Page 22 of Code Name: Michelangelo

It was obvious by the way his hardness had pressed against my bottom while I sat with my back to his front that he was as interested in sex as I was. Or maybe it was just having a woman’s body in his arms. Any woman. Not me specifically. He had just gotten out of prison.

But then, when the opportunity arose for him to act on his apparent desire, the physical excitement had waned.

Me? As long as I lived, I’d never forget the first kiss we’d shared. It had fueled my fantasies since the day it happened. Good night kisses from other men were ruined when I couldn’t help but compare them to Brand’s. Then, any sexual tension I’d hoped would materialize never did.

Was it that way for him with me? Was there someone from his past I didn’t measure up to?

When we approached the front desk of the hotel where we’d spent last night, I was crestfallen to hear the clerk say the same two-bedroom suite was available.

Two bedrooms. Two separate beds. We might talk for a while, maybe even sit on the chaise again, but then when one of us got sleepy, we’d return inside, he’d peck my cheek like he did last night, then disappear into one of the bedrooms and shut the door.

When he asked what weighed heavily on me, I couldn’t tell him it was that more than Tara’s pregnancy announcement. I was happy for her, but it just drove home the point that it had been months since I was on a date, and even Brand didn’t seem that interested.

When he’d teased, asking if he could keep me, what I should’ve said was, “Yes. In fact, you could take me now and never let me go.”

“Are you hungry?” he asked when we walked past the inn’s five-star restaurant.

“Are you?”

He grinned. “I asked you first.”

“Sure. I could eat.” We’d planned to have dinner at Kade and Merrigan’s, but when my four friends said they had to return to Cambria before it got much later, Brand and I begged off too. Our drive was longer than theirs, and that was only as far as the airport. Where we were now was ninety minutes beyond it.

“If you’d like to secure a table, I’ll ask the bellman to take our things to the room.”

I told him I would, but when I walked in and saw amorous couples seated at every occupied table, I considered turning around and suggesting we go anywhere else to eat. Preferably somewhere without a view of the ocean, a roaring fireplace, or dimmed lighting.

The market across the street would be ideal. We could pick up premade sandwiches, disappear into our separate rooms, and eat on our own. That was as far from romantic as I could think of.

“No tables?” Brand asked when he returned and I was still standing far enough away from the entrance that no one had asked if they could assist me.

“It looks awfully…” Could I say romantic? If I did, would he know what I really wanted to do was return to the room, strip off our clothes, kiss each other’s naked bodies, and nibble each other’s skin like he’d done to my neck last night.

“Penelope?”

With flushed cheeks, I stared into his eyes.

He wrapped his arm around me, pulled me into him, and rested his head against mine. “Do you know what it does to me when you look at me that way?”

“Which way?”

“Like you did the day we parted on the streets of Manhattan. Like you wanted me to kiss you.”

“What’s stopping you?”

His eyes bored into mine as if he was asking if I was serious. Rather than answer with words, I leaned up and kissed him.

He tightened the arm he had around me and pressed his tongue against my lips, requesting the entrance I willingly gave. His kiss was hard and demanding. Desperate—just like the first we’d shared. Unlike that one, it didn’t start out tentatively but had the same urgency, the same craving for possession. The ache between my legs, the desire I felt for him, was the same too.

When we heard a passerby clear his throat, I wondered if Brand would end the kiss, take his arm from around me, and walk away, leaving me alone again.

“What you do to me,” he whispered, kissing from my lips, across my cheek, to my ear.

I angled my neck to give him better access. “Are you still hungry?” I asked.

“Famished, in fact. But not for food, Butterfly. The hunger I feel is all for you. The tastes I crave are of your skin.” He leaned in and nipped my earlobe. “Tell me that’s what you hunger for, too.”

I put my hand on his cheek and brought my lips to his, devouring his mouth as I pressed my body against him. “I’m starving, Brand. All for you.”

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