The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(47)

“Because you’re acting like one?” He picks up his glass and swirls it around. “I’m adventurous, Kate. I like sex, I like it hard, and I like my women to come . . . often.” He lifts his glass to his lips and takes a sip; I watch as his tongue darts out and swipes over his bottom lip. “If you want vanilla, I’m not the man to deliver it.”

“I never said that—”

“Are you going to be embarrassed every time I make you come?” he cuts me off.

“Keep your voice down,” I whisper angrily as I look around.

“We are alone in a room, just the two of us.”

I stare at him.

“And we will always be alone, just the two of us. Nobody else is in our bed.” He leans over and cups my face in his hand and dusts his thumb over my lip. “Don’t punish yourself for feeling something new, angel,” he whispers, then he leans down and kisses me tenderly and I melt against him.

“I will push you . . . but it will only ever be what you need.” His tongue gently dances against mine, and I smile softly as I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders.

Oh . . . this man.

“Stop judging yourself,” he murmurs against my lips, “or this is never going to work between us.”

I nod and pull back from him. He’s too . . . much. We lean against each other with our foreheads touching. He gently kisses my cheek as we stay close.

There’s an intimacy running between us that shouldn’t be there.

Every word that leaves his mouth is sacred, it’s like he’s coaching me into a role that he designed. Training me up to be what he needs.

Whatever that is.

But this plaything has a heart, and I fear she’s in danger because we haven’t even scratched the surface yet and if tonight has taught me anything it’s that you can’t hide from Elliot Miles.

If he wanted to, he could bring me to my knees. I can already feel my defenses slipping, and yet I don’t want to get off the ride.

He stands and holds out my coat for me and I slide into it, then he turns me in his arms and kisses me as if we have all the time in the world. It’s slow, erotic, and tender, and I smile softly against his lips.

His kiss is like a drug.

I can hear warning sirens screaming in the distance . . .

Let the games begin.

The black-metal garage doors rise slowly. My hand is in Elliot’s on his lap in the backseat of the Bentley, Andrew is behind the wheel.

We drive in slowly and pass an array of swanky cars lined up in their bays; there are security guards walking around and this place looks more like a high-end car dealership than an underground parking lot. Andrew pulls the car up at the glass doors that lead into an elevator. He gets out, opens the car door for me, and I climb out. “Thank you.”

Elliot puts his arm around me and ushers me into the elevator, pushes the button, and we begin the ride up. He stares straight ahead with this trace of amusement on his face.

“What is that look?” I smirk.

“Nothing.” He kisses my temple. “Not every day I get to take the Kate Landon home,” he replies casually.

“We’re having coffee, Elliot,” I say. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good.” I square my shoulders as I try to hold my smile; I like this game.

He steps forward and I step back, his hands above my head on the wall behind me. “You know, I could just hit the stop button . . . deliver your coffee right here.”

My eyes widen. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He chuckles as his lips take mine. “Oh, but I would.”

“Elliot,” I whisper.

The elevator dings as we reach our floor.

He smiles against my lips as the doors open. “Saved by the bell.” He bites my bottom lip and then takes me by the hand. We’ve arrived in what looks like a private reception area. A large, round table with a floral arrangement on it sits in the middle; a huge, abstract painting in reds and black is hanging on the wall. Elliot puts his hand over a scanner and the door clicks as the lock releases.

We walk in and my breath is instantly stolen. Glass from ceiling to floor, showcasing a magical city view, bright city lights twinkling in the distance. The ceiling is so high and I look up in awe; I see a grand staircase in the middle. “Your apartment is two levels.”

“Uh-huh,” he replies casually as he leads me into the kitchen, takes my coat, and sits me up on the countertop, then stands between my legs.

The kitchen is white and modern and I look around. “Wow . . . This is beautiful.”

“Who cares about my house, let’s talk about the coffee.” He bends and bites my bare shoulder.

I giggle. “Okay . . . we could do that.”

His eyes rise to mine. “How do you like it?” His hair is messed up and his eyes are wild.

“My coffee?”

“Yeah.” He smiles and drops his lips to my breast and nips me through my dress.

“Ow . . .” I giggle.

“Cappuccino, long white, short black . . .” He whispers as he goes through the options.

“Straight up sounds pretty good.”

He drags my hips toward him in one sharp movement, spreads my legs a little further, and slides his hands up my bare thighs. “Risky,” he murmurs as his eyes follow his hands.