Heated (Most Wanted 2)

I laughed. I also relaxed. "Fair enough. And I suppose I should thank you for the rescue. Even though it took you long enough."

"Is that a criticism?"His hand slipped around my waist, but rather than jerk out of his embrace as I had with Reggie, I had to force myself not to press closer.

"Just an observation."

He eased us toward the dance floor, then started to sway with the low, slow strains of music. I felt light, as if Tyler's hands were the only things keeping me anchored.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said. "Still, I suppose I lost some of my chivalry street cred."

"A bit." My voice sounded breathy, and I wanted to close my eyes and melt from the heat that his palm pressed against my naked back was generating.

I'd gotten lost in the swirl of sensations and emotions, and I stumbled blindly, trying to find some sort of rope to draw me back to myself, but failing miserably. I'm not the kind of woman who falls apart in the arms of a man, but right then, I was unraveling. And my dark and scary secret was that I liked the way it felt.

"I suppose I'll have to earn it back." His words, whispered at my ear, skittered across my skin like an electric current. They were only sounds, with no meaning attached to them at all. Just the low, sexy tones of his voice.

"Hmm?" I asked stupidly. "Earn what back?"

He chuckled, as if he knew damn well that he was the source of my confusion. "Chivalry. You said I lost some street cred."

"Oh. Right." I managed to gather myself, then tilted my face up to look at him. I saw desire behind the blue fire of his eyes, and I wrapped it around me, reveling in its warmth. "I guess you will. I mean, what's a knight without his chivalrous reputation?"

"For the record, it was worth it to make a point."

"What point is that?"

His expression changed, and I once again felt trapped in his gaze. As if he didn't just desire me, but had claimed me for his own. "I didn't like it when you walked away from me. And I'm guessing you didn't like me staying away."

"No," I admitted. "I didn't." I turned my head again, not wanting him to examine my face too closely. Not because I was lying, but because there was more truth in my words than I wanted to admit.

He stroked his hand lightly over my back as we continued to move on the dance floor. I pressed against him and sighed, my body feeling warm and melty.

"Remember that," he said gently. "And don't walk away from me again."

The meltiness hardened into steel as I came to a stop, then stepped out of his arms so I could face him dead on. Around us, other couples continued to swirl, but I barely noticed them. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No," he said simply. "I'm not." He tugged me back to him, then slid us seamlessly back into the mix of dancing couples.

"You're pretty damn sure of yourself."

"Very. What did you think? That walking away was going to wind me up? Was somehow going to make me want you more?" His voice, low and smooth, sent shivers coursing through me. "I'll tell you a secret, Sloane. I already want you more. I saw you, and I knew I would have you."

I licked my lips, but stayed silent. In part because I wanted to see where he was going, but also because I couldn't trust myself to speak.

He paused on the dance floor, then took a single step back so that he could look at me fully. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I don't care."

I shook my head. "I'm not playing a game."

"No?" His gaze lingered on my face, and I had to fight the urge to turn away, afraid he'd see the truth in my eyes. "Too bad," he said. "Because I am. I started playing the moment I saw you."

I swallowed, not sure if I should run away or wrap myself in his arms. "I don't understand."

"Yeah," he said. "I think you do," and though his smile was warm, I saw heat and danger in his eyes. "You're the prize, Sloane. And I'm in it to win."

"Me?"

"You," he said. He stepped closer, and the air seemed to shimmer from the intensity of my desire. "Does that excite you, Sloane? Knowing I want you? That I will have you?"

"Yes." My voice was soft. Breathy. My heart was pounding an unsteady rhythm, and even as the fact of my victory settled over me, it wasn't celebration that burned in my veins, but heat. A raw, primal heat that I'd never experienced before, but couldn't deny liking. "God, yes."

He drew me to him again, his hands at my waist, then easing up to brush the swell of my breasts. I drew in a shuddering breath, and though I wanted to simply close my eyes and let the wave crash over me, rational thought kicked in. "People," I whispered in protest. "Tyler, there are all these people."

"Do you care?"

"I--yes. Maybe."

I felt my cheeks burn as he chuckled. "Fair enough. With me. God, Sloane, with me, now." His voice sounded as raw as I felt, and as he led me to the far side of the room, maneuvering us through the other dancers, I followed willingly. Eagerly. And a little bit giddily from the simple high of knowing that my plan was in full swing, and I was about to enjoy the perks of my success.

He led me to the back of the restaurant and then through a hidden door into a concrete-walled service corridor lined with rolling tables topped with covered serving dishes. The staging area for the buffet and waitstaff, I realized, though I didn't have long to think about it. Tyler had me up against the wall, squeezed in tight between two tables, his hands cupped on my breasts.

He gently pinched my already sensitive nipples, and a hot-wire of desire shot from my breasts to my sex. I gasped with pleasure even as I wanted to protest that there were still people around. The waitstaff. A few maids. But somehow, I didn't care anymore. Somehow, all I wanted was his touch.

"Shall I tell you?" he asked. "Shall I tell you exactly what I want? Exactly what I will have from you?"

His mouth was beside my ear, so close I could feel the brush of his lips as his words teased me. I didn't want to be entranced--didn't want to feel my body go soft with longing. But dammit, he was drawing me under, and soon I was going to drown in the swell of his words.

"Shall I go over in intimate detail how I will touch you? The way my fingertips will tease your nipples. How my tongue will dance over the curve of your ear. Will it make you wet to know how hard I am? How much I want to sink deep inside of you."

I made a little sound. I think I meant it to be a yes.

His hands eased lower, sliding down to my waist, then behind to cup my rear. He drew me in, nestling my sex against his thigh, and pressing so tight against me I could feel the hard bulge of his erection against my lower belly. I reached out to steady myself, and found the edges of two serving tables. I clutched at them, desperate to hold on, because I knew damn well that if I let go, I'd melt into a puddle on the floor.

"I imagine you taste like honey," Tyler murmured. "And when I slide my tongue between your legs, I'll lose myself in the sweetness of you. I want to watch your face as the orgasm builds inside you. I want to feel you tremble beneath me. And when you finally explode, I want to hold you in my arms and let my kisses pull you back together."

I trembled, my body hot and sizzling. I was aroused, my breasts heavy, my sex aching. I wanted his touch--wanted him to do all the things he was saying.

Hell, I simply wanted.

I breathed in. Once, twice. I needed to gather myself, my thoughts. I needed to maintain at least some illusion that he hadn't completely destroyed me with nothing more than words.

"Wow," I finally managed. "You don't waste time, do you?"

His smile was slow and lazy. "As far as I'm concerned, time is the one thing too precious to waste."

He stroked my cheek, my hair. His fingers twined in my curls as he played and stroked. Tighter and tighter, not enough to hurt, but enough so that I gasped in surprise when he tugged my head back and met my eyes. There was ice in the blue now. A cold, winter storm, the chill of which laced his voice as well. "Tell me the truth, Sloane. Are you wasting my time?"

I felt the blood pump through me, the rush filling my head. Not fear--not really. This was excitement. Challenge. And, yes, a bit of frustration, too, because the victory I'd so greedily claimed had apparently been premature.

"Let go of me," I said, my voice matching the ice of his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He released his grip on my hair and took a step back. I used the motion of standing up straight to shake off my nerves. Despite my desperately pounding heart, right then, this was all about playing it cool. Just like in a suspect interrogation, I wasn't about to let him see that he'd shaken me.

"I know what my game is," he said. "I'm trying to figure out yours."

"I'm not playing a game," I lied.

"Everyone's playing a game." There was no humor in his voice.

I said nothing. I'd already denied. Repeating myself would get me nowhere.