with this man would be mind-blowing. Hell, dry humping in the limo with him was mind-blowing.
She needed skin-to-skin contact. He must have been thinking the same thing, because he took her face in his hands, slanted his mouth over hers, and pressed against her so completely, their bodies touched from chest to thigh, the warmth of his bare skin searing her own.
Something in her warned she was in way over her head. But once, just once, it felt amazing to let go, regardless of the potential fallout. There was something here. Something worth risking it for, even if only for two weeks.
The minty taste of him, mixed with champagne, filled her senses as his big body continued its rhythmic pressure against her. The need had built to the point she whimpered.
“I know. Me too,” he rasped, nipping her earlobe.