This Year's Black (Killer Style 2)

Her fingers itched to follow his path. “Only until the shows tomorrow.”

They rose to leave the party, but an older woman stopped them.

“I have something special for you, dear. You must have a taste.” She uncorked a bottle of homemade wine, its clear glass container without a label, and poured Ryder a small amount. “This is for a traditional blessing toast.” She captured Devin’s attention with the snap of her fingers and poured him a glass. “Salud y amor y tiempo para disfrutarlo.”

Ryder and Devin clinked glasses and sipped the wine. Dry and warm with an aftertaste she couldn’t quite place, it slid down her throat.

“You must drink the whole glass or it is bad luck.” The woman pushed their glasses back up to their lips.

The rest of Ryder’s wine went down like warm honey laced with a hint of anise. A flush heated her belly and climbed to her tingling breasts. “What’s in the drink?”

“You don’t need to worry about that. It’s just an herbal mixture to help you appreciate all the blessings in your life and to let you see what your heart truly desires.”

“What.” Ryder’s breath hitched.

“Was.” Hot liquid want pooled deep in her belly.

“In.” Her skin itched for Devin’s touch.

“The.” Her thighs buzzed.

“Drink?” Ryder’s heart raced, scattering her thoughts like the flashing lights of a Fourth of July sparkler.

“Damiana for the heart to see better.” The old woman got up from her seat, patted Ryder’s heated cheek with a papery hand, then disappeared into the hotel.

Putting her college botany minor degree to good use, she wracked her brain trying to remember why damiana sounded familiar. Then it hit her. It was a wild shrub said to be an aphrodisiac that gave people a mild, pot-like high.

Pushing away her plate filled with decadent-smelling oysters, lobster, and albacore, Ryder accepted her current reality. She hungered for only one thing: Devin.

Chapter Seven

“My only interest in women’s clothes is what’s underneath them.”

— Lynda Carter

Ryder couldn’t close the door to the suite fast enough. With her brain screaming “Escape!” she’d hightailed it back so fast she’d left her shoes in the courtyard. So what if she wanted to double dip with the hottest man she’d ever had a one-night stand with? That didn’t mean she was going to. The knee-erasing need was just a pre-hangover from some crazy, volcano-blessed ceremony on a tropical island paradise.

And why, exactly, that made her want to cry or punch a wall wasn’t something she wanted to think about right now.

Wanting to get as much space as possible between herself and the evening’s events, she untied the filmy sarong from around her neck. It slid down her body, caressing her taut nipples and narrow hips like the reverent touch of a man’s hands. And damn her black soul, she wished it was Devin’s fingers trailing across her flushed skin.

The material puddled at her feet, trapping her in its mocking, cheerful circle. This was why she only wore black. Because she wasn’t cheerful. Or sweet. She was cold, hard, and calculating. She had to be, and it was about time she remembered that.

Standing in only the gold bracelet and her black satin panties with her hands on her hips, she contemplated burning the stupid dress in the bathroom sink. The smoke detector’s blinking green light called her back from that bit of insanity. Instead, she kicked the yellow fluff into the corner. Back in more familiar sartorial territory, she muttered a quick prayer of gratitude that at least the effects of the blessing-enhancing wine had worn off.

“I didn’t realize you were so eager to get back to our room.” Devin’s voice warmed her like a fur coat in the middle of an August heat wave. “Everyone clapped when I got up to chase after you.”

“Well, they’re not here now.” She whirled around, not caring that she was practically buck naked. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her completely in the flesh already.

The memory of their night together ratcheted up her body heat to face-of-the-sun levels, and judging by the tent Devin’s cock made in his sarong, she wasn’t alone.

A light sheen of sweat made his hard abs glisten in the dimly-lit room. The urge to lick her way across his six-pack weakened her knees. Maybe that special enhancer hadn’t evaporated from her system, after all.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He uttered the words as soft as a prayer, and her black, strappy sandals slipped from his grip. They hit the floor with a boom in the silent room.

Anticipation thickened the air in her lungs, making it hard to breathe…or to think. Feeling, on the other hand, became the only thing she could do. All she wanted to do. And that loss of control scared the shit out of her. She’d been down that road before, and sure as hell wasn’t getting her passport stamped for a return visit.

With deliberate care, she sauntered across the room, her bare feet slapping against the tile floor. “I’m getting my clothes and going to bed. You can take the couch.”