Like that’s going to happen.
He must’ve sensed her misgivings because he drawled, “Come now, Peaches, what would one drink with me hurt? I promise not to bite.” His voice dropped, his gaze flicking from her mouth to her aching breasts. “Though I do find myself craving something sweet.”
She nearly choked on nothing, her hand flying to her chest in the universal symbol of ‘holy shit, what just happened?’
And had he called her Peaches? Choosing to ignore the ridiculousness of his innuendo, she treaded close to the shore, really needing the conversation to remain in calmer waters.
“Peaches?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
His low chuckle made her pussy throb, and she knew there was a growing puddle in her panties.
“You smell of peaches. I noticed it today by the elevator,” he remarked, and she started.
He smelled her? And he nicknamed her? It took a considerable effort to not let the shock show on her face. Hell, she was quickly swimming into deeper waters—like Michael Phelps aiming for gold.
You loooove the ocean, you hussy, her inner thirsty bitch tittered.
“Ah,” was all she said in reply, since she couldn’t think of a longer word to say.
Unaffected by her obvious lack of social skills, he leaned forward, drawing in a breath. She leaned back, staring at him, unable to stop the gasp that pushed from her chest.
“Absolutely delicious,” he murmured deep in his throat, his eyes closing slowly, as if he were savoring the scent.
She didn’t know which happened first, her blush or the explosion in her vagina, both of which caused seriously irreparable damage to her psyche. She was going to drown fast, sucked into the depths of David Brenner by a whirlpool of lust.
Dragging her drink to her lips, she tipped it back, nearly emptying the thing. She sputtered but recovered, her eyes watering.
When she could see and breathe again, she noticed David studying her, his gaze shuttered.
“What have you done to me?” he murmured, the words so softly spoken, she wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all—well, since her ears were having trouble hearing around the percussion section in her blood.
But as the drinks came and the conversation flowed—chatting about nothing important or personal or professional, she began to relax, laughing and actually enjoying herself. It wasn’t difficult; David was all sexy charm, putting her at ease even though she knew she should be on high alert. Men like Brenner didn’t chat up women like her. She cast a quick glance about the Bella Notte, noting that there were several other women there, all dressed like high-society, low-class sex kittens. She didn’t miss the heated glares they sent her way, their gazes then settling on David. They wanted to be where she was sitting, and she didn’t blame them. David Brenner was every woman’s fantasy, and he was sitting with her. Obviously flirting with her. And she had no idea what to do about it. Not that it mattered; David did an amazing job of drawing her out of herself. There were no names shared, though she, of course, knew who he was only because Margie had spilled the beans just that afternoon. She didn’t care about that, though. He was a man, he was entertaining, he made her smile, laugh, he made her forget about her job, her commute, the tight blouse, and how self-conscious it made her. With David, she was free to feel…like a woman. Just a woman. And it was amazing.
David Brenner made her feel good, and God did she need that.
By the time she’d downed her fourth (or sixth, she couldn’t quite recall) vodka cocktail, she was feeling amazing, so damn amazing that when David Fucking Brenner asked her to end the evening in his bed, she didn’t hesitate, didn’t equivocate about what he really meant, didn’t think twice about her lack of looks or the size of her hips. She quickly and happily replied, “Hell yes.”
David slid a hundred over the bar to the bartender and stood, his gaze hard, hot. He opened his hand, a silent invitation to finally touch him. She took it, reaching out and sliding her fingers into his palm. His hand snapped shut as if he was scared she’d change her mind and he was preventing her escape.
Perhaps she should have seen that as a red flag, a warning that she was stepping over the barbed wire into a mine field, but she had spent her life on the right side of the fence, refusing to take the risk, to know the adrenaline rush. And who was to say that exploding was a bad thing…especially when it came to sex.
Meeting his gaze, she gave a nod, and he helped her off the stool. She stumbled a bit, her legs having fallen asleep, and she landed against him, his hard chest pressed against her breasts. Beneath her hands, his heart pounded, and she glanced up through her lowered lashes to see his Adam’s apple bobbing. Was he really as affected as that? Feeling bolder than she ever had in her life, she raised her eyes, her gaze colliding with his. Without breaking eye contact, he led her from the bar, across the sparkling lobby, and onto a waiting elevator. Once the doors shut, she was pressed back against the gleaming brass walls, David’s lips skating over her neck.
He inhaled.
“God, I can’t get enough of your scent—I could eat every inch of you,” he growled. “And I will. I’m going to strip you naked, lay you down on my bed, and taste you. My lips, my tongue will be intimately acquainted with your mouth, your breasts, your pussy.”
Her breath caught, and he must have been waiting for just that moment, because the tongue she’d just been imagining on her skin invaded her mouth. David devoured her, his lips hard and then soft as he drove the kiss, his hands skating up her sides to cup her breasts. His thumbs flicked over her sensitive nipples,
