Page 6 of The VIP Package

“Straight?”

That catches me by surprise. “Yes, but I don’t see?—”

“Married?”

It’s my turn to flinch. I cover it well, but I think she just noticed.

“No.” Injecting my voice with stiff rods of steel, I respond. “Not married.”

“Well, then.” She lets go of her bag, which flops to the floor with a smack. Her right hand snakes out, catching my tie in a fist.

As she jerks me forward, I manage to stay on my feet. Pulling my face down to hers, the redhead looks right in my eye. “Let’s go, Ash Hole.”

“Go where?” I’m dimly aware of a buzz in my brain that tells me she isn’t inviting me to dinner. The way she just licked her lips makes that clear.

Or the heat in her eyes, so blazing and fierce, when I haven’t felt fire in ages. A faint whiff of Shalimar—of bergamot, spices, and iris—clings to her skin. I dip my gaze down and find myself drowning in lush cleavage.

“Lovely breasts.” I didn’t intend to say that out loud, but it’s true. They’re quite remarkable.

“Thank you,” she snaps, her mouth mere inches from mine.

“Are you aware,” I say slowly, “that your dress is unbuttoned?”

She doesn’t recoil or let go of my tie. She doesn’t even blink.

“Areyouaware,” she retorts, “that I came here for a rage fuck and I intend to collect one way or another?”

“I see.” And I’m seeing quite a lot of her breasts from this angle. Pale freckles sprinkle the tops like a dusting of cinnamon. I’m aching to taste them. To savor the rest of her body. To give this woman exactly what she wants.

Swallowing hard, I try to force some sense into my brain. “That would be…inadvisable.”

“Inadvisable?” She laughs like I’ve said something funny. “Getting on an airplane to go to a sex resort with a questionable reservation isinadvisable.” She licks her lips and my cock twitches. “Having rage sex with the owner is justpractical.”

There is absolutely nothing practical about it.

Why was that again?

I look into her eyes, getting lost in those bright, hazel depths. Her breasts rise and fall, heaving with the passion of her speech. Possibly something else.

Fuck it. I’m a strong man. That’s what they say in the gossip rags.

But there’s only so much I can take.

Grabbing the wrist that’s attached to the hand on my tie, I give a tight squeeze. With a squeak, she releases her grip. Backing her up toward the boilers, I feel her sharp intake of breath.

“You’re playing with fire.” I’m trying for fierce, but it comes out a little bit strained.

“Maybe I am.” Her chin tips up and it’s all can do not to kiss that smug smile off her pretty pink lips. “Maybe I want to get burned. Maybe you’re exactly what I need.”

I know that’s not possibly true, so why am I pressing her lithe little body against this rough, dusty wall? The back of her skull thumps the concrete, and I start to make sure she’s okay.

But the hand I’m not gripping grabs the front of my pants and squeezes.Hard.

“That’s what I thought.” Her expression turns even smugger. “You’re as turned on as I am.”

“Maybe it’s a medical condition.” I’m sweating enough to feel ill.

“Maybe you want to fuck me. Maybe…” She licks her lips, and I hate how badly I want to fuck that smart mouth. “Maybe the neurochemical effects of anger heighten the intensity of arousal, increasing serotonin to enhance the sexual experience.”

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