She didn’t recognize her own voice as it came out on a breath. He was David—as imposing and as perfectly formed as the statue by Michelangelo. She pressed her lips to his chest and he groaned. Still holding the remnants of a summer tan, his skin was slightly gold, and dusted with dark hair. She looked up when he held her away from his body.
“My turn,” he said, and he tugged at the bottom of her sweater.
Kate’s mind strayed to thoughts of the stretch marks he might see, of the ripples and sags that came from mileage. “I’m not like you,” she whispered.
He grinned. “I hope not.” Her sweater fell to the floor and David’s hands traveled over her shoulders and down her back. She trembled at the gentle movement of his fingers. He had the most amazing hands. Her bra was gone before she knew what was happening.
“You’re beautiful.” He unbuttoned her trousers and eased them over her hips and thighs.
Kate stepped out of her shoes and then out of the pants, letting them puddle at her feet. He stroked her everywhere, and while she should have felt exposed, standing nearly naked in front of a man she’d known less than six hours, she didn’t. Kate felt no embarrassment with David, no shame, just desire. It balled in her belly, waiting to explode.
When their bodies finally made contact, Kate’s skin burned and her bones melted. David kissed her neck and shoulder, and without any warning he lifted her into his arms. This is a dream. It can’t be real. She wrote things like this, scenes where passion fueled every action. But David wasn’t a character in a book, he was real, and she looped her arms around his neck and kissed his face as he carried her toward the bedroom.
A lamp on the bedside table was on. The maid had turned down the bed and David set her down gently. He took a condom from his wallet, placed it on the table, and then made short work of his remaining garments. Fully naked, he was glorious and terrifying. He stretched out next to her and must have sensed her apprehension, because his touch was so very gentle.
“Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” she lied.
“Yes, you are. You’re shaking.” His lips dropped to her breast and drew on one nipple. She arched and moaned as the pleasure shot through her. He partially covered her body with his own, gazed at her, and brushed the hair from her face. “I’m going to make love to you, Kate. Forget about everything else. Forget what you know about sex, this will be different.”
How did he know? How did he know that in twenty years of marriage her husband had had sex with her but had never made love to her? The emotions that welled up inside her, emotions she’d locked up for so long, started to break through. Her arms found him and clung as if he were the only anchor she had. But then David started to touch her, stroke her, and give her such pleasure that she let go and allowed herself to drown.
*
David awoke on his back. Without thinking, he leaned over and pulled Kate against him. She curled in, half asleep. Logic told him he should leave, but everything about her flew in the face of logic. She was a contradiction, a puzzle, and David was in way over his head. What had started out as a bet, and was supposed to be a simple one-night stand, had become much more. This woman could matter to him. At some point, David had stopped thinking about himself and started thinking about her. Her vulnerability, her openness, her intelligence were at the heart of what he felt, but there was more. It was the way they connected.
They understood each other.
He and Kate were emotional train wrecks—victims of their broken lives. She hadn’t told him much, but once he knew her husband had cheated on her, he could fill in the blanks. His fingers played with the ends of her hair; her breathing was soft and steady. This woman was supposed to be just another notch on his belt, a quick lay. Instead, David was faced with the sad prospect of leaving and never seeing her again.
Easing away from her, he rose, and pulled on his boxers before walking to the French doors that led to the balcony. The sky was turning grey, and beyond the pool deck, the Pacific stretched on forever. He felt off-balance, unsteady, like he might have actually faced something life changing. The feelings were new and scared the crap out of him. He had to get control of himself.
But when she stirred, David looked back, and immediately wanted to make love to her again. So much for leaving. Kate smiled and sat up; the sheet bunched at her waist. David wondered if she realized how magnificent she looked with her tousled hair, her flushed cheeks, and her body begging for attention.
She tugged at the sheet in silent invitation. David’s brain screamed at him to go, even as his heart and libido were leading him back to bed.
“You okay?” he asked, looking down at her.
“Never better,” she said.
“I checked out your view—very nice.” He motioned to the door that led to a small balcony just before he climbed back into bed.
“Yeah, it’s something. My publisher booked the hotel.”
“Your publisher? I thought you were here for a teachers’ conference?”
“Kind of double duty. While I was here for the conference, I did some book promotion, too. I took advantage. I should have left yesterday, but I couldn’t face being home on my birthday.”
“I’m glad you stayed.” He kissed her nose and let his hands play with her hair. “So, mystery writers do okay, I guess?”
“Yeah. I’ve done alright.”
“What kind of book promotion?”
“This and that. A-a-bookstore visit. Some media stuff.” She was stuttering, fidgeting, and that made David curious. Obviously, there was more to Kate and her career than met the eye.
“So you never told me, how many books have you written?”
“A few.” She looked back at him and fiddled with her necklace before answering. “Six have been published.”
She might not have appreciated all the questions, but he was having a hell of a time teasing her. “How many times have you been on the bestseller list?”
She nibbled on her thumbnail. “Which one?”
He grinned. “The Times.”
She cleared her throat and looked at him. “Five times.”
“Five times, including this book?” He didn’t expect her to say that. Even he knew five bestsellers was serious business.
The oath she uttered was nothing more than a mumble as she rolled away from him. David watched her wrap herself in a plush terrycloth robe and walk into the parlor of the suite. She returned with a hardcover book and held it out for his inspection.
The imprint of a major publisher graced the spine and as he examined the thick volume, he made his discovery. “Katherine Adams?”
Holy shit.
“Uh-huh.”
He examined the cover. Oh yeah, he’d heard of her. Mystery writer, his ass. She wrote political thrillers. Her lead character was a sexy, kick-ass, female FBI agent named Elliott Hunter, and he’d read every one of her books except this one.
Damn.
“I can’t believe it.” He was still holding her book. “I’m a huge fan.”
Her eyes widened. “You are?”
“Yeah.” David couldn’t stop grinning. Inside he wondered if this made him a groupie. “You’re a teacher, too?”
“I love teaching and I don’t like change. Publishing can turn on a dime. I could never sell another book.” She tugged the robe where it was falling open, giving him another delicious peek at her breasts. “David, look… I know we’ll probably never see each other again, but…”
He put the book aside, grasped her hands, and pulled her onto the bed. “I’ve been thinking about that.” His brain was telling him to agree with her and move on, but he was saying something totally different. “Maybe we could get together when I’m on the road… or you could come and see me in Philly.”
All the color drained from her face, and for a second David thought she might pass out. Something had spooked her.