Any Way You Want It (Brand Clan #2)(64)

His sharp intake of breath gave her a wicked thrill of satisfaction. Emboldened, she rubbed her foot against the thick, rigid bulge of his erection.

He made a sound—a deep, rough sound that bordered on a growl. The eyes that met hers were smoldering.

Before she could coyly retreat, he reached beneath the table and caught her foot, trapping it against that delicious male hardness.

Her pulse jumped and raced as she stared at him. She felt reckless, naughty, heady with excitement and desire.

As his warm, strong fingers began massaging her toes, she whimpered softly with pleasure. Heat pooled in her loins, and her heart pounded so violently she had to set her glass down on the table before she dropped it.

Remy’s talented fingers moved to the soles of her feet, gently kneading and caressing until it was all she could do not to moan and writhe in her chair. She squeezed her thighs together, but that did nothing to quell the lust surging through her body.

“So you’ve never played footsie before?” Remy asked in that low, husky rumble that always made her tingle all over.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice.

“How is that even possible, as naughty as you are?”

She could only smile.

“Has anyone ever sucked your toes before?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Good.” His eyes glittered fiercely. “Then I can be the first for that, too.”

Zandra bit back a groan. Her nipples were achingly hard and her clit was swollen, slick with her arousal. She wanted to come. Needed to come.

And then suddenly she was, staring into Remy’s eyes as pleasure rolled through her...* muscles tightening...fingers clenching on the linen tablecloth...teeth biting down on her lip to keep herself from crying out.

Remy watched her intently, his eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction. “Mmm. Another erogenous zone.”

“That I knew nothing about,” Zandra rasped.

The waiter chose that moment to appear. “More wine, ma’am?”

Zandra swallowed hard, cheeks flushed. “Yes. Please.”

As he solicitously topped off her glass, she looked at Remy. As he stared back at her, she couldn’t resist rubbing her foot against his bulging shaft.

She felt him shudder, saw his nostrils flare.

Looking at the waiter, he all but growled, “I’ll take the check now.”

Sometime later that night, Zandra awakened to find herself alone in the huge, rumpled bed. Confused and disoriented, she sat up slowly, clutching the sex-scented sheets to her naked breasts.

Glancing around the room, she saw Remy standing at the windows. His chest was bare and he wore white pajama bottoms as he stared outside, a brooding figure bathed in moonlight.

Zandra watched him for a few moments.

“Hey,” she whispered.

He turned and looked at her. “Hey.”

“What’re you doing up? Couldn’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. Not directly. I sensed...that you were gone.” She looked at him, but his face was cloaked in shadows and she couldn’t read his expression. But she didn’t have to. She could sense the tension radiating from him. Tension and turmoil.

She frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

She didn’t believe him, and he knew it.

He held her gaze another moment, then turned back to the windows. “Get some sleep,” he said gruffly. “We’ve got a full day tomorrow.”

“I know,” she drawled. “I’m the one who set up the itinerary, remember?”

He didn’t respond.

She slid quietly from the bed and bent down to pick up the silk robe that Remy had peeled from her body before they made love. She slipped it on and loosely knotted the sash, then padded across the room.

Reaching Remy, she slid her arms around his back, moving her palms up to the thick pad of his pectorals. He caught her hands and brought them to his mouth, making her shiver as he tenderly brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his broad back, absorbing the heat of his skin. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Remington.”

She felt his muscles tighten, and then he stepped out of her embrace and started across the room. “Come on. Let’s go back to bed.”

She didn’t follow him. “I don’t want to.”

“Zandra—”

“I want to know what’s bothering you. And don’t tell me it’s nothing because I know better.”

Heaving an impatient breath, he turned back to face her. “This is supposed to be a romantic getaway—”

“And that won’t change, unless you want it to.”

“Damn it.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and growled, “Leave it alone, Zandra.”

“I can’t.” Her voice softened. “And neither can you.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then pivoted on his heel and stalked from the bedroom.

She followed him through the darkened suite to the kitchen. She turned on the light, wincing at the sudden brightness as she watched him remove a beer from the refrigerator and twist the cap off the bottle.

“Remy—”