Like a crazed man.
“And chocolate?” My knees popped as I leaned down and held out my hand. “What if I gave you a box of chocolates?”
Jordan blinked up at me with her wide brown eyes. “Are they all caramel?”
Laughing softly, I shrugged. “Every last one.”
Her eyes teared up. “You mean it?”
I had an odd feeling this wasn’t just about chocolate anymore. “Yeah. I do.”
The elevator dinged once we reached our floor. I helped her to her feet and grabbed the other stray shoe as we made our way into our suite.
When we walked inside, it was quiet, and the lights were low.
“So.” Jordan turned to face me and then slowly began taking off her dress. I froze in place. “You said I needed to let my hair down. Does that include my dress too?”
It pooled at her bare feet.
She stepped out.
Wearing only a plunging black corset and a matching black thong.
I gulped and told myself to look away. Nothing good would come from sleeping with her while she was drunk.
My mind flashed the message to my body a dozen times, but my feet still moved toward her.
My hands still reached out.
And my mouth—refused to listen.
So I kissed her.
Branded her.
Picked her up with one hand while using my other to dig into that gorgeous head of hair and slowly walked us down the hall toward my bedroom.
She tasted like the first time I kissed her . . . and I wondered if she’d always taste that way to me, sweet with the tartness of a lime on her tongue.
Her legs clenched around my waist, her mouth opening wider as I deepened the kiss, unable to control my thoughts, my body, anything.
I tossed her on the comforter and pulled my shirt over my head, then hovered over her, wondering if I was making an epic mistake in taking what she was offering when she might not remember it later.
My conscience was screaming at me.
Then again, so was she. The hellcat reached for my jeans. “Reid, hurry up!”
“Sex should never be rushed.” I gently pushed her hands away. “It should be savored.”
“So savor me.” Her eyes were unfocused.
I couldn’t do it. Damn it.
“I will . . .” I was going to be aching all night because of that woman, but I needed her to be fully aware of who she was sleeping with—and not just that. I wanted her to scream my name and freaking remember that it was me who gave her pleasure. Me. And it would only ever be me who would make her feel that good. “But why don’t we take a short nap so we don’t get tired?”
She snorted. “That’s a stupid idea.” Another yawn.
“I’m just full of them tonight,” I lamented to myself as I pulled her against my body and kissed her neck. “Just a quick nap.”
“But I’m not even tired,” she argued.
Her hair smelled like honey.
Body heavy, she slumped back against me.
“Jordan?”
Good thing we didn’t sleep together, because I was pretty sure no matter how I rocked her world—she would have fallen asleep midrock.
“I think I love you,” I whispered.
She let out a little mewl and turned her head in to my neck.
Ha, the taming of the shrew. What a joke.
Why tame what’s already perfect in its own wild, crazy way? I chuckled as a piece of her hair tickled my face.
I’d risk it all for her.
And I wouldn’t regret it for a damn minute.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
JORDAN
“Wakey, wakey, chicken shakey!” a voice yelled.
The bed started shaking.
“Earthquake!” I gasped, and then fell onto the floor in a heap of blankets. The minute I thudded I almost wished something would fall on my face. My head was pounding. What did Max put in those drinks last night? I let out a small groan and was met with another loud noise.
“Aw.” Max tugged the comforter from my face. “Get in a fight and lose last night, slugger?” He winced. “Damn, that hair could have its own Twitter following. I think I’d hashtag it #thething.”
“Why?” I croaked.
“Well, it kind of resembles the Thing, or is that Cousin It?” His eyebrows drew together in thought.
“Not why would you name it that, just why, why are you in my room? Speaking.”
“Well,” Max said as he took a seat on my bed, “Reid ordered room service and he knew you’d want actual Starbucks, thus he took the elevator down to the main lobby to acquire his lady’s favorite drink.”
“Why are you speaking in a British accent?”
“I said acquire and lady in the same sentence. It’s what the Brits do.”
“Says the Canadian,” I grumbled.
“Isn’t it fun how both countries get me?” Max grinned. “Now, for real, I’m doing you a favor. No wars have been fought or won over a chick after she wakes up still drunk from the night before, and you have actual eyeliner in your hairline. Somehow it went from here”—he pointed to my eye—“to here.” He pointed to my forehead. “And it’s not your best look. Plus . . .” He helped me to my feet. “You smell like cheap liquor and prostitutes.”
“Your fault. You shoved dollar bills in my hands,” I said weakly.
“I was under the impression you wanted to participate.” With a heave, he had me in his arms. And was walking me toward the bathroom.