Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(7)
He bent over and splashed his face. All that time he spent analyzing her and surmising her motives when he should have been—
A soft knock on the door made him stand up straight.
He smiled like he had the day they unlocked his cell. Hell yeah. Second chance.
He looked through the peephole, catching her looking from side to side. Before, he would have assumed she was looking for her partner, or even sending a signal. She self-consciously touched the button of her sweater, which paranoid Mal would have thought meant she was adjusting a mic.
And he’d have been wrong.
His hand trembled just a little as he fumbled with the lock, a sign of just how badly he wanted this woman.
He took a slow breath and opened the door, letting her speak first.
Uncertainty played at the edges of her features as she held up two bottles of beer. “We didn’t get to finish our drink.”
He took one and let her in and closed the door, snapping the security bar.
She took a few steps into the room and put her beer, handbag, and a plastic bag on the desk.
“You seem—”
“I don’t usually—”
They talked right over each other, and she gave a self-conscious laugh. “You first.”
“You don’t usually what?” he asked.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the dresser. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here.”
He took a few steps closer, noticing the slightest quiver in her chin and a wariness behind her glasses. How could he have missed that?
“Yes, you are.” He slipped off the specs and set them on the dresser, not surprised to confirm she was nearsighted, not fake-sighted. “And you want a T-shirt.”
“Or something to sleep in.” She took a slow, uneven breath, staring up at him as he placed his hands on her cheeks and jaw, easily feeling the thump of her pulse.
“Sleep with me,” he whispered. “And don’t wear anything.”
She angled her head, biting her lower lip as she studied him. “I’m not, you know, the most experienced traveler in this airport hotel, but I’m pretty sure that’s why I came here.”
That made him smile. Okay, so the only thing she was a rookie at might be casual sex. Good thing for her, he wasn’t feeling casual at all.
“You have no idea how glad I am that you did.” He slid his hands down her throat, and that pulse jacked up even more. She breathed again, her chest rising and falling, her lips parted, her pupils wide with arousal.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
He stroked her jaw and lower lip, reveling in their smoothness, and the absolute rare moment of trusting someone. Someone beautiful and sexy and willing to take his pain away tonight.
“I think that from the moment I met you, I wasn’t thinking straight, Francesca.”
She leaned into him, offering her full body. “I love the way you say my name.”
He lowered his head and almost kissed her, wanting to delay the gratification of the first taste, wanting to make every move of this dance last as long as possible. But she wanted no part of waiting, closing the space like she demanded to be kissed, molding into him, wrapping her arms around him, taking ownership like…like, well, no rookie.
“Francesca,” he murmured against her mouth.
“The apron-wearing pizza maker.”
He laughed and slid his hands to the first button of a thin sweater. “Let’s get you out of that apron.”
She answered with a soft mew from her throat, lifting her chin to give him access to the source of the sound, a sweet, soft column of skin that tasted like pure heaven.
She spread her hands over the back of his head, guiding his kisses where she wanted them. He got stuck on the second button, distracted by the sight of more cleavage, so he spread his hands over her breasts. Budded nipples popped against the thin sweater material. He caressed and thumbed them, eliciting another moan and a slight rock of her hips into his erection. The below-the-belt contact shot fire through him, the ache squeezing need from his balls to his brain.
It had been so long…and she was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
“Let me help you.” She unbuttoned the flimsy sweater with slow hands, as sexy as any striptease he’d ever seen. His mouth went bone dry, and his hands itched to touch everything.
She let the black material fall open to reveal a lacy bra in the same color, looking up at him with nothing but raw and genuine desire. How the hell could he have ever doubted her?
He closed his eyes and shut out the question with another kiss, reckless and hungry, opening his mouth, meeting her tongue, and thoroughly palming one tender breast. He nearly cried at how good she felt, so warm and feminine and round.
She groaned and bowed her back, all permission and agreement and compliance.
He tossed the sweater somewhere behind him, turning her to walk her backward toward the bed. She paused long enough to grab the small plastic bag from the desk.
She plucked out a box of Trojans and gave him a smile. “You knew I was going to buy these.”
“I swear to God, I didn’t know anything.” And that was the whole truth.
As he backed her to the bed, she flicked off her bra, wetting her lips while she slid the straps down her arms to reveal perfect, sweet perky tits with rosy nipples that he wanted to suck to precious points. “Holy shit,” he murmured, making her laugh softly.