Bad Girls Do: a Billionare Romance Novel (The Everly Brothers Series, Erotic Romance Book 3) (17 page)

Funny how, before the New Year, she’d never had more than a glass or two in one night. She might not be pining over Andrew Everly, but in one way or another, he sure did have the ability to drive her to drink.

Snorting, she lifted her glass to her mouth. When the fizz tickled her nose and made her giggle, she realized the effects of those first two glasses of champagne were starting to make themselves known.

Ah, who the heck cared? Her father probably wouldn’t even notice her if she got drunk and passed out face first on this table, and Sam had too much to worry about to add entertaining her to his list.

Just when she thought of him, he appeared.

Sam kept his gaze on the couple across from her as he slid into the empty seat beside her, a glass of champagne in his hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Sylvester. Pleasure to see you again.”

Mrs. Sylvester gave him a pleasant smile. “Thank you, Sam. Same to you.”

Effectively ignoring her, he made polite conversation with the couple for a few minutes. Enough for her to gather they were the parents of one of the other artists whose work was being featured here tonight.

When the couple bade him goodnight and left the table, he stayed in his seat. Without looking at her, he murmured, “Bored yet?”

“Not bored,” she answered truthfully. Just a little overwhelmed. The thought that Andrew and Hailey, and probably a slew of other people were wondering what she was even doing here couldn’t help but cross her mind.

Absently spinning her glass by the stem, she asked, “Don’t you have a lot to do? People to talk to?”

He gave a careless shrug. “I made the rounds.”

Well, if he wasn’t going to worry about it, or the fact that they might be seen sitting together, then she wouldn’t either. There were three other artists featuring their work at this exhibition and the place was crowded. Maybe no one would even notice them.

Apparently Sam came to the same conclusion because his hand slid beneath the high tabletop and landed on her thigh.

Her back went stiff as a board as she fought the impulse to jump. “What are you doing?”

“No one can see,” he whispered.

Maybe not, but they were right out in the open.

“Sam,” she protested.

“Diane,” he mimicked. Then, with a chuckle, he said, “Come on. Live a little.”

Those were the magic words. They made her remember the reason she and Sam had started hooking up to begin with. So she could take charge of her own life, rather than be an empty shell succumbing to its whims.

Her pulse raced with excitement and fear as she purposely relaxed her limbs. She lifted her glass to her lips, drinking from it casually as if his hand weren’t creeping beneath the hem of her dress.

“Did I tell you how much I like your outfit,” he murmured.

Her lips curved upward and she teased, “No, but I thought you might.”

When she opened her legs a fraction, he gave an audible intake of breath. Then his hand was there, sliding in-between her thighs. His fingers probing the flesh that was even now slick with her mounting desire. The way her body responded to him was unbelievable. Just one word, one soft caress, and she was ready for him.

“You naughty girl, you did as I asked.” His shaky voice was at odds with the poised expression on his face. “No underwear.”

“No,” she breathed, clenching her fingers around her glass. She tore her gaze from him, trying her best to make it look like they were simply sharing the same space instead of conversing with one another. Like two of his long fingers weren’t slowly shoving their way into her.

He didn’t stop until his fingers were lodged deep inside her. When she gave the tiniest of squirms, he sucked in a heavy breath and snuck a peek at her. “You know what I think? I think you secretly love this.”

His finger crooked and she dug her nails into the edge of the tabletop, then squeaked, “Love what?”

He bent in to murmur into her ear, “Love having my fingers in your pussy, right out here in the open.”

Her chest rose and fell with a loud breath. She couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through her veins, setting her nerve endings afire. Even though the table hid his hand from view, the thought that they might be found out sent a shiver of fear through her, and in turn, only made her more aroused. Maybe she was crazy, but she loved it.

Moving just the tiniest bit against his hand, she whispered, “Make me come.”

A pained sound escaped him, like a cross between a groan and a gasp. He shifted in his seat, and then his fingers slid out before pumping back in. She held back a whimper as he did it again and again, swiftly stroking her body to the very edge. Then his thumb grazed her clit, plucking at the sensitive bud while his fingers continued to plunge in and out of her.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, carelessly dropping her champagne glass onto the table and grasping the edge with both hands. Surely, anyone who looked their way would see how red her face was, how shallow her breathing, and suspect something. But that worry was nothing more than a niggling fear, easily overlooked as his fingers stroked her to a breath-stealing climax.

Her nails dug into the table as she fought not to make a sound. It was hard, so much harder than she would’ve thought, and she couldn’t fight the wiggle of her hips or the way her eyes fluttered shut as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her.

Finally, when the ringing in her ears had faded to a dull roar, she opened her eyes and snuck a look at Sam.

His face was hard, his expression tight. Anyone who saw his face would realize he wasn’t just casually sitting beside her. He looked like a man ready for action, like one touch was all it would take for him to revert to primitive caveman and toss her over his shoulder. And oh, how she loved it.

Diane glanced around, uttering a short prayer of thanks that no one seemed to be looking their way.

Sam slid his fingers from her body. He steeled himself with a breath, then lifted his glass to his lips and knocked back the contents. Only then did he spear her with a look that was half frustration, half admiration.

“You might be wilder than I thought, Diane Milstrom.”

She couldn’t deny the excitement that wound through her at his words. Even though, in all honesty, if she
were
wild, it was totally because of him.

“What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

“Or the best,” he murmured, “depending on one’s point of view.”

When she laughed, his hand grasped hers beneath the table. He guided it to the crotch of his jeans, setting her palm on the thick, hard heat that throbbed against the thick denim.

Her breath caught at the evidence of how very turned on Sam was right now. Even though he’d just stroked her to climax, she wanted him again. She would’ve once thought that impossible, but after just a short time with Sam, she was beginning to realize there were no impossibilities.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a mock frown. “That must be painful.”

He gave her a wry glance. “Super painful, you little tease.”

“We only have a few more hours before the event is over,” she supplied helpfully.

With a sardonic laugh, he muttered, “I can’t wait that long.”

Funny how those simple words could make her whole body vibrate with renewed desire.

Sam glanced around the room, then leaned over to whisper in her ear. “See that hallway down there?”

He pointed toward a corridor that led further back in the gallery. There was no art displayed there, so it was devoid of the patrons that filled up the remainder of the gallery.

“I see it.”

“Go down it and hang a right. The art director’s office is right there.”

Blinking, she whispered, “Are you serious?”

He gave a harsh scoff. “Did you feel how hard my dick is?”

Okay…so serious, then.

“I won’t get in trouble for going down there? The owner won’t be there?”

Sam shook his head. “Patrick never goes back there during a show.”

She bit her lip, debating for a moment. But who was she kidding? Sam could talk her into anything.

When she started to rise, his hand reached out and briefly caught hers. “Wait inside for me. I’ll follow in five or so minutes.”

With a shaky nod, she rose and headed on her unsteady feet toward the corridor. She passed a number of acquaintances on her way and spotted her father talking in the corner. Each familiar face was a reminder of the dangerous game she and Sam were playing. That incident at his office had been risky enough. Eventually, people would start to notice them disappearing at the same time. Would start to question. And then they would have to face the fact that what had started out as a naughty little game was going to have real world consequences.

But she couldn’t bring herself to care about that right now. Not when every step she took brought her closer to the moment when she and Sam would be together again. Not when her body still burned with desire for him.

Besides, bad girls didn’t care about things like consequences, did they?

So she wouldn’t either. At least not for now.

There was always tomorrow.

Chapter Thirteen

T
here were too many damn people in this room. That was all Sam could think of as he pushed his way through the crowd. Every third face was someone he knew. Someone who wanted to stop him and talk about his art, or the Everly Publications expansion, or some other thing he didn’t give a shit about right now.

To be fair, they were here to support him, and he did appreciate that. Just not at the moment. Not when he was still sporting a semi-erection that, despite the crowd, didn’t seem to want to go away.

He needed to be inside Diane. Needed it with an intensity he didn’t care to examine.

What seemed like an eternity and countless conversations later, he finally made his way through the crowd and snuck down the corridor. Last he’d spotted Patrick, the owner was deep in conversation with some of the gallery’s greatest supporters. He wasn’t worried about him making his way back to his office anytime soon. Not until the event was over with.

Which meant there would be nothing to come between him and Diane.

But when he rounded the corner to the short corridor that housed the door to the art director’s office, she was waiting in front of the closed door instead of on the other side of it. Her long, shapely legs peeked out from the beaded fringe that made up the hem of that short, black dress she wore.

He fought back a groan at the sight of her. She looked like sex on legs. Like a woman ready to be fucked, good and hard. And he was, quite literally, up for the job.

She read the question on his face and shrugged. “It’s locked.”

“What?” Frowning, he brushed past her and tried the knob, as if it were going to somehow magically unlock itself just because he desperately wanted it to. “Shit.”

He turned back to her and she ran her fingernails up the sleeve of his sweater. “Any idea if there’s a key around here?”

“No.” Frustration gnawed at his gut as he raked a hand through his hair. “He normally keeps it unlocked.”

Her eyes glinted with apology, and a hint of answering frustration. “I’m sorry. I guess it’ll have to wait.”

“Fuck that.” Thanks to her throaty little request back at the table to make her come, he was so raring to go he was pretty sure he’d explode if he wasn’t inside her soon.

Grabbing onto her by the elbows, he lifted her and set her onto the round artists stool that Patrick kept by the wall beside his office. The wheels rolled her backward and her shoulders hit the wall.

Her face colored with alarm. “What are you doing?”

Giving her a wolfish grin, he murmured, “What does it look like?”

When he coaxed her legs open and settled in-between them, pressing a hot kiss to her lips, her nails dug into his shoulders. She kissed him back, swiping her tongue into his mouth. Hesitantly at first, but then more and more boldly. He groaned against her lips and she pushed him away, breathing heavily.

“You can’t possibly think to do it here?”

“Why not?” he countered, sliding his hands against the outside of her thighs. The beads on her fringed hem tickled his palms, making him anxious to see what she
wasn’t
wearing beneath that dress. “We did it at the office party.”

Her hands closed over his, stopping him when they would’ve crept up her skirt. But frustrated arousal burned in her eyes. “That was different. We were behind a locked door.”

But he wasn’t about to give up. It would be another two hours before they’d be heading back to his place, and that was just too fucking long. “At the bar, then. There were no doors there.”

“It was dark,” she whispered, her tone growing weaker. “There wasn’t anyone we knew there, other than Zoey. Besides, we were down a long corridor at the bar. This one is tiny.”

It was true. This hallway was nothing more than an alcove really, tucking the office door out of sight from the main part of the gallery. If she were to spread her legs all the way, her foot would be visible to anyone who glanced this way.

Somehow, the thought only served to further excite him. And from the way her chest heaved, he could tell she felt the same.

“Don’t you like the idea?” he whispered. “Knowing that, at any moment, we could be spotted.”

“Sam,” she protested, her voice growing weaker.

“That someone might see you with your legs spread for me.”

“
Sam
...” Her voice was nothing but a raspy whisper now.

She was almost there. He
knew
it.

Shoving his body toward her, he allowed the thickness of his cock to graze her thigh. Showed her how ready for her he was. “Come on, baby. You know you want to.”

A sigh slipped from her lips and she rested her head back against the wall. “I can’t say no to you.”

Yes.

He shot her a wicked grin. “Why would you want to?”

When her only response was to release her grip on his hands, he uttered a silent victory chant and slid the fabric upward. Past her silky thighs and up over her hips. He didn’t stop until the hem was bunched around her waist.