Nobody Does It Better (8 page)

His ministrations on her lip continued, and she moaned for him, closing her eyes and balling the material of his shirt in her tight fist as she struggled not to beg him for more.

Desperate, she crushed herself against him and opened her mouth, silently urging him inside her. He played with her mouth, teasing, sucking, nipping, but never entering. When he drew away, she shivered from the cool air that replaced his hot breath. His attention had made her lips full and swollen. Raw with kisses. And she wanted more. Opening her eyes, she saw him smiling at her, his own mouth moist.

"Please…" She could only manage one word, but that was all it took. He cupped her face and pulled her to him, his mouth claiming hers, fast, hard, primitive and completely satisfying. Their tongues fought a timeless battle of male and female, lust and desire.

She writhed against him, wanting a satisfaction his kisses alone wouldn't bring.

He released his claim on her mouth. "
Paris
. Oh,
Paris
…"

The poor man sounded almost wounded. She'd never imagined herself capable of causing such a reaction, but she knew well enough it was real. She brushed her lips across his. "Yes?"

"You're killing me. I can't keep kissing you, touching you, and not be deep inside you." Raw and gravelly with desire, his voice confirmed his words.

"Oh. I…" She could barely force words past the haze of passion. Right then, all she knew was that she hungered for him. She'd made up rules, silly rules. But her body answered to a different law, and her rules now seemed best ignored. Or broken.

"
Paris
, what do you want?" His murmur stroked and enticed her, turning the rivers of lust coursing through her into white water rapids.

The space within his arms seemed to shrink. Her eyes locked with his, knowing that if he could see into her heart, he would see only passion.

For years, her only adventure had been in her books. For one night, she wanted to live that adventure. With him. With Alexander.

"You," she whispered. "Tonight I want you." Maybe it was just lust, but she wanted him inside her with a desperation she'd never felt before. She might regret it in the morning, but tonight she needed him. It didn't matter that he couldn't really be Alexander. Hadn't he told her that, just for tonight, he was? And he had to be…

He had to be her dream man. After all, who besides Alexander could make her feel this way?

* * *

Devin couldn't take his eyes off her.

Paris
had said she wanted him—had said it out loud—and he intended to make love to her like no other man ever could. More erotic, more sensual, more thrilling than any lover she'd ever had.

Or had ever fantasized about.

With slow, torturous movements he grazed his hand along her thigh, her hose silky under his fingers. He watched the desire on her flushed face as his fingers moved casually up her leg. When his thumb grazed soft skin instead of silk, she shivered, and he stopped, surprised.

"Stockings?"

She nodded, her tongue flicking across her lips.

"Oh, sweetheart. I knew you were sexy under that dress. I didn't imagine this."

His finger skimmed the edge of the stocking until he found the snap of her garter. He moaned and took a second to fight for control, pressing himself closer to her.

"I didn't think panty hose fit a special occasion. The publisher's party, I mean." She smiled at him, soft and feminine and a little shy. "I didn't realize quite how special the night would turn out to be."

Her innocent, sweet words and halo of golden curls contrasted with the naughty lingerie and the heated arousal of her skin under his touch. The effect was honest and feminine and breathtaking.

Devin wanted her even more. He hadn't thought such a thing possible.

"Any more incredible surprises I should know about?"

Wordlessly, she shook her head as his fingers fumbled over the snap. He eased her stocking down and off, then traced his finger back up her leg, along the outside of her thigh to the edge of her panties.

When his finger slipped under the elastic, her breathing became ragged and she closed her eyes. He teased her a little, tracing the edge of her panties, knowing she wanted him to go farther, but not quite willing to do that yet. Not until she was ready. Not until she was desperate.

When he pulled his hand away, she whimpered, but he kissed her into silence as his hand moved higher, a light tease on the outside of her dress, over her hard nipples, to her shoulder.

He fingered the straps. "If you don't want me to rip this off you, I suggest you slide out of it."

The thought had a certain appeal, and for a moment he considered just grabbing her dress and tugging, leaving her surprised and naked against him.

Primitive, yes. Satisfying, absolutely. But probably not a good idea.

She shifted just enough to let him ease the dress off her, leaving her naked except for panties, her garter belt and one stocking.

Damn, she was gorgeous. "You're beautiful."

An adorable blush painted her already flushed cheeks.

"It's true," he insisted, but she just grabbed the edge of the bedspread and pulled it over her.

He grinned. No way she was getting away with that.

"Come on, sweetheart, I want to see more of you." He took her hand and urged her to push the bedspread away. Her easy agreement and shy smile told him the compliments embarrassed her—not their intimate activities.

Good. The evening promised to get a lot more intimate. As for the compliments, well, eventually she'd get used to those. And if not, that blush was damned alluring.

He positioned her so that she was sitting at the foot of the bed, her feet flat on the floor, her hands behind her so that her shoulders were back and her chest was out. Her breasts rose and fell erratically with her ragged breathing. Her tight nipples begged to be kissed.

His own breath came just as choppy. Just watching her, without touching her, was sending his control spiraling away into oblivion.

From her breasts, his eyes moved down to her tiny waist, so small he could probably encircle it with his hands. Next, her round hips, still clothed in the silk panties he'd already explored. By the time his eyes lingered on the small patch of black material just between her thighs, he felt as if he would burst out of his tailored slacks.

Because the material was dark and her thighs were almost closed, he couldn't tell if she was wet for him. But he imagined he already knew the answer to that. Her breathing, her heat, her scent, her eyes. Everything about her screamed that she was as aroused as he was.

Just knowing that excited him, made him anxious to see what other feelings he could coax out of her, how crazy he could make her before the sun came up.

How crazy he could make himself.

"Please," she whispered.

"Please what?"

"Touch me."

Her words cut straight to his groin.
Yes, oh, yes.

He knelt in front of her and ran his tongue along the top of her remaining stocking, lingering over her feminine taste. He stopped just long enough to look at her. "Touch you like that?"

She opened her mouth, but didn't answer.

He teased her with his thumb, leaving her skin tight and hot. When he traced the edge of her panties with his forefinger, sliding his finger just under the material, she bit her lip.

"Like that, maybe?"

"Yes,"
Paris
moaned, her voice hoarse with passion, "like that."

He continued his erotic exploration, his tongue tasting the inside of her thigh as his finger teased her, always just out of reach of where he knew she wanted. Sweet torment for her.

And for him. He wanted to be inside her, exploring her silky folds. Touching her. Kissing her.

"Don't stop…" she begged.

Devin's breath caught and he smiled, more than happy to oblige.

Bang, bang, bang.
The pounding filtered through
Paris
's muddled thoughts, and the moment shattered around her. She bolted upright, pulling away from all the wonderful things Alexander was doing to her body. He stared back at her, his breathing just as uneven as hers.

She looked at the clock.
Two forty-eight
in the morning.

"Room service?" he whispered.

"We didn't order anything." The pounding repeated. "Should I answer it?"

Alexander traced his finger up the side of her arm. "Do you have to?"

"
Paris
?" Rachel's voice spilled into the room.

Paris
cringed, sure that she was blushing. "It's Rachel." She looked at Alexander. "I
do
have to answer it."

"It's the middle of the night. Does she do this often?"

"
Paris
!" Rachel's voice had shifted from urgent to annoyed.

"Coming," called
Paris
, managing a shrug for Alexander's sake as she slid off the bed and began hustling into a terrycloth robe she'd left hanging over an armchair. "Do what? Girl talk after hours? Not often. Maybe she wants a shoulder to cry on. Or someone to do tequila shots with."

Alexander pitched her dress and shoes into the closet. "Don't let her cry for too long. I have plans for that shoulder." He trailed his index finger over the shoulder in question.

Paris
smiled. "That's a deal." She turned toward the door. "One second, Rachel. I was just in the bathroom."

"Well, hurry. I've got some amazing news." Rachel's voice was laced with excitement.

Paris
looked at Alexander. "Wait for me in your room," she whispered.

His face registered only confusion. "Where?"

Paris
steered him toward the connecting room. She grabbed the key off the top of the television, and opened the door.

"Whose room is this?"

"Yours," she said immediately, then, "I mean Alexander's. I always take two rooms. One for me, and one for Alexander. Otherwise, people might talk."

"Paris I—"

She cut him off. "Please, hurry. I'm already teetering on mortification, here."

"That doesn't even compare to what I'm teetering on the brink of," he shot back with a grin.

Paris
shook her head. "Men. Might I remind you that you're the one who gets to hide while I get to be totally embarrassed in front of my best friend?"

He surprised her with a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. "Don't be embarrassed. You deserve this night." He pulled the door shut behind him before she had a chance to respond.

Easy for him to say.
Paris
agreed that she deserved every moment spent with her Alexander. But now her best friend was gearing up to give her the teasing of a lifetime, laced with a liberal number of I-told-you-so's. And there was no solace in hoping Rachel wouldn't figure out what had been going on. No matter how hard
Paris
tried to keep it a secret, the odds were that somehow, someway, Rachel would realize what
Paris
had been on the brink of doing with … who?

She stopped dead, as reality took this opportunity to conk her on the head. Was she actually about to sleep with a man whose name she didn't even know? What was she thinking?

And what about Rachel?
Paris
would never hear the end of it from Rachel if she didn't know his name. She lunged for the connecting door and tried the knob. Locked. Rachel pounded again. "
Paris
, for crying out loud, the Queen doesn't take this long."

"Coming," squeaked
Paris
, cringing when she realized how nervous she sounded. A quick glance around the room revealed nothing that would hint at her recent extracurricular activities. Taking a breath, she hurried to the front of the room and unlatched the door.

Rachel burst in the second the lock released.

"Finally! I've been trying to call you."

Paris
shrugged. "I stayed out late." She hurried to change the subject. "What's the big rush?"

"You'll never believe it, not in a million years." She rubbed her fingers against her thumb. "Know what this is? Cash, moola, greenbacks. Money for you, and money for me."

"Either it's too late or you're not making any sense."

"And it's going to be so easy, I promise," Rachel rushed on.

Paris
was on the verge of shaking her friend. "What's going to be so easy? What are you talking about?"

Rachel grimaced. "Of course there is one hitch." She held up her hand as if
Paris
had moved to protest, when in fact
Paris
was standing completely still, dumbstruck by Rachel's frenetic rambling. "But it's minor, really. We can work it out."