Or see him with someone else.
The chasm that thought opened in her chest was so great, she quickly distracted herself by declaring with false crossness, “I wasn’t sulking.”
“You’re still pouting,” he claimed and took her jaw in a firm hand, nipping her bottom lip with the firm but tender bite of his.
A zing of excitement shot straight down her breastbone into her abdomen, then washed tingles into her limbs. Her hands instinctively lifted to his waist, but she held him off by proclaiming, “I’ve heard that all my life. I can’t help it if my bottom lip is fat.”
He drew back enough to sweep a gaze of masculine appraisal across her masked features, then bent to take a slower, more detailed tour of her mouth, allowing them both the luxury of a small feast. Absently she shuffled toward him, knees and thighs shifting so he could fit their frames together. His erection pressed into her stomach and her breasts ached as she flattened them to his chest. The music seeped through her and he began to rock them in a slow dance.
More like making love to her in public again, but who cared? No one even knew who they were. God, he felt good under her roaming hands.
“Come to my room,” he intoned against her good ear.
She had her hands fisted in his shirt beneath the jacket of his tuxedo. Everything in her wanted to hang on to him forever. It was such a dangerous precipice to stand on, so threatening of a bad fall. But she couldn’t escape how good it felt to feel wanted and beautiful and capable of giving him pleasure.
Without even doing much soul-searching—just like last night—she offered a shaky nod and let him guide her back into the club then into an elevator where they kissed with barely schooled passion. A minute later, he thumbed the sensor that opened his door and pivoted her into the foyer of his suite. It was grander than her own, but he was a twenty-five-visit member. Still, she barely saw it. One second later, she was in his arms.
Knocking off his mask, he dipped his head and kissed her again, discipline abandoned as he let her know with the thrust of his tongue exactly what he wanted to do to her. His hands roamed over her restlessly and he finally jerked back to say, “What the hell is this thing? I can’t find a zipper.”
Which was why she’d chosen it, she recalled dimly. Even the neckline was a difficult entry point. She didn’t have the courage to be naked with him, but she wanted to make love to him.
Smiling secretively, she fingered open the buttons of his shirt and gazed appreciatively at the sleek bronze chest plate she revealed. A narrow line of hair delineated the center of his chest and outlined his squared pecs, which were flat, firm statements of strength.
Above his left nipple, a scrolled phrase in blue ink gave her pause. Some of the letters were oddly accented, but she thought she read the word Bregnovia. Framing it with the finger and thumb of her splayed hand, she asked, “What does it say?”
Tension stole through him. He seemed to expend a lot of effort drawing in a pained breath. “Luiza, Martyr of Bregnovia.”
“Like our Lady Liberty?”
She drew a circle around his nipple and he jerked, making her smile.
“Yes,” he rasped. “She’s revered—damn. By all.”
Other questions crowded into her mind, but she was too distracted by his gorgeous physique. Her hands couldn’t resist smoothing over the hot satin of his skin. “You’re so perfect, Ryzard. It’s intimidating.”
“Take off your clothes,” he urged, plumping her breasts through her spandex suit.
Cruising her hand from his waist to his belt and lower, she explored the shape of him. He grunted with pleasure and was so hard against her palm, her internal muscles clenched in anticipation. She swallowed and used her other hand to fumble his pants open.
He tried to remove her mask, but she pulled away and shook her head. “Not yet.” She was too intent on being the anonymous Tiffany, the one who followed impulse and seduced a man if she wanted to. Lowering his fly, she managed to expose him, and oh. She went to her knees because he made her so deliciously weak.
“Tiffany,” he groaned raggedly.
She was barely touching him, too new at this to do more than brush light fingertips over him. His breaths were audible hisses of anticipation, his erection jumping in reaction to her caresses. When she smoothed her lips against silky skin over steel, the weight of his hand came to rest on her head. The other stroked her exposed cheek, fingers trembling.
An experimental lick imprinted her with the taste of him. This was new territory for her, something she’d always been curious about, but it was so much more enthralling than she’d expected. She could sense how much power she had as she learned his shape with her tongue and open-mouthed kisses
When she took the tip into her wet mouth, he growled a string of foreign words, guttural and tortured, but sexy and thick with pleasure. If she could have smiled, she would have. Instead, she focused on finding his sensitive points, wanting this to be something he would never forget.
She never would.
* * *
Ryzard managed to hitch his pants back into place, but wasn’t capable of much else. His head was swimming, his muscles trembling, and he was too wrung out to properly close his fly. He needed the wall to keep himself upright.
Water ran in the powder room, but he was barely aware of anything else. What Tiffany had just done to him had blown his mind. Her inexperience had been obvious in her tentative touch and first nervous licks, but after that she’d been so generous and given over to what she was doing, he’d lost it completely.
The door latch clicked and he turned his head. She walked out of the powder room with her clothes and mask in place, but there was an adorable self-conscious flush on her exposed cheek and an even more exquisite glow of arousal coming off her like an aura. Her nipples were pencil tips beneath her second-skin jumpsuit, and the way she walked held the hip sway of the sexually aroused.
Unbelievably, he twitched back to life below his unbuckled belt. He instantly wanted to strip her and have her under him.
“I’m going to eat you alive,” he warned her.
She shook her head. “I have to go.”
“The hell you do.” He’d tie her up if he had to.
“No, I do,” she insisted.
“What happened?” He looked to the powder room, wondering what had changed between seconds ago and now.
“Nothing. I just... This was really nice, but I want to leave it like this. As a nice memory for both of us.”
“We can keep the lights off,” he blurted in a burst of panic.
“Ryzard, please.” There were tears in her eyes. “Just this, okay?”
He swiped his hand down his face, unable to think where he’d gone wrong. Why the hell was she shutting him out?
“I won’t force you to make love with me. You don’t have to go.” Hell, the last thing he was capable of right now was talk, but it would be better than her leaving.
“I know you wouldn’t, but I want to. Thank you again.” She skittered a wide circle around him and slid through the cracked door.
She’d got him off and thanked him twice. What the hell?
* * *
Tiffany was still trembling when she slid between her sheets, both angry with herself and relieved. Maybe she should have stayed with him. Maybe this was her chance to get over her scars so she could pursue a relationship with another man in the future.
But she didn’t want anyone else, and she didn’t have the courage to expose herself to Ryzard.
With a moan of despair, she rolled onto her stomach and groaned into a pillow.
A muted bell sounded. She lifted her head and noticed a light flashing on the bedside phone. Picking it up, she said a wary, “Yes?”
“It’s me. Where are you?”
His voice sent a race of erotic excitement through her veins and into her loins. “In my room, obviously,” she said, unable to control the husky edge on her voice.
“In bed?”
“Sleeping, yes,” she lied.
“Liar.”
She rolled her eyes. So arrogant.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.
“Flannel jammies and a nightcap.”
“Well, take them off, draga. I’m about to tell you what you missed by running out of here.”
“You’re going to force me to have phone sex?”
“Hang up any time.”
“I might have enough without adding more,” she murmured in a considering tone.
“Hmm? Oh. Clever,” he said with dry amusement. “I never know what to expect from you, Tiffany. Although I’m quite sure you’re still aroused. Have you been thinking of how you nearly killed me tonight?”
“Did I?” She couldn’t help smiling.
“So smug. Yes, you did. I didn’t thank you, and I should have. You’re a delightful lover.”
She curled on her side so the phone was tucked under her ear. “Thank you for saying that.”
“Are you naked yet? Because if my hands will not be stroking your gorgeous body, then I will listen as you do it.”