Bitter Spirits (Roaring Twenties #1)(51)

“Oh, good,” she said, noticing. “It’s not just me.”

Once he got his hands on her, he’d calm down. He was too keyed up. He felt like a boy, overexcited and bouncing with energy. Practically ramming the door open, he hurried her inside, hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign, and locked the door behind him.

She switched on a lamp and set her handbag and coat down. He watched her inspect their surroundings. The suite was big. Clean, but not properly prepared for guests: no fresh flowers, no turned-down linens. He was in too much of a hurry to wait for niceties.

Strolling to the window, she looked out over downtown. Hazy fog clung to the rooftop. “I’ll never get over the views here,” she said. “Everywhere you go, there’s something to see. I think some of these views must be stuck inside my head from childhood, because nothing out East compares. Everything seems so flat and claustrophobic out there.”

She turned to face him. He saw her throat working as she swallowed hard. Noticed the way she tightly held one arm beneath her breasts, gripping her opposite elbow, as if she was trying to shield herself. He hated that. She glanced at the bed. “Oh, Winter, I’m so nervous.”

Her voice was small. She was small. How had he not noticed how small and fragile she was? That blustery attitude of hers was deceptive. And now that it was gone, and she was unable to meet his eyes, he was reminded of Paulina, timid and guarded—worse, he was reminded of how he used to feel around her. Like a monster and a bully. Like the bad guy.

Her fingers touched her breastbone as if she were searching for something, and then glanced down in panic when she didn’t find it. She snatched her hand away and exhaled heavily.

A pang of worry went through him. This was not at all how he’d imagined this going, and he’d imagined it plenty of times, plenty of ways. It definitely wasn’t what he had in mind when he proposed this harebrained idea in the restaurant. Maybe she’d been right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be done. He should’ve been patient and let things happen naturally.

But God, how he wanted her.

It’s just that he wanted free-spirited Aida, not this tense, nervous rabbit version.

He approached her and held out a hand. “Let’s just sit here on the sofa.” It faced the window. Maybe the view would be soothing. He removed his tuxedo jacket and laid it on the back of the sofa, unstrapped his leather shoulder holster and gun, then sat down next to her. “Deep breath, cheetah. It’s just me.”

She exhaled and anxiously laughed at herself, smoothing her dress down her legs.

He made a quick decision.

“I changed my mind. We’re not going to have sex tonight.”

She looked up, eyes big and brown. “Why?”

Because you are scared of me. “Because we need to get used to each other.”

“Maybe that’s wise,” she said. “I mean, if you think so.”

Enough of this awkwardness. “Come here. I want to hold you.” He pulled her sideways onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her, then spoke to her in a hushed voice. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

So warm. He stroked a palm across her back and felt tense muscles relax against his thighs. “This is better.”

“Yes. Much better.” Her fingers fluttered over his bow tie. She fiddled with the knot, then glanced up at his face and smiled. All her lipstick was gone, wiped away on her napkin at dinner. Now he could see every freckle on her lips, including the one near the right corner of her mouth that he liked so well.

He spoke without thinking, his voice sounding rough to his own ears. “I swear on my life, you are the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She softened in his arms. He held her closer, running a hand down her bare arm, feeling chills race down his own arm in response. His mouth brushed her face. He kept himself in check, slowly relaxing, enjoying the weight of her body. Grateful for it.

“Please kiss me, Winter,” she said against his cheek. “Or I’ll be forced to attack you again.”

There she was. His Aida.

He complied, trying to go gentle, but her mouth was so hot and eager, and her hands were slipping over his shoulders. His cock stirred, pulsing to life against her leg. She twisted in his arms and pressed closer.

He forgot all about the tense start. “C’mere,” he murmured against her lips. “Like this.” He prodded one of her legs across his until she was straddling his lap. “Oh yes. That’s better.” He slouched lower and gathered her closer, until her gown hiked up. Soft breasts pressed against his chest as her mouth returned to his. His hands slid up the back of her thighs. He stuck his index fingers beneath the tops of her stockings, under her garters. Two fingers. Three. He wanted to rip them off. And he almost did when her hips shifted and her soft heat covered his cock.

“Oh,” she said in a high voice. He extracted his roaming fingers from her stockings and pulled her down more firmly, fitting himself along her sex, nothing but a few thin layers of fabric between them. “O-oh,” she said louder.

His thoughts exactly.

He gathered her closer, thrusting up against her heat. She rocked in reply, rubbing herself against him. Christ, he was hard as iron. He thrust harder against her, drunk with pleasure, craving more . . . wanting to be inside her. She flinched. “Oww.”

He pulled away.