Somebody to Love (Gideon's Cove #3)(32)

Kind. That was the word she was looking for. He had kind eyes.

He reached out, slowly, and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, and without further thought, Parker leaned in and kissed him.

She was right. His lips were smooth and warm and it was so, so nice, simply having her lips against someone else’s, someone not her child—crikey, it had been a very long time. And James let her kiss him, the gentle pressure of his mouth just enough to let her know he didn’t mind. A lovely kiss. Perfect. Made Lady Land feel kind of wriggly and warm, and oh, hey, look at this, she was frenching him, and that wriggly feeling leaped and twirled and surged.

He didn’t mind at all, apparently, because the next minute, he was kissing her back. She could taste whiskey on him, and oh, God, he was good at this, kissing was so underrated, there should be kissing apps for phones or something. Her fingers slid through his thick, wavy hair, and his arms slipped around her and pulled her closer. The heat and the gentle scrape of his five-o’clock shadow, and oh, man, that mouth against hers…this guy would graduate top of his kissing class, no doubt.

Her heart was thudding, lust thick and hot in her veins, drowning out rational thought. Parker ran her hands down his neck, his shoulders thick with muscle—nice, Thing One!—then slid her hands under his tuxedo jacket and felt the heat of his skin under the thin cotton of his shirt.

From down below came the sound of someone laughing.

“Know what?” she said, tearing her mouth off his and standing unsteadily. “Come with me.” She grabbed his hand and practically dragged him up the rest of the stairs, shoved aside the velvet rope and towed James down the hallway, opened the third door on the right, and bingo. A bedroom, thank you very much.

James pushed her against the wall and kissed her again, and it was so welcome, so wonderful, being kissed like that, as if the building could burn down around them and it would be more important to keep kissing, hard and hot and fierce. His hands slid down her sides, to her ass, pulling her against him, and damn if her legs weren’t already shaking.

His mouth had moved to her neck, his dark hair brushing her cheek, and Parker felt such a wave of…longing and tenderness and gratitude and a melting sweetness. He wanted her. There was no doubt about that, and she turned her head and kissed his jaw, just under his ear, making him groan a little.

Then he straightened up and looked at her, leaning his forehead against hers. “You really want this to happen?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t quite steady, and that sealed the deal.

“Yes,” she said. Then she pulled him close and pulled his shirt from out of his pants and slid her hands up his hot skin.

He unzipped her dress and didn’t ask any more questions.

No, sir. No indeedy.

* * *

AS PARKER WOKE UP—holy halos, she’d fallen asleep with a near stranger—her first thought, aside from “Parker, you slut,” was “Dear Lord, don’t let me be pregnant.” Yes, they’d used a condom. And she was on the Pill, not that she’d needed it for contraception; her gynecologist recommended it as prevention for ovarian cancer. Whatever. Chances were, she wasn’t preggers.

Next thought was “Please don’t let him wake up.”

James Francis Xavier Cahill was beautiful. His cheeks were flushed, giving him a boyish look, and one arm was up over his head. How had she not noticed how delicious he was before this day? He looked like a fallen angel. He looked beautiful. He looked…eesh…young.

If she could get out of here without talking to him, that would be fantastic, because what the heck do you say after you, the somewhat inebriated older woman, drag a man, the hot young stud, into a bedroom, basically tear off his clothes and shag him silly? She barely let him speak. May as well have commanded him to do her.

Not that he seemed to mind.

Her dress, his shirt, her shoes, his tie, were all strewn around the room. So classy. Parker grabbed her panties and dress and slunk into the bathroom attached to the bedroom—excellent for trysts, these mansions—and looked at her reflection. Her mascara was smudged, her lips pink and bee-stung, her cheeks pink. Eyes were dreamy.

We’re so disappointed, said the Holy Rollers.

We’re not, said Lady Land. Thank you! That was rather spectacular, yes?

Yes.

Nevertheless, this was a huge mistake! Thing One? For God’s sake! What was she thinking? She was thinking Stoli Elit, that’s what she was thinking. Stoli Elit, a bad case of poor little rich girl and James Cahill’s smile. Bad, bad combo. So bad. So naughty. Dirty, even.

The thought of what they’d done…what he’d done to her…and the noises it evoked…the feelings that had practically— Okay! Stop! Let’s get moving here, shall we? Before the Coven finds us?

She dressed and ran a wet facecloth under her eyes, dampened her fingers and slicked her hair back into its twist once more. There. She looked normal—for a woman who’d spent the past hour against the wall, on the bed and yes, on the floor. With her father’s attorney.

Oh, this was bad.

She’d slip out of the room and call her driver and get out of Dodge. James could wake up and do whatever he wanted, but a face-to-face encounter? Bad idea.

She opened the door and jumped. There he was, right in the doorway.

“Sneaking out?” he said.

“Oh, no, no,” she stammered. “Nope. No. Just…freshening. Freshening up, that is.”