Boiling Point (Crossing the Line #3)(29)

“I’m waiting for an answer. What are you gifted in?”

Austin dropped his attention to her lap where Polly knew a healthy amount of her thighs were exposed beneath a short, fitted gray skirt. “I’m gifted in ways that matter,” he murmured, that Southern accent staying perfectly in place. “But we won’t find that out for sure sitting here, will we?” His smooth index finger found the inside of her thigh, traced higher and higher, slipping beneath the hem of her skirt. “I can get you started, though, if you’ve a mind to finish that drink.”

Even as Polly breathed a denial, she struggled not to slide her legs wide on the leather seat. The thudding beat between her thighs hadn’t ceased since this morning, and having his finger there, touching and rubbing, would be divine. Could she allow it? Just for a moment? Before any poor decisions could be made, a loud couple blew into the bar, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, shattering the illusion of privacy within the establishment.

Austin didn’t pay them the slightest attention, his gaze roaming over her breasts, that maddening finger still stroking the skin of her upper thigh. “Where does that smell of lemonade come from? Lotion or a perfume bottle?”

She rolled her lips inward to moisten them. “Lotion.”

A noise vibrated in his throat. “You’re the kind of lemonade with lots of sugar stirred in, aren’t you?” His single finger traced higher on her thigh, tucking beneath the edge of her panties. He pushed his mouth up against her ear and groaned, his knuckle dipping between the lips of her dampening flesh. “I love sugar. Can’t get enough of the stuff. Why would anyone want to eat anything else?”

“I, um. I don’t know.” Oh Lord, if he touched her clit—so much as grazed it—she would put the orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally to shame. Not here. Her toes were beginning to curl inside her turquoise pumps, a sure sign she would go off like Mount Saint Helens if he touched the right spot. And all signs pointed to Austin not only finding the right spot, but tenaciously exploiting it, too. Polly saw the bartender approaching in her peripheral vision and grabbed his flexing wrist, drawing it from between her legs. “I have a room upstairs.”

His cocky mouth moved into a smile where it lay buried in her hair. The hand he’d been using to drive her insane disappeared into his pocket, pulling out a stack of bills. He laid two twenty-dollar bills on the bar and eased her off the seat, into the cradle of his hard body. “By all means, lead the way.”

The walk to the elevator and subsequent ride to the twelfth floor would forever be remembered as the longest three minutes in her lifetime. Austin didn’t touch her, but she felt him everywhere. Felt every breath he took, her body heating underneath his rapt regard. He positioned himself in the corner of the elevator, tapping his fingers against the wood-paneled interior, until just like in the bar, her heartbeat started to keep time with his taps. His intensity sucked her in, made her feel naked in the small, moving space. She could hear her own pulse, oxygen sweeping in and out of her lungs…and she didn’t care. The time for hiding her weaknesses from this enigmatic man could resume again tomorrow, when her life didn’t depend on sweet relief.

His body heat was volcanic at Polly’s back as she slid the key card into the door lock and turned the burnished gold handle. Once inside, she didn’t bother flipping on the light. Wouldn’t have been able to find the focus if she wanted to. Because when Austin sauntered toward the king-size bed and climbed onto the firm mattress, removing his jacket and stripping his dress shirt down his arms as he went, Polly forgot to think, or breathe, or reason. She only recalled his words from that morning. It will be your show to run. At Polly’s sides, her hands twitched. She felt light on the balls of her feet as she circled behind Austin, wanting to see the magnificence of him from all possible angles. Standing on his knees in the bed’s center, bare-chested, his usual arrogance was tempered with vulnerability he couldn’t totally hide. Something was odd about his stillness…was he breathing? No. His tension-filled muscles were strained and unmoving, hands in fists at his sides as he waited. Waited for her to direct him. A tingling began at the top of her scalp and shimmered down, down, to her calves, leaving her aglow on the inside with feverish sense of purpose.

Resolving not to question her inclinations, Polly reached out and smoothed a hand over Austin’s taut backside, watched mesmerized as his erection rose against the fly of his dress pants, his ripped abdomen shuddering above that impressive, lengthening flesh. “No touching yourself,” she said softly, gratified beyond comprehension when he gave a jerky nod in response.

Loath as she was to lose sight of his chiseled-from-granite chest, Polly continued her journey around the bed, dragging her fingertips along his ass as she went, noting the way his breathing grew more labored with each of her measured steps. When she stood directly behind him, her progress halted. Even in the muted light of the hotel room, clusters of red marks were visible on his back, out of place set against his unflawed physique.

Polly’s hand hovered above one group of marks. “What are these from?”

He didn’t answer right away, but finally cast her a wary look over his shoulder. “Fingernails.” He faced forward again with an indifferent shrug he didn’t quite pull off. “Always digging in. You know how it goes.”

Jealousy rocked her, but Polly held fast against its green-eyed potency. She brushed the pad of her right thumb over a trio of angry moon-shaped scars. “All from the same woman?”