Mirror Image

“I think the Bailey’s is going to do the trick.” She handed him her empty glass and lay back against the pillows.

“Feeling sleepy?”

“Hmm.” She flung her arms up so that her hands were lying on either side of her head, palms up, fingers curled inward, a position both provocative and defenseless. Tate’s eyes turned dark as they moved from her face down the front of her body.

“Thank you for dancing with me,” she said drowsily. “I enjoyed you holding me.”

“You used to say I had no rhythm.”

“I was wrong.”

He continued to watch her for a moment, then switched out the lamp. He was about to leave her bed when she laid a restraining hand on his bare thigh. “Tate?”

He froze. His motionless silhouette was limned by the bluish light leaking through the drapes from the parking lot. Invitingly, she repeated his name on a breath of a whisper.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the mattress again and leaned over her. With a soft exclamation, she bicycled her legs to kick off the covers so there would be nothing between them.

“Tate, I—”

“Don’t,” he commanded gruffly. “Don’t say anything to change my mind.” His head moved so close that she felt his breath against her lips. “I want you, so don’t say a word.”

Fiercely possessive, his lips rubbed hers apart. His tongue probed and explored, dipping into her mouth on deep and daring forays. Avery clutched handfuls of his hair and pressed her mouth up into his kiss.

He relaxed his arms, which had been stiffly bridging her head. Gradually, his body stretched out along hers. His hard thigh crowded her hip; she turned her lower body into it. He nudged her moist cleft with his knee.

“Is it me you’re wet for?”

Avery gasped, unspeakably aroused by his boldness. “You told me not to say anything.”

“Who are you wet for?”

She ran her hand down his thigh, placed it beneath his hip, and invitingly drew him closer.

Groaning in need, he ended the kiss with several rough glances of his lips across hers. He kissed his way down her throat and chest and nuzzled her breasts as he filled his hands with them. His open mouth sought the raised center of one and tugged on it through the fabric of her gown. It beaded against his flicking tongue.

Reflexively, her body bowed off the bed. His hands slid between the pillow and her head, his palms cradling it, his thumbs meeting beneath her chin. He tilted her face up and fastened his mouth to hers again, giving her a scorching, searching kiss as he moved to lie between her spreading thighs.

Avery’s body quickened to the splendor of feeling the full extension of his sex stroking the dell of her femininity. There was even a certain sexiness to the friction of his cotton briefs sliding against her silk underpants.

Heat shimmied through her and was conveyed to him through her skin. His kiss delved deeper, and the rocking motions of his body grew more desperate. Too impatient to be leisurely and inquisitive, her hands clutched his sleek, supple back. She fitted his calf muscles into the arches of her feet and receptively angled her hips up.

Hostile, hard, and hot, Tate slid his hand into the damp silk prohibiting his entrance.

The telephone rang.

He withdrew his hand, but she still lay trapped beneath him. While they lay breathing heavily against each other, the phone continued to ring.

Eventually, Tate rolled to the edge of the bed and jerked the receiver to his ear. “Hello?” After a brief pause, he cursed. “Yeah, Jack,” he growled. “I’m awake. What is it?”

Avery emitted a small, anguished cry and moved to the far side of the bed, putting her back to him.

Twenty-Six

“I’m coming.”

Eddy left his comfortable hotel room chair and rounded the matching hassock. Stacked on top if it were computer readouts, newspaper clippings, demographic charts. Thinking the knock signaled the arrival of his room service order, he pulled the door open without first checking the peephole.

Fancy stood on the threshold. “I’d pay to see that.”