The cooling sweat on David’s abs brought him slowly back to earth. He’d given Kyra a performance many women would have killed for. Step one accomplished. Now she should begin to crave him more than her story.
He kissed the nape of her neck just below the clasp of her pearls and raised himself up.
Tidying himself, he moved to the phone before glancing over his shoulder. “Hungry?” he asked.
She’d kicked off her shoes and ensconced herself in the chair with her arms hugging her knees to her chest. Her hair fell in a riot of waves framing her flushed face. Green eyes, still glazed with passion, blinked once as if she were trying to register what he had said. After a moment she nodded and licked the pout of her lower lip.
He picked up the receiver to call room service. Even as he ordered, he chuckled silently, congratulating himself on a job well done.
“They’re delivering to my suite,” he said, and made his way into her bedroom.
A laptop lay open on a table alongside a bookmarked Michael Bublé biography. He leafed through it and was unsurprised to see her named in the author’s acknowledgements. What took him aback, however, was the well-worn guitar case in the corner. He lifted the white hotel robe from the end of the bed and returned to the sitting room.
“Shall we?”
He smiled, letting the warmth of the expression reach his eyes.
She stretched out a hand for her robe, but her eyes darted away as she took it.
The afterglow was cooling and she was second-guessing herself, he surmised. She was off balance. Like a top, he could spin her now in whichever direction he chose, and right now that was in the direction of his suite. After their little display in the bar, Günter would come looking for him if he didn’t return soon.
“I’m famished. You must be too,” he coaxed, walking to the door.
Kyra strode to the fireplace and flicked it off. The squared set of her shoulders said she was convincing herself to go to his room in pursuit of her story. She would never admit she was going in pursuit of him.
He bit down on a smile. She was easy to read and he liked that about her. No surprises. No regrets.
She turned and verdant eyes framed with silken lashes pinned him where he stood. She smiled, a dimple gracing one cheek, and his heart tripped unexpectedly.
It was his turn to lick his lips as he watched the graceful sway of her hips in the robe. She came to him barefoot, rose-pink toes peeking beneath the hem of the white terry.
“Sure.” She shrugged and scooped the hotel key from where she had dropped it by the door.
He jammed his fist in his pocket and pivoted away.
Control. This was all about control. Whoever kept the ball would win the game. Plain and simple. He swallowed hard and didn’t dare look back to see if she followed.
* * * * *
Kyra could have smacked herself silly for lusting after David Tallis. What on earth had made her let him into her hotel room? Then into her body? She had just met the man, had slapped him not ten minutes before he was fucking her against a wall.
What was it about him that made her throw caution to the wind every time she saw his face? Most successful performers had a magnetism, a je ne sais quoi that drew people to them. David had it in spades. He was like a real-life romance bad boy walking confidently before her down the carpeted corridor toward the elevator.
Wait…the elevator?
“David?”
“Yes?” He didn’t turn to look at her as he answered.
“Where are we going?”
She couldn’t see his face but she heard the smile in his voice.
“The Royal Suite.”
“I thought…” She winced.
“That you had booked the suite next to mine?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted. Doing anything less would make her look like two times the idiot.
“You did. One of the larger ones came available this morning and I took it.”
“Oh.” The word felt dry and cheap against her tongue. “Look. This isn’t a good idea. I should—”
He stopped and turned, eyes snapping sensual heat, and she found her mouth devoid of moisture for an entirely different reason. She hadn’t anticipated the sudden movement and found herself stepping back a pace to preserve some distance between them.
“Come. Eat. You have to eat.”
She shuddered. His voice was telling her body exactly what kind of nourishment it lacked.
He held a hand out to her and she took it against her better judgment. Her mind was not the part of her anatomy in control here, obviously, but whatever happened it couldn’t be worse than what they’d already done together.
His palm was smooth and dry as his fingertips curled warmly around her chilled hand.
“You’re cold,” he murmured, and took a key from his pocket to insert into the elevator panel.
“Just a little,” she answered, wishing she could regain her emotional equilibrium.
He pulled her into the elevator after him and wrapped his arms around her. Her face was tucked into the crook of his arm and his chin rested on top of her head.
“We’ll have you fed and warmed in a jiff.”
She listened to the beat of his heart, her ear to his chest. The careful rise and fall of his breath told her he was calm, completely in control. Somehow that scared her more than it comforted her, and she resisted the urge to step away from the protective circle of his arms.
“I didn’t mean to sleep with you.” The words were out before she knew she’d said them.
“You haven’t slept with me yet,” he teased.
The rumble of his voice tickled her simmering arousal to a low boil and she curled her toes into the carpet.
“You know what I mean,” she said, annoyed more with her body’s response than with his banal attempt at humor.
“Yes, I do.”
The reply was so succinct. Its tone told her all she needed to know—he would not hold her loose behavior against her. He was used to women falling at his feet. What a chore, being so sexy. Being him.
He stepped away and she lifted her hand to press the button to go back to her floor. She’d be damned if she’d spend another minute with—
The elevator door slid open and she froze, absolutely stunned in the face of the opulence before her.
A marble foyer led directly into a living room of palatial proportions. The room was awash in mahogany pieces and gilded rococo plasterwork. Crystal chandeliers and antique oriental carpets abounded.
Any other place would have looked crammed and gaudy. The Ritz, however, managed to give the impression that royalty spent considerable time here. Hell, they probably did.
Kyra forced her jaw shut. She would not gape. Instead she smoothed her expression and turned to David. He looked down at her and winked.
Curiosity got the better of her and she followed him into the living area where a seven foot wide classical scene hung over the sofa. It appeared to be a Titian. Holy crap. Was it genuine?
She turned to ask him why he had brought her up here after he had made it so clear that he wanted nothing to do with her, but the elevator chime sounded and she panicked. Looking around a bit wildly, she wondered if she should secret herself away somewhere.
“No worries,” David soothed.
The gray-suited man from the bar, whom Kyra surmised must be the head of David’s security detail, entered from an anteroom to admit a penguin-coated waiter and a sommelier.
She followed David to the dining room. The table was big enough to sit twelve and the room looked as if it had come straight out of Versailles. When the waiter pulled out a chair for her, she found herself wishing they had a simple eat-in kitchen with a beat-up 1950s table to dine at.
“Thank you,” she whispered and sat back so he could drape the white linen napkin over her lap.
David made himself at home to her left at the head of the table. When the waiter uncovered the dishes and beckoned the sommelier, he held up his hand.
“It’s all right. I’ll take care of it. Günter, you can turn in too.”
The waiter nodded and the staff exited, but Günter gave her the hairy eyeball.
David laughed out loud.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Gun! She’s naked under that robe. What’s she going to do?”
Günter exited the room quietly, but she could have sworn before he did he emitted a long-suffering sigh. Kyra watched him leave, not knowing what had disconcerted her more—the opulence surrounding her, the obvious bulge of a firearm under Günter’s suit or hearing David’s laugh.
“I don’t know if I could ever get used to it,” she said.
He grinned and Kyra swore she’d died and gone to heaven.
“Günter? He grows on you.”
“No. All of it,” she said, gesturing around the room with her fork. “The waiters, the glitz…and Günter.”
David looked around as if seeing his surroundings for the first time.
“I guess I don’t think about it anymore.”
Her journalistic antennae came to attention, but she savored a bite of roast sea bass in an effort at nonchalance as she contemplated a rush of questions.
Was there a time when he thought about it? Hadn’t he grown up in this kind of environment? His upper-class accent said he had, but perhaps he had gotten into the prep school on a scholarship? As far as she knew, he’d always had a heavy security presence, but maybe that was what he was referring to?
Their eyes met and his gaze shuttered before she could utter a syllable. It was as if a portcullis came down between them, immediately shutting her out. How had he known what she was thinking? She normally had a pretty good poker face.
He was definitely hiding something, but she would let it go for now.
“Look. I know we got off on the wrong foot. I promise nothing you tell me will be put into print unless you want it to.”
“I don’t.”
He thinned his lips as he put the wine bottle down with a thunk on the sterling wine coaster.
“So…we’re just getting to know each other?” she asked, seeking to discover why he had let her into his life at all.
His answering smile—a hint sardonic, a lot predatory—said she was here to amuse him for a little while, perhaps longer if she didn’t make any trouble. That little quirk of his lips also reminded her he had yet to kiss her.
What would he taste like? Would his kisses set her body humming as nicely as his fingers? His lower lip was full and rounded at the middle and might have looked almost feminine next to a less masculine jaw and chin. His upper lip had a hint of a cupid’s bow, but flattened out in a way that made his smiles sizzle and sneers singe.
She imagined nibbling each lip, darting the tip of her tongue over their firm softness until he opened them to tangle his tongue with her own. His mouth became a hypnotic fixation and she found she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
“You’re staring,” he teased.
“I guess I am. I take it you’ve had the sea bass before?”
His mouth quirked at her change of subject.
“It’s a favorite.”
“I’m tempted to say something trite like, ‘come here often?’.” She laughed at herself and took another sip of her wine.
“To dine, yes. Not to stay. I used to have a flat, but I gave it up last summer.”
Kyra nodded and relaxed into conversational mode. She wasn’t sure yet if being his plaything was something she was up for, but story or no story, he was a hot temptation that didn’t come along often in a gal’s life.
“Looking somewhere else in London?”
“No. I’ve settled on New York as my permanent home,” he answered.
“New York? Why?” If she’d had the opportunity to live in London she would have jumped at it.
“I’m not here enough anymore. I found I didn’t enjoy having half of my belongings in one country and the other half in another. I would leave my favorite shirt here and then have to have it shipped. It was getting old, to say the least.”
She nodded. From him that was a veritable monologue.
“And you never leave them at the Ritz?”
“I guess that’s what I pay them for.”
“That and the wine,” she said with a gesture, and he poured more of the golden liquid into her glass.
“So what are you working on now? Besides me?”
His tone was teasing, but held a hint of warning.
“I just finished ghost-writing a biography for a recording artist. I’m waiting to hear back from him and from the editor on my draft. Other than that, I’m sort of on vacation right now.”
She’d struggled to keep her answer neutral, hoping not to put him on guard again. The truth was, her well had run dry. Without the contract she’d been promised if she got David’s story, it was likely going to be a lean year.
He relaxed back into his chair and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Aren’t vacations dangerous in your profession?”
“They can be if you don’t plan for them, but…well, you don’t want to hear about all that.” She waved her hand airily. God forbid he should find out she was desperate. That was the last thing she needed.
“You play guitar?”
The question confused her until she remembered he’d been in her bedroom.
“A little.”
Abruptly, he grabbed her left hand and examined the tips of her fingers.
“More than a little, I’d say,” he said, placing a kiss on one calloused tip.
Before she could stammer out a lame denial, David dropped her hand and stood.
“Coffee?”
“Love some,” she answered, glad for any excuse not to talk about her music.
“This way. You can fix it to your liking.”
Kyra followed him into a butler’s pantry where there was no butler but there was a freshly brewed pot of coffee along with several sturdy earthenware mugs that looked decidedly out of place.
“Mugs?” she asked, picking up one to test the comforting weight in her hand.
“I bring them with me when I travel. You can’t tell me you enjoy drinking out of those silly little teacups?”
He pointed to a cache of bone china cups and saucers that had been unceremoniously shoved to one side.
“Actually, I prefer mugs. They have weight. They’re real.”
He stopped mid-pour and looked at her, his eyes serious. Probing. He seemed to decide something and turned his attention back to the coffee pot. She took a stab at what he might have been thinking.
“Yes. Like your music.”
“Like my music, what?” he asked.
“It’s jazzy and romantic, but there’s something else. It’s like you’ve seen more of life than most people— I mean…never mind.”
David turned his head in a slow, deliberate motion to look over his shoulder. When he met her eyes, the butler’s pantry seemed to close in on her. She hadn’t realized exactly how small it was.
Glancing down at her robe, she saw the neckline gaped open, as it probably had throughout dinner. With a hasty clutch at the fabric she pulled it together and tightened the belt, feeling vulnerable and exposed.
David’s eyes flicked downward, breaking the tension.
“I was enjoying the view.”
The ice melted and Kyra felt a blush paint itself from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
He handed her a mug and she trained her stare on his hand. Long, deft fingers brushed hers with lingering slowness. Just as quickly as it had come on, the storm had passed.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“My pleasure.”
She caught the double entendre in his voice and quipped, “Oh, I don’t think it was all yours.”
Coffee sloshed over the counter from the mug he was lifting and she giggled in triumph.
He turned to her with humor in his eyes and took the mug from her hands before she’d taken a sip. She could almost see him thinking “In the mood to play, are we?” and she sucked in a sustaining breath.
Running the warm pad of his thumb over her lower lip, he teased its fullness away from her teeth. Wrapping a forearm around her waist, he drew her tightly to him, lifting her body to meet his as his mouth came down to suckle her lip.
Kyra’s pulse thrummed to life, awareness of her nudity beneath her robe acute as moisture trickled down her thigh.
He gave one last hard pull on her lip and released her.
Her nipples had hardened against the terry and the previously soft material became the equivalent of sandpaper against her sensitized flesh. She wanted it off. She wanted to be naked and beneath him.
Staring up at him, dazed, she leaned against the counter for support. How could he have this effect on her? He lifted his coffee and seemed to work a knot out of his shoulder with a little rolling motion. Wrapping her hand around her mug she brought herself back down to earth. Well, he hadn’t exactly kissed her, but it sure had been incredible.
David left the pantry and she followed him into the living room. When he didn’t stop and instead continued to a curving stairway, she followed.
The stairway led to the suite’s master bedroom. The massive, four-poster bed dominated the enormous room where a wood fire burned. The mantle was of rose marble and offset a midnight-blue oriental carpet graced with a fireside sitting area.
“Will you excuse me?” he asked.
“Sure.” Kyra shrugged.
He seemed lost in his thoughts and she wondered if she shouldn’t have followed him here.
He slipped into an adjoining bath. She heard the water running. A shower? Fifteen minutes later she was finished with her coffee and wondering if perhaps she’d overstayed her welcome when he emerged. His hair spiked in little tufts at the top of his head that made her want to run its short length between her fingers.
“We match.”
She pointed to his terry robe.
“I forgot mine.”
“I wouldn’t have minded.”
The smile he gave her brought to prominence the lines around his eyes, making him look less superstar and more flesh and blood man. A man she very much wanted to press back on the bed and explore every inch of.
It was her turn to be on the offensive and she moved toward him, conscious of the erection he sported beneath the shorter robe he wore. The dark hair that covered his muscular calves highlighted the difference between their bodies. Him, silk over steel. Her, pliable and wet. The two together were a combination she very much wanted to experience fully this time. Both naked and on equal ground.
Placing a hand on his bathrobe tie, she encircled the material in her fist and, without untying it, pulled him toward the bed. Part of her was amazed when he let her, and another part was thrilled to the core.
“Lie down.” Her voice was husky with need.
He pulled down the duvet and complied, stretching full-length on his back, hands behind his head on the pillows beneath him.
She climbed up beside him and looked at him in the dim light. His features were cast in a warm glow and she skimmed her eyes over his cheekbones, the high bridge of his nose and the fullness of his lips. She wanted so much to kiss him, but it had seemed off limits. As if it were an intimacy he hadn’t wanted to afford her. Should she ask? She shrugged a shoulder and he caught the gesture.
“What is it?”
“It’s silly.”
He cupped her cheek in the warmth of his hand and whispered, “Tell me.”
Kyra rolled her eyes, trying to play nonchalant and lessen the sting if he said no.
“I was wondering if you’d mind if I kissed you?”
There. She had asked.
For a moment, his eyes widened and he looked sincerely surprised. Then he laughed.
“Not too used to being on top, are we?”
She bristled at that. When she opened her mouth to give him a few choice words, he hushed her with two of his fingers. She pressed her lips together and he ran the tip of his index finger over her mouth. He followed the path of his finger with his eyes as he traced the contours of her lips, first the bottom and then the top.
“Suck,” he said quietly.
Kyra opened her mouth to let him in. She darted her tongue around the musky sweetness of his finger, tasting lightly the shaving soap he had used, and realized he’d taken the shower for her. Was that why he hadn’t kissed her before? He hadn’t wanted to chafe her?
There was a melting flutter in her chest and she closed her eyes to better focus on the sensation of his finger in her mouth. Lifting her hand she steadied his palm in her own. Lightly scraping her bottom teeth along the sensitive pad, she gave a series of nips to the fleshy part of his finger before bringing it into her mouth to suck on it with a series of deep draws that had his hips rising slightly from the bed.
“Sweet. So sweet,” he murmured.
Letting his finger slip from her mouth she opened her eyes to look into his. He met her with his cerulean stare, the depth of the blue taking her breath away, and she knew she was lost.