Page 11 of Angel In Armani

Another swallow of beer while she forced her thoughts away from that particular reality. And another. The bottle emptied. The slight buzz—luckily it wasn’t anything stronger or she’d be heading toward drunk after downing it so fast—began to push away her nerves. Lucas sat beside her apparently content with silence for a time.

The trouble with that was that as her nerves about the storm faded, her exquisite awareness of Lucas flooded in again to take their place. All her senses zeroed in on him, taking in each tiny detail. The scent of him. The tingle in her nerves, which were far too attuned to his presence so very close by. The dip in the mattress from his body that meant her side of the bed was angled ever so slightly toward him. Just inviting her to slide over and … Another clap of thunder boomed above them and she jumped.

“If the storm’s going to bother you that much, I think we need a distraction,” Lucas said.

They both stared across at the tiny TV bolted on the wall. The screen was dark. The clerk had informed them that the cable was out due to the storm after he’d handed them the keys. Sara tried not to think about the other most obvious form of distraction for a man and a woman alone on a bed.

Maybe she should get her eReader out of her bag. Pretend to read something … though that would be kind of rude.

“TV’s out,” Lucas said. “The best option I can offer is more beer.” He rolled a little and reached across her for the beer.

Before she knew what she was doing, she rolled toward him, too, and her leg, apparently having a mind all of its own, hooked itself over his hip.

Lucas froze.

So did she.

“Sara?”

“Um, yes, that’s me,” she said.

He laughed then. A soft low rumble of a laugh.

Move your leg. Move your leg. Move your leg. Her body was having none of it, though. Her leg stayed right where it was. Stupid body. It had heard that laugh. It wanted more of the man who’d made such an enticing sound. Damn it.

She almost fainted when Lucas’s hand settled on her waist. “I know it’s you,” he said. “What I’m trying to figure out is what exactly is going on here.”

Which wasn’t exactly, What the hell is your leg doing hooked over me, you floozy? Her throat went dry as her mind went into overdrive. Did that mean he was happy about the leg? Or was he just too polite to push her the hell away?

She swallowed, trying to make her brain work. His hand was warm and heavy and she was fairly certain that every inch of her that it was touching was about to burst into flames.

What the hell was she doing?

“Um, I’m not sure,” she said. He’d said distraction, and apparently her hormones had used that moment to seize control of her body and stage a coup.

“Can I tell you what I think is happening?”

Oh God. He was going to let her down gently or something. Make some chivalrous speech. But then his hand moved a little on her waist. A small stroking flex of his fingers that sent her skin even closer to the point of spontaneous combustion. She bit the inside of her lip so she wouldn’t moan at the sensation.

“I think you’re making a pass at me,” he said.

“I—” She stopped and swallowed again. He didn’t sound angry or horrified. A little amused, maybe, but maybe the prospect of sex made him happy. She wasn’t sure it made her happy despite the fact her skin was melting under his touch.

In fact, the way that she was reacting to him meant she wasn’t sure that the idea of sex with Lucas Angelo wasn’t downright terrifying. And there she was, thinking about sex with a client again. So she had a decision to make. Pull away and blame it on storm nerves or woman up and go after what her body was strongly suggesting she wanted, to hell with professionalism and common sense.

She really wanted door number two. Really, really wanted it. The way she hadn’t wanted anything since she’d gotten back from the army and been sucked into the maelstrom of dealing with her dad and insurance companies and the business and … good God, his hand was moving again. Doing that little coaxing stroking thing.

She looked up at him. His eyes were very blue. Very very blue. And he was watching her very intently. With the sort of look that, unless she really had lost touch with every female instinct she possessed, was telling her he wasn’t unhappy with the situation.

Oh hell, it was door number two. “Would that be a bad thing?”

“Not bad,” he said. He smiled and she felt her brain fog a little. “But?—”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m clear on the situation. I’m not going to turn into a crazed stalker in the morning and tell the friend I sent your details to that you attacked me. This is about sex. For one night only. Deal?”

His eyebrows flicked upward. “Deal. And just to be clear, if you change your mind, just tell me.” His hand moved to her back, pulled her in a little closer. “So, lady’s choice, Sara Charles. Where do you want to start?”

“I think—” She didn’t really. No, she was far too distracted by the hardness of his body against hers. And by the look in his eyes, which was suddenly hot and focused all on her. And by the curve of his mouth while he waited for her answer. That mouth. “Isn’t kissing traditional?”

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