Page 43 of Caribbean Crush

Right, but ... does he want me to do something here? In the hall? It’s one thing to talk a big game and another to actually go through with it in public like this. It’s a sort of dare, I realize. He doesn’t seem bothered by our current location, and so I damn well don’t care either. Hah. I peer around the corner to find the coast is clear, and by the time I look back at Phillip, my mind is absolutely made up. I’m going to kiss Phillip, and if it’s a disaster, then let it be a disaster. At least I will have done something worthy of regret. At least I won’t have to sit in that uncomfortable state of wondering what if for one more day. I look at his mouth, at the luscious color, at the slight fullness and pout. He has lovely lips. That doesn’t seem like a compliment you can give a man, but he deserves to hear it. I’m too shy to tell him, though, so I’ll just have to show him. I sidle up to him, and after taking a moment to gather my bravery, I slide my hands up the front of his suit jacket—over his broad chest—until they come to a stop at the lapels. I look up, waiting for him to call it, to laugh or shake his head, to give some indication that I’ve pushed things too far. When he just stares down at me in silence, I take it as a green light.

With one final quivering breath, I rise up and lean ever so gently against him before pressing my lips to his.

It’s a kiss, but it’s one sided. I’m kissing him. I’m leading the charge with soft lips and gentle teasing.

For so long, he makes me work for it. His hands move to rest on my hips, but that’s it. There’s barely any possession there. He could be holding on to a stair rail, for god’s sake. He doesn’t lean in; he doesn’t make a sound. His lips move only in accordance with mine, and it pisses me off. I press closer and part my lips so my tongue can dart out for a lick. I make a tiny sound of longing—a desperate plea, more like—and it’s as though I’ve just shocked him with a defibrillator and brought him back to life. Now he moves; now his fingers dig into my dress. Something hot flutters in my belly as we kiss hungrily, devouring each other. God, now it’s good. Everything I wanted it to be. We kiss, and we kiss, and I start to slip away from that deserted hallway. I’m nothing beyond a racing heart, a tightly wound belly. His hands slide over my backside as my own sink into his hair. Ownership—that’s what we’re playing at. Our lower bodies mold together, and without warning, he whirls me around so that my front is flush against the wall, my arms down by my side, caged in by his hard body. Holy ... As my mouth is torn away from his, I swallow a squeal, our heavy breaths mingling as our faces stay close together.

He bends low and nuzzles the side of my neck. “That’s good, but it’s not enough.”

The arrogant bastard.

My nails scrape down the front of his thighs. “What do you want, then?”

“Truly?” he asks, tipping his head back to meet my eyes. “Nothing will convince me. You shouldn’t bother.”

I shouldn’t bother?

He has me pressed up against this wall like he’s about to take me here and now. I can feel how hard he is, pressed right against my backside. I roll my hips to prove my point, and I succeed in provoking a low groan from him.

“You’re putty in my hands,” I goad with a triumphant smile.

He kisses the side of my neck, stealing my glee and replacing it with red-hot wanting.

If he meant to make it quick, he doesn’t succeed. We’re dragged right back down to a place full of feelings and baser needs. His body presses up against mine, and we grind on each other, trying to sate our growing desire. My hands band around his thighs, and I feel his muscles shift. His body is so full of strength, but his kisses are slow, mesmerizing, explorative ... He’s no brute. He’s sensual in a way I wasn’t expecting, wasn’t prepared for. When was the last time a man kissed me like this?

Oh, right . . . never.

I turn and push him off me, suddenly needing air. Only the second I do, I want him back. I fist his jacket and tug him closer again. I’m about to lock our lips together when he turns his face to the side and strings kisses down my neck instead. It feels like a teasing rejection, more of this addictive game.

“Should I show you how it’s really done, Casey? Show you what I would do if I were in your position? If I were trying to convince someone in this way ...” His teeth barely scrape across my skin, and my eyes flutter closed as my head tips back to give him better access. “I’d be sure to make them think my entire heart was in it.”

For the first time, he moves one of his large hands so that it’s just at the hem of my short dress. Do it, please, I plead in my head. Then his thumb caresses the inside of my thigh as he slides his hand up under my dress, bunching it enough so he can easily trace my panties, right at the spot where my pelvis meets my thigh. Then he runs his finger up and down, right along the edge, but he never slips a finger beneath the silk. A whimper leaves me, louder than I’d intended. I try to press my lips together, but it’s no use. Phillip has already heard me.

“I’d be sure to make it feel like they were mine, totally.”

His fingers brush me on top of the silk, right over that tight bundle of nerves, and I shudder. “Your plan, sweetheart ... it’s not working.”

Somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, I know that he’s mocking me, that I should call him an arrogant bastard, push him away, and storm off in a huff. Oh, that would be good. Someone should really do that! Not me, though. No. I’m seeing this through.

At this point, I’m panting and desperate. We’d have to hit an iceberg before I forfeit my night with this man. “Take me back to your room.”

“I’m not giving you an interview,” he murmurs against my skin, lifting up to recapture my mouth in a long, searing kiss as his fingers continue to work me up.

“Then we should stop.”

He makes a move to pull back, and I growl at him. Actually growl! Damn my traitorous mouth!

“Don’t listen to me; I don’t know what I’m saying!”

His eyes sweep down the length of me; then he looks me square in the eyes as he takes his hand out from between my legs. “The interview isn’t happening.” There’s a stern edge to his voice that turns me to absolute goop.

“Fine.” He thinks I care about the interview right now? “Take me back to your room.”

He laughs like I’m kidding. Oh ho, buddy boy. I’m not joking in the least.

“One night,” he tells me.

I roll my eyes, like obviously.

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