Demon's Plaything (15 page)
Or maybe not. She hadn’t considered a fling, but it was something to think about. No man would compare to him, but other than that obvious and inescapable fact, why not? She had no idea if her race or stature would appeal to him or anyone else here, but she’d be open, and if a chance presented itself…
She leaned back, excitement about the week renewed. She made a big show of yawning and gathering her belongings. But when she looked over at Alexander, his brown eyes burned with the intensity, different from the intensity that was a part of his business persona. And now it was directed at her, unreadable and inescapable in the small confines of the restaurant. She was certain she was the focus of that intense gaze. She felt exposed, flayed by it, felt like he could see inside her, knew what she’d just been thinking. The moment stretched, him seemingly uninterested in breaking their gazes and her unwilling to.
And then he stood.
After a brief second, she recomposed herself and stood as well, sticking out her hand, having decided she’d say good-bye to him here and avoid the potentially awkward walk back to the hotel.
“It’s been a pleasure, Alexander. I appreciate your help and look forward to our companies having a long, valuable, and mutually beneficial relationship.”
“I’ll walk you to the hotel,” he said, ignoring her proffered hand as he walked past her to say his good-byes to the owner. Hand still stupidly extended, she stood unmoving as he walked out of the restaurant’s doors. Not for the first time, she found herself scrambling after him.
“You have to stop doing that,” she said when she joined him where he stood under the awning. “And it’s not necessary. I can get back fine.”
“Nonsense,” he said as he walked off.
Releasing a chuckle, she followed.
They walked in companionable silence, and it dawned on Quinn that while they’d been together for many hours over a short period of time, she’d only scratched the surface of the man. She knew his determination, fierceness, his unwillingness to accept less than the best, and suspected that his confession regarding his hopes for MI weren’t something he usually shared but also suspected that there was so much more that hadn’t even been hinted at. And, of more pressing concern at the moment, she didn’t even know enough about him to make small talk, which meant she’d be left to her own thoughts. She figured she may as well focus on enjoying the walk.
Night had fallen, and as they stood outside the restaurant, a burst of chilly wind hit her and made her shiver. He looked at her, seemingly noticing for the first time that she’d left her coat at the hotel this morning, certain she wouldn’t need it for the short walk to the building and back. He removed his suit jacket and draped it around her arms, his warmth and scent still lingered in the fabric, enveloping her. Another shiver hit her, and this time, not from the cold. The streets were fairly busy given the late hour, and as they crossed one block to the next, Alexander kept his hand on the small of her back, the touch intimate but not inappropriate, creating a sense of security, protection, and heady arousal. When they reached another intersection, Alexander stopped abruptly and turned to look at her.
She smiled up at him. “It’s this way, just down the block.”
He stepped closer to her and reached her to cup her cheeks, gently tracing her cheekbones with his thumbs. Then he leaned down and captured her lips, his kiss firm, commanding, but oddly still gentle. At the contact, heat unfurled in her belly and she reached up to rest her hands on his broad shoulders and pressed her body against his, anxious to feel more of his flesh against hers. At her soft sigh, he swept his tongue into her mouth, and the touch was almost her undoing. The warmth, the decadent flavor of him, the rasp of his tongue against hers, sparked the heat inside her into an inferno and sent her blood racing through her body.
And then, suddenly, he pulled back.
Enraptured in the inferno he’d created and reluctant to let the feeling go, it took a moment for her to open her eyes. And when she did, the sight of his own burning with the same fire that heated her blood made her muscles contract at the anticipation of cradling him inside her.
“Stay with me tonight, Quinn,” he said, his voice thick with arousal.
Two Weeks in Geneva: Book One
is
available now.
Playthings:
Two Weeks in Geneva:
Beneath the Boss:
Stand-alone Short Stories
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are invented by the author or used fictitiously. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Demon’s Plaything
Copyright © 2014 by Lydia Rowan. All rights reserved.
