Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(52)

“I don’t let the cards control me.”

“You make that sound so easy, when playing under so much pressure is kind of like going a hundred on a wrong-way road for most people. Especially tonight. Any news on what’s happening?”

“The private eye’s people just got here, and they’re working with Daniel and looking for answers, but so far, nothing.” He stops us at the elevator and punches the button. “I doubt we’ll find much, but they’re going to try to track down the waitress who gave me the note. Someone arranged for that to happen and I want to know who.”

“I’m just glad you won. That was truly ‘f*ck them’ poker.”

The elevator door opens and he leads me inside, punching in our number before pressing me against the wall, his legs framing mine, his green eyes warm with amber, his hands at my waist. “Do you remember what I said I was going to do after I won the tournament?”

For the first time in many years, I’m not thinking about the elevator I’m inside. “Very clearly,” I dare, and maybe it’s because this is Vegas, or one weekend that I’m not sure is just one weekend. I dare because there’s something about Jason that lets me be me.

His eyes darken, approval in their depths. “And here I thought you’d be blushing.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, I am the one who kissed you first.”

“Also a good surprise.” He leans in and presses his cheek to mine. “How many ways can I f*ck you, Skye?”

My nipples tighten; my breasts feel heavy. “You tell me.”

The elevator dings and he leans back to look at me. “How about I show you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, lacing his fingers with mine and leading me into the hallway, and in an instant, his arm is back around me. It’s now a familiar gesture, a welcome one, and I try to figure out why I like it so very much—just as I do the easy way he touches me. I’d say that’s because I haven’t exactly been letting anyone touch me, but it’s not. It’s Jason. It’s the warm, wonderful, sexy, playful, erotic way every moment lights up when I’m with him, and I’m not going to overthink this. I’m just going to enjoy what could be one weekend with this man. I’m going to enjoy the way he plays his cards. Wholly focused on him and nothing else.

We reach the door, and the swipe of the key card seems to go in slow motion, my heart thundering in my chest. He opens the door but pauses with it cracked, and somehow I’m standing beside him and we’re staring at each other, a charge between us, worlds of questions with it. Will we, are we, could we?

He pulls me in front of him, his big, hard body framing mine, his hands on my belly, his lips near my ear. “When you walk in that door, I’m going to lick, kiss, and touch every part of you possible. I’m also going to answer every question I just saw in your eyes.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


I ALL BUT MELT at Jason’s erotic promises, and when he opens the door, I’m quick to enter the apartment. He is on my heels, the door shutting, locking, and the instant I’ve turned to face him, I’m against the wall—and while it is hard, his body, intimately aligned with mine, is harder. His fingers tangle in my hair, his mouth lingering above mine for several hot pulses before he is kissing me, passionately, deeply. Tasting me like I’m his next breath, his tongue licking into my mouth, caressing, seducing.

Sensations roll through me, a moan with them, my fingers closing around his shirt, holding on to him, silently asking for more. But instead he tears his mouth from mine, gazing down at me, his expression unreadable. “You had me from the moment I met you,” he says. “That’s my answer to what you wanted to know in the hallway. And no one has ever done that to me.”

“Of course they have. I know they have.”

“Have I wanted to f*ck a woman when I first met her? Of course. But f*cking a woman isn’t something that requires a morning after. I made sure we had one. More than one.”

More. That is the problem. He’s the kind of man who makes you want more, and that can easily become an emotional firecracker, better avoided. “You’re a weekend kind of guy, Jason.”

“Yes,” he says. “I am.”

“Then I don’t understand. What does that mean?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” he says, and while the reply has me reeling, so does his mouth that’s now on me, this kiss hard, fast, intense, and drugging, his hands going beneath my shirt and pushing it upward. “I need you naked,” he orders, his fingers finding my bra and deftly unsnapping it.

“I need you naked,” I reply, sounding breathless—feeling it, too.

“Ladies first,” he says, pulling my top over my head and tossing it, my bra gone just as fast. And then his hands are at my waist, his eyes lowering to my breasts, lingering on my nipples that pucker and ache in response, before he is looking at me again, smoldering embers and fire in those green, green eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he declares.

His words, low and rough, manage to be both sandpaper and silk, sliding along my nerve endings, a caress I feel in every part of me, inside and out. And I do not know what it is about this moment, but as I look at him, as he looks at me, it is perhaps the most erotic moment I’ve ever shared with a man. There’s something happening between us, something he is doing to me that I have never experienced, but oh, I want to. Badly. Intensely. Completely.