Page 134 of One Wrong Move

He closes his eyes and swallows, hard. I see his Adam’s apple bob with the force of it. “Jesus,” he grunts and pulls the door open.

Thierry and Janos are still at the table. They’re engrossed in a conversation and give us wide smiles when we return.

“Harper!” Janos says. “We ordered the tiramisu for you.”

Shit.

I open my mouth to say thank you, but Nate beats me to it. “I’m afraid we have to leave. But we appreciate the gesture, gentlemen.”

Janos glances between us with another wide grin. “I understand. You really do make a beautiful couple.”

“Better than you deserve,” Thierry says to Nate and reaches over to shake his hand.

A blush creeps up my cheeks. It’s his right hand. Same hand…

Nate shakes Thierry’s firmly. “I know, but I’m not planning on letting her go.”

“You’d be crazy to,” the Frenchman says. He kisses my cheek, and then we’re off, out into the warm Parisian evening air.

We barely make it into the hotel elevator before Nate kisses me. The cab is small and it moves slowly with creaking sounds toward the seventh floor.

Once inside our suite, the door shuts behind us with a sharp, determined click.

Leaving us alone in the luxurious, quiet space.

Looking at each other.

Nate’s eyes… I haven’t seen such intensity in them before. I’m not sure he can’t look away. There’s a glimpse of something tightly leashed in his gaze, threatening to escape at the slightest crack in his control.

I walk to the minibar. “Champagne?”

He nods, just a single dip of his chin. “Yes. Let’s.”

My hands tremble slightly as I uncork the chilled bottle. Pour us both a flute and turn to see him undoing his cufflinks. Folding up the sleeves of his shirt.

Outside the window, the Eiffel Tower is putting on another late-night light display.

I’m nervous.

Warm. Anxious. Excited.

He’s Nate. My friend, Nate. And everything we’ve done together… things that I’ve never experienced before, none of them were this. Sex. Until now, we were just having “fun.” Friends helping friends.

He walks closer, his eyes on mine. Accepts the glass of champagne. We both watch each other take a sip.

The bubbles are silk down my throat.

“Do you think the dinner went well? Businesswise?”

“Yes.” He raises an eyebrow, and his gaze drops down. “I think you impressed. In that shirt… and that damned skirt.”

“It was a risk.”

“I like risks,” he says. “And I spent the entire dinner wondering what would happen if I slipped my hand under your hemline.”

My throat feels tight. “That was the point.”

“Remember when you dropped your bath towel?” he rasps and steps closer. So close that our bodies are separated by a mere inch. “Outside your room?”

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