She deepened the kiss, her hands curling around his neck and yanking him closer forcefully. She rubbed her hips against his, brushing her soft belly against his cock. Bloody hell. Underneath her stockbroker exterior, Lexi was made of pure and unadulterated passion. It took all of his self-control not to throw her against the wall and let his hands explore every inch of her body. But this wasn’t the time or the place for that.
Reluctantly, he pulled free of her hold.
Sucking in a deep breath, he met her eyes. “I know you’re still grieving for your fiancé, and you don’t want anyone in your life right now. I get that. And respect it. But if we kiss again … I’m bringing you home with me for more than some blasted fireworks.”
“And if I want you to?” She nibbled on her lower lip. “If I want to stop thinking for a little while, and just feel? You did promise me a distraction … ”
She spoke so quietly he could barely hear her—but he heard that. “Then kiss me again, and I’m yours.”
Her eyes flashed, and then …
And then she kissed him.
As soon as their lips broke apart, he grabbed her hand and towed her to the door. He knew she was only going with him to bury the pain she still felt from the loss of her fiancé, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care right now. At all. If she ended up leaving him with a heart that had been slightly dented, then so be it. It was a risk he would be more than willing to take. If she wanted him, then he didn’t care how or why.
All that mattered was she wanted him, and he wanted her, too.
Blessedly, he lived right around the corner from the restaurant. They made it home through the crowds in record time, and she followed him with flushed cheeks and complete silence. He half expected her to let go of him and bolt in the opposite direction before they made it back to his flat. But as he climbed the stairs and went into his place … she followed him.
He unlocked the door, let her go inside first, and then bolted the door behind them. Leaning against the cool steel, he locked his gaze on her. She hugged herself and looked at her shadowy surroundings, then blinked up at him. “This is a nice apartment.”
“Thanks.” Scanning his own place, he tried to envision what she saw. Lots of grays and pale blues. And brown. No bright colors or splashes of red. He dropped his keys on the table by the entrance, switched on the light, and took a step closer to her. “Are you absolutely sure you want this? That you won’t be cheesed off in the morning?”
She lifted her chin. “Yes. I don’t really know what cheesed off means, but I won’t be. But don’t read anything into it. I just want … I need … ”
“A distraction?” He stopped directly in front of her, his hands closing around her waist. “A way to forget your worries?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll have it.”
She’d asked. She’d come home with him. And yet … he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was taking advantage of her. He couldn’t shake the bloody guilt. And there was the matter of him swearing off one-night stands.
But did it really count as one if he had every intention of seeing her again?
He hesitated, wanting to kick himself in the nuts for it, but unable to stop his conscience from voicing itself. “But I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re still in love with—”
“Not tonight. Not now.”
She rose on tiptoe and fused her lips to his, her tongue immediately delving inside his mouth. He closed his hands around her waist, picking her up and knocking her back against the wall like he had wanted to do at the bar. Her legs closed around him, and he could feel her heat through his pants. The image of them clasped together like this hadn’t left his mind since the thought popped into his head, and the reality far surpassed his expectations.
Her legs around him. Her mouth on his. He wanted nothing more than to take her here. Against the wall. Hard. His need was that strong—but he couldn’t treat her so callously.
She deserved more.
Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, and he rolled his hips against her while devouring her mouth. She tasted so damn good. He felt like he had been waiting his whole life to taste her, as opposed to a few measly hours. Forcing his lips away from hers, he nibbled on her throat, dropping lower and lower with each gentle bite. She wriggled in his arms, arching her head back against the wall.
She fisted her fingers in his hair, yanking just enough to provide a twinge of pain to the pleasure rocking his core. She urged him lower, and he closed his mouth over the spot right above her breast. Right over her heart—the same heart which belonged to another. The heart that would never be his. Wait … where had that thought come from?
He shook his head, forcing himself not to focus on what he couldn’t have, and shouldn’t even want.
Running his hands over her hips, and up her waist, he then closed them around her br**sts. She moaned and tugged his head back up to hers, and their lips met again. Every time he kissed her, she tasted better. More addictive. As if he would never—could never—get enough of her. He ran his thumbs over her hard ni**les, teasing her with the barely there touch. She arched against his hand, her teeth scraping against his lower lip from the force of their kiss.
He couldn’t wait another second to get her naked. To see all of her, bared for him and him alone. Dropping his hands from her br**sts, he bunched her shirt up in his hands at her lower back, urging her to hold onto him. Once she wrapped her body around him—oh, hell, but that almost sent him over the edge of his barely there self-control—he carried her back into his bedroom, never relinquishing his hold on her lips.
Her legs tightened around his waist, and she moved wantonly against his cock. Kicking the bedroom door open, he lowered her to his bed and fell on top of her. He slid his hands under her tank top. He loved the fact that she didn’t wear a bra. In his opinion … the less obstacles to getting her naked, the better.
Desire crashed through him with the force of a tidal wave. His hands immediately closed over her br**sts again, and she whimpered into his mouth. Her small noises urged him on, and he rolled her ni**les between his thumb and finger, tugging gently. She practically growled at him, arching into his hand for more.
She just might be the death of him, but he’d damn well die smiling.
“Justin, please,” she panted.
She gripped his biceps then trailed her fingers down his arm. When she reached his wrist, she curled her hands around them and held on. As if she feared she might float away without him there, keeping her secure. That small, intimate touch sent his heart racing. Funny how such silly things could mean so much, and yet bring him back to reality at the same time.