This Changes Everything (15 page)

“
W
here are you going
?”

Hearing the vulnerability in her voice, Sly paused at the door, not able to make himself open it. “I’ll leave the extra key next to the roses. There are spare toothbrushes in the bathroom.” He’d arranged for all the amenities, wanting it to be special.

She came up behind him. “That’s it? You’re just going to walk away?”

“I can’t do this.” Slowly, he turned to face her. “Not if the thought of having sex with me is so repulsive to you that you need to be semiconscious to do it.”

Her mouth fell open. “No, wait. Please. I thought you wanted…” She looked down at herself. “To do this.”

“I do want this. I do.” He shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching for her. “You have no idea. But I can’t be the only one.”

Her voice fell to a whisper. “You don’t understand.”

“Sure I do. We’ve known each other a long time.” He thought of the long, happy years of platonic camaraderie. “Maybe it’s just too late.”

She made a sound that might’ve been a laugh.

“I can’t be here with you and not want you, Cleo. I can’t do it. I could before, but now that we…” He turned and reached for the door handle.

She lunged past him, arms out like an airplane, and flung herself in front of him. “You can’t leave now,” she gasped, bracing her back on the door. Her chest heaved with exertion, and he forced himself not to look at the way her breasts were spilling out of her dress. “Just trust me on that. It’s OK, OK? Totally OK. Better than OK. Great.”

“If you still feel that way tomorrow, and I really, really hope you do—”

“No!” Her eyes widened with panic. “I mean, I will. Yes. If you still, I mean after we… oh, God. I should’ve told you before. Now I can’t. But I have to.”

“Told me what?”

She pushed part of her dress off her shoulder again and reached behind her back to undo the zipper. “First I’ll strip. Then we’ll do it. After that, I’ll tell you everything.”

He strode forward and caught her hands in his wrists, pinning her to the door. “Nobody’s stripping.”

With a choked giggle, she went limp and dropped her head, hiding her face behind a curtain of shimmering blond hair. After a tense silence, during which he tried to release her wrists but couldn’t make himself, she said, “But I want to.”

He looked away, drawing her scent into his lungs. “I have to go.”

“Please,” she said, and then her voice dropped, suddenly cool and sober. “This isn’t alcohol doing this to me. I wish it were.”

What game was she playing now? He didn’t release her, afraid of what she might do. “I’m listening.”

She didn’t lift her head. “I’m nervous.”

Hope began pounding in his chest. Some parts of him softened; other parts, quite the opposite. “Don’t be,” he said softly.

“I haven’t… it’s been a long time.”

He knew she hadn’t dated anyone more than a few times since the divorce. “I understand.” He stepped closer so their bodies were touching. But he couldn’t let go of her hands.

“A really long time,” she whispered.

After a deep breath, he kissed the top of her head. “Nobody since Dylan?”

She shook her head.

Moving closer, he breathed in a lungful of her perfume. “We’ll go slow.”

She nodded.

He caressed the pulse in her wrist with his thumb, glad she couldn’t see him smile. The silence between them became tighter, more pleasurable. “I understand,” he said.

“You… don’t quite. God. This is embarrassing.” Finally, she lifted her head, bumping it against the door, and looked into his eyes. “I’ve never been very good at this.”

He brushed his lips across the soft hairs at her temple. “I’ll be the judge of—”

“Not before Dylan and not after.” She leaned away from him and caught his gaze. “Listen to what I’m saying. Please.”

The tone of her voice broke through his renewed lust. Belatedly, the implications sank in. “You’ve never slept with anyone else?”

She closed her eyes with a long exhale and nodded.

“Never?” He couldn’t believe it. “What about in college? I dropped out, but you were there for, what, six years—”

“Tease me and I’ll kill you.”

The arguing, the giggling, the inconsistent behavior all made sense now. “I wish you’d told me.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Sure I would.”

“With all those girlfriends, so many years, a grown man like you?” She leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. “How could you possibly?”

“I would try.” He pushed her against the door, pinning her soft, sexy body under his. “Really, really hard.”

Their rapid breathing filled the silence.

“That’s what I was hoping,” she said quietly.

Oh, baby. He released one of her wrists to caress her arm, her cheek, the silky skin where the fabric of her dress arched over her shoulder. “Kiss me, Cleo. I’m dying here.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

“Show me you want it.” He released her other hand, lowered both of his arms to his sides. “Show me you want me.”

Nibbling her lip, where the hint of a smile threatened, she put her hands on his chest, splayed her fingers, and went still. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have any moves.”

“I’m very patient.”

She licked her lips. The smile was gone. “Thank God.” She went up on tiptoe and kissed him like a grandmother at church. Closed lips, no tongue, tipping forward at the waist.

“Come on,” he said.

“Hey, I warned you.”

“Kiss me like you did in the limo.”

“I was kidding.” She cleared her throat. “And, yes, a little drunk.”

“Do it or I’m out of here.”

She stepped closer. “You couldn’t bear to leave me. You want me too much.”

“That was good. Now say it without laughing.”

“I can’t.”

In spite of himself, he thought about opening the champagne. “How about if I close my eyes? One little kiss, like you mean it, and then I’ll give you what you want.”

“A pony?”

He made a growling sound in the back of his throat.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, throwing her head back and inhaling like a woman about to sing the national anthem at opening day of the World Series without a mic. “OK. Ready. Close ’em.”

He closed his eyes.

Cleo waited a moment before stepping close and lifting her hand to Sly’s cheek. His jaw felt warm and firm, very real. Alive. It wasn’t a fantasy or a dream. She was awake. She dragged her thumb across his lower lip, enchanted with the way he sucked in a breath but didn’t move to take over. With growing confidence, she leaned in and dropped kisses along his neck, breathing heavily along his skin, licking the shadow of his jawline while her hands splayed out on his stomach and began to explore.

Being a virgin would’ve been worse, she told herself. Much worse. Until the miserable discovery of Dylan’s cheating, she would’ve said they’d had a good sex life. If she could just forget how painfully she’d learned otherwise, she could enjoy this night with Sly. If she could just forget how Dylan had faked his satisfaction, his pleasure, his desire…

She moved her hand down over the bulge in Sly’s pants. He shuddered.

“You want this?” she asked, hating herself for needing to hear it again but unable to resist.

Before she took her next breath, he captured her face in his hands. His nose brushed hers, but he didn’t kiss her. Hot current snapped between them.

Then he released her. “Last chance,” he said in a low voice, staring at her.

She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his, sloppy but heartfelt, just wanting to feel and taste him. Her heart was beating too fast, and the lack of oxygen going to her brain made her dizzy, but she gave the kiss everything she had, fondness and desire, love and lust, and knocked him off-balance so badly he fell against the wall.

Not stopping then, even though he had to throw his arms out to either side to keep himself from hitting the floor, she gripped his face in her hands and kissed him deeper. Openmouthed, with tongue, breasts pressing against his chest. Everything she had.

He staggered a little and then put his arms around her, encouraging her, taking it all and demanding more. She felt his hands at her waist, stroking her curves, exploring her belly and her hips and the small of her back. And then he spun her around and pushed her back against the wall. His knee forced her legs apart. Now she was the one off-balance, reaching for support, trying not to fall.

“Cleo,” he said in her ear, his voice giving her shivers. “Cleo.”

“Don’t say my name.”

“What? Why?”

“Pretend I’m someone else,” she said. “Then I can too.”

He reached around and pulled the zipper down her back. Fabric slid down her torso, exposing her upper body. She felt chilly air-conditioned air, then his warm hands. “And who am I?”

Her thoughts were too splintered to understand. “Hmm?”

“Are you imagining I’m somebody else, too?”

Shaking her head, she unbuttoned his shirt from top to bottom, exposing his chest so she could bury her face in him, inhale his scent, and kiss his skin. There was nobody else she wanted to think about.

“Are you sure?”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and gazed up at him. “Very.”

“What about”—he shoved her dress to the floor—“the pizza guy? With the tattoo?”

His own clothes were harder to remove, but she was a piano player and had agile fingers. In three seconds, his pants were around his ankles and his shirt rested on the floor. She admired his erection pushing through his boxers. “Take off your shoes.”

With a grin, he kicked them off. “I like your bossy side.”

“Same here.”

“Really?”

She traced a circle around his nipple, loving the way it hardened under her touch. “Ah. Yeah.”

His fingers came around her wrist in an iron grip. He brought her hand to his mouth, isolated a finger, and sucked it between his lips. The sensation of teeth and suction and tongue made her knees weak.

“Good,” he said. Still holding her wrist, he pulled her with him into the suite, past the doorway to the bedroom, down the steps into the living room, and then over to the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking Las Vegas. There he stopped to kiss her hard on the mouth before opening the sliding doors and pushing her onto the balcony.

She turned back to the interior, suddenly aware of what he was doing. At the moment she was still wearing a bra and panties, but that wasn’t going to last long.

He moved quickly, blocking the doorway. “Nobody will be able to see you. We’re on the top floor.”

“They can see me right now.” She flung out her arms. It was hard to care if anyone could see her in a bra that was more modest than most bikinis, but soon she’d be completely exposed… doing things with this unbelievably gorgeous guy…

Oh, God. The thought was making her hot.

“I’ve got a plan.” He kissed her shoulder before jogging back inside, grabbing the back cushions on the sofa, hauling them out onto the balcony, and flinging them down.

“But—”

He knelt at her feet, stroked her through the panties, then hooked his fingers over the waistband and jerked them down her hips. With a cry, she looked wildly around for spectators, seeing millions of potential eyes in the windows of other hotels, the open streets below, the balconies to either side.

And then she pushed aside the rest of the world.

There was only him.

She leaned back against the solid balcony railing, about hip-height, and concentrated on keeping her legs from buckling beneath her as he buried his face between her legs.

He was good. Maybe he hadn’t spent any effort on practicing the piano, but he’d clearly put a few hours into this lovely skill. She didn’t want to think about how many hours, or with whom.

“Oh, God,” she said, her throat tightening.

His strong fingers spread her wider. She tried not to think of all the times she’d seen those same fingers holding his phone, pushing the buttons on the TV remote, driving a car. Because now they were touching her, in her, claiming her in a way she’d never let herself imagine. Every one of her nerves sang with erotic, forbidden excitement.

Sly, her old friend, was licking her between her legs. And she wanted him to do it.

She’d die if he stopped.

His tongue slid deeper. Breathing heavily, with her elbows braced on the railing, she looked wildly over her shoulder at the city. Its energy poured into her, pushing her higher.

His hair tickled the skin of her inner thighs. When she put her hand on the top of his head to encourage him—to make sure he didn’t stop—he grabbed her ass with both hands and rewarded her with another long, hard stroke of his tongue.

Was it wrong to compare his technique to her ex-husband’s? Was there some ethical or psychological reason she shouldn’t acknowledge how much more she was enjoying this than she’d ever enjoyed it before?

His head lifted. Cool air brushed her wet flesh.

“Let go,” Sly said in a low voice as his hands continued to stroke her ass, her thighs. “Cleo. I’ve got you. Let go.”

“I’m really,” she gasped, “enjoying this. You’re very talented.”

“You’re delicious. And so beautiful. Stop thinking.” He trailed kisses along her inner thighs, blowing air across the moist flesh—which had excited her a moment earlier but now was painfully inadequate.

She arched her hips to show him where she wanted him to be. “Stop talking.”

With a low rumble of laughter, he lowered his face again into the aching spot between her legs and got back to work.

Now she let herself think about all their mundane, ordinary moments together. It excited her to imagine him wanting her all this time, to think about how this handsome, high-profile friend of hers was now on his knees before her, worshipping her body, both of them primal and exposed.

One of his fingers drove between her folds and touched her somewhere deep and unexpected. With a strangled cry, she shattered and rocketed up into the stars. The dark night and bright lights pushed and pulled at her, spinning her senseless out of herself. She hadn’t expected to come so quickly but here she was, broken and soaring.