Page 53 of False Evidence

When she stepped into the room, she wore the complimentary hotel robe, just as she had the other night, but this time, she still had the fuck-me heels on. The robe wasn’t plush like before. It was a soft cotton that molded to her. The cocktail dress had been hot as hell, but this was sexy in a different way.

“What kind of music do you like to dance to?”

“What have you got?”

“Everything.”

Her brow furrowed skeptically. “Everything?”

He pointed to the white iPod 2 that was about the size and thickness of a deck of cards. “Pretty much.”

He ran his finger over the touch wheel and selected the seduction standby, “The Way You Look Tonight,” sung by Frank Sinatra, and held out a hand in invitation.

She laughed and took his hand, and then they were dancing. More of a slow sway than any actual dance moves, but it was just his speed when all he wanted was an excuse to hold this woman close and make her smile.

The feel of his hard body against hers as they swayed to one romantic song after another was pure magic. Time folded in on itself, each moment a mix of bliss and anticipation, with the pull of gravity and the momentum of a rocket.

New math would need to be invented to understand how a single moment in time could feel infinite.

They were probably on the third song when their mouths followed the pull of gravity and came together. It was so natural, so gradual, it felt like a tide coming in. A slow rise of the waterline without the drama of crashing waves. His mouth was hot earth that baked in the afternoon sun, while she was the cool sea that heated the instant water met land.

They swayed as they kissed, the music the only reminder that time moved forward as she floated in the moment. After an endless—or maybe it was only an instant—interval, he raised his head, releasing her mouth.

She opened her eyes to meet his hot gaze. Her arms were around his neck as he held her at the waist. Their eyes were level, thanks to her heels.

A slow smile spread across his face, lighting yet another fire in her belly.

“Tell me your name,” he whispered. “Lie. Make up a nickname. Just give me something that is moreyouthan Muffin.”

She understood. She wanted something morehimthan Pumpkin also.

“Please?”

She considered the question. What name could she give him? She always insisted her fellow students call her Alexandra, while Alex was her barista and informal work name. Friends like Kendall called her Alex. But Alex was too close to who she was. It wasn’t a name just for him.

She ran a hand along his neck and up, cupping his cheek, then she leaned forward, pressed a kiss to his lips, and said, “Lex. You can call me Lex.”

His brown eyes lit, and he grinned. “Lex.” He touched her forehead, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Lex,” he repeated. “I like it. It suits you. Does anyone else call you that?”

“Not really.”

His voice was a low, sexy rumble. “I like that even more. It’s my name for you. Just mine.”

“You have to give me a name too, then.”

He ran a calloused finger across her cheekbone, along her jaw, over her chin, his toughened skin tracing her features with a gentle touch.

She shivered at the thought of how that rough finger would feel elsewhere, and he must’ve felt her reaction because his eyes flared with heat.

“Okay, Lex. You can call me Jay.”

“Does anyone else call you that?”

“No. Say it. I want to hear it from your lips.”

She ran her hands down his chest as she said in a husky voice, “Jay.” She kissed him, whispering the name against his lips. “Jay. Admit it. You like that we’re keeping this mostly anonymous.”

“A little. It’s hot as fuck. But I know it’s not going to be enough for me. I like you, Lex. I think this could be something special.”

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