Page 17 of Turning Up the Heat

CHAPTER SEVEN

GEMMA’SHOUSEWAS a two-story modern-style rectangle that was mostly made of glass. Her yard was lush. Thick trees and bushes that, along with a high wall, preserved her privacy. He could see that Rexford Rum was doing well. “This is a nice place. I like the garden,” he told her. His only outdoor space in New York was a small balcony off his condo. “You must have a green thumb.”

“My thumbs only know rum. This is the work of a fabulous gardener. But you should check out the place in the daylight,” she said over her shoulder as she keyed in the code to unlock her door.

He came up behind her. Not touching her, but close enough to feel the heat of her body. “To me, that sounds like an invitation to stay the night,” he leaned over and murmured in her ear.

She didn’t answer as she opened the door and walked inside. He followed closely behind. The lights came on, and he saw that the interior was just as modern as the exterior, open concept, clean and neat. “Can I get you a drink?”

“That depends,” he said.

“On what?”

“On whether or not I’ll have to drive back to my hotel tonight.”

She paused for a moment, and she seemed to be mulling over her response in her head. After far too long of a pause, she turned and walked away from him and into her kitchen. She pulled a wine bottle from the rack on the way. “I guess I’ll get you that drink.”

“That’s what I thought. So I will get to check out that view of your garden after all.” He went to a glass wall and looked out into her yard. Security lights illuminated some of it.

She handed him a glass of wine and held her own glass and the bottle. “Forget about that for now,” she said, nodding in the direction of the stairs. “My room’s this way.”

“Lead the way.”

They climbed the stairs, and he saw that her bedroom encompassed the entire second floor. “Wow, this is quite a bedroom.”

She smiled. “There used to be three rooms up here, but when I bought the place, I had the walls torn down to create one big bedroom, a giant closet, and the ensuite of my dreams. I live alone. I figured, why not?”

“It’s amazing.” His eyes landed on the king-size bed that held more pillows than necessary. “Looks comfortable.”

Gemma put the bottle of wine on the end table and walked into her closet. When she came out, her dress was gone, and she was standing in front of him in a pink bra and red panties. “I’m sure most of your dates normally have it together enough to wear matching underwear.”

He laughed at her comment. But she was right. The women he went out with were typically well coiffed, impeccably dressed, recently manicured, eager to impress. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Hell, he’d more than enjoyed it in the past. But that was what charmed him about Gemma. She hadn’t been worried about impressing him with thousand-dollar lingerie. But seeing her in front of him excited him more than any other woman ever had. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. You won’t be wearing it much longer.”

When Tom stalked toward her, Gemma stopped caring about her mismatched underwear. He put a hand on her shoulder and plucked the bra strap from her skin and dragged it down her arm. He dropped his lips on her shoulder and kissed her lightly. His touch tickled her, and she drew her bottom lip between her teeth when he kissed that sensitive spot on her neck. He reached back and unsnapped her bra. He pulled it away from her, and it dropped to the floor. Taking her breasts in his hands, he cupped her, squeezed, brushed his thumbs over her nipples, and she arched into his touch. She hooked her thumbs under the sides of her panties and shimmied them down her hips.

He groaned, not taking his eyes from her chest. “Get on the bed,” he told her.

Gemma smiled and knelt on the mattress. Her reflection in the full-length mirror in front of the bed entranced her. She watched her reflection as he approached. He’d removed all his clothes, and he knelt behind her. He smoothed one hand over her stomach, and the other up her torso, over her breasts and to her throat. He held her head in place and put his face beside hers, looking at them in the mirror, as well. “Look at us,” he said, his voice rumbling through her. “We look good, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice so breathy she could barely hear herself.

“Keep your eyes on us in the mirror,” he told her. She nodded. He smoothed his hand down over her stomach to her pussy and cupped her in his large hand. She flexed her hips against him, and he returned her eagerness by dipping two fingers inside. At his touch, she closed her eyes and threw back her head. But Tom’s grip on her neck tightened ever so slightly, getting her attention. “Eyes open and on the mirror,” he commanded.

“Okay,” she said again in a whisper, afraid that if she spoke any louder, it would break the spell he held over her.

The pads of his fingers circled her clit, and she moaned.

He removed the hand that he’d had around her throat and dragged it down her lower back. He pushed her down so that she was on all fours on the bed, her ass raised to him. In the mirror, she saw Tom behind her, his eyes on her ass, as he picked up the condom he must have pulled out earlier and opened it, and his face looked pained as he rolled it over his cock. He lifted her ass a little bit and pushed inside her. His thrusts were rough, fierce, and his grip on her hips was strong.

She cried out, and their eyes connected in the mirror.

“You’re so goddamn hot, Gemma,” he rasped. “I’m not going to last long.”

“I won’t, either.”

“Touch yourself.”

“What?”

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