“Of course,” he said once her words sank into his brain. He might hide his identity, use a mask to seduce the woman of his dreams and sidestep any direct questions regarding his career. But he did keep his promises.
“Then if I asked you if we could finish what we started here, would you promise me we would?”
Dex was sure weeping in gratitude would negate the manliness of the warrior persona. Of course, the mask and leather pants had probably already chipped away at it a little so he wasn’t willing to take any risks.
Instead, he grinned and brushed a featherlight kiss over the tip of her nose, then stepped away in fine superhero fashion. If he’d been wearing the cape, he’d have swirled it around him.
“For you, anything,” he vowed, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. Zoe giggled, obviously enjoying his campiness. He bowed low over her hand, then turned it over and pressed a moist kiss to the center of her palm.
“And…” She hesitated, then with a deep breath rushed on. “Will you tell me who you are? Before this week is over, will you reveal yourself, so to speak?”
The intensity of his fear of her rejection slammed into him like a brick wall. Painful, damaging misery. But how could he deny her? “If you’ll trust me, then, yes, I promise I’ll tell you before the end of the week. But…I want this time. Is that okay?”
In other words, he was a chicken-shit procrastinator. But that sounded so unromantic. He watched her consider his request, her eyes thoughtful, her delicious mouth pursed. Then she nodded and he felt the weight of the world drop from his shoulders.
“Throw in an extra climax or two, let me be on top, and you’re on,” she negotiated with a wicked grin. Delight danced in her eyes though color washed gently over her chest as if she wasn’t used to the sexy talk, and felt a little embarrassed.
“I promise,” Dex said, meaning it. His mind was already racing with ways to make their next rendezvous the most incredibly, romance-novel-sexy encounter of her life. And next time, he might even get to take his pants off.
ZOE RODE THE ELEVATOR down to the hotel lobby the next morning grinning in satisfaction. Nothing like a couple of orgasms to relax a girl and put her in a chipper mood.
Her body felt loose and limber, as if she’d just had a long, intense Hatha yoga session. Or a sexy guy in a mask go down on her. Given the choices, she couldn’t wait to get the masked hunk out of his mask. And everything else.She deliberately focused on her body’s residual pleasure and not on the vestiges of suspicious frustration nagging in the back of her mind. Hey, she’d got hers, she reminded herself. There was no reason to think the hottie with the magic tongue was trying to take advantage of her. But she still wanted, needed, to know who was beneath that mask.
She tapped her fingers against her hip as she wondered what he had to gain. Then she shook her head and forced herself to stop. Nope. He’d asked her to trust him. It would have been easier if he’d asked her to run naked through the lobby while turning cartwheels and singing the school fight song. But she was going to give it a shot. After all, she’d be damned if she’d ruin the best sex of her life with her fallback mode of mistrust.
Her smile back in place, she sauntered through the lobby as though she was still wearing leather and a riding crop. In command, sure of her own sexuality. It felt damned good.
Heads turned as she walked past. Brows arched, elbows nudged. Zoe knew she was being watched, whispered about. She didn’t give a damn.
She smirked at herself. How many times had she told herself that in her life? Millions, for sure. But this time, she one-hundred-percent meant it. The difference between meaning and pretending was like the difference between a Wal knockoff and Prada. Totally awesome.
Starved after her little physical exertion and unable to stay in her room for fear of going crazy replaying the sexual encounter over and over in her head, Zoe wanted a late-morning snack.
With that in mind, she headed toward the restaurant. Halfway there, she heard someone called her name. For a brief second, she debated pretending she didn’t hear. After all, she might not care that anyone was gossiping about her, but that didn’t mean she wanted it in her face while she was eating her pie.
Then she sighed and, not bothering to hide her impatience, turned to see who was hailing her. She watched one of the redheaded twins, she couldn’t tell if it was Jingle or Jangle, teetering her way on spiked heels.
She should have kept going.
“Zoe, there you are,” the woman said. Once she got closer, the stylized Julie written on her necklace cleared up the identity issue. But not Zoe’s desire to run. “I’ve been hoping to see you. We should chat, hmm?”