Mina moved insistently, urgently, against him now. He cupped her derriere, that part of her he’d been wild for from the beginning, and adjusted the fit so she had him between the V of her thighs. Taut and perfectly shaped, she fit the palms of his hands so well he knew that would be
how he’d take her. If he took her, which of course he wouldn’t.
Their first course was coming any minute. Time was running out.
Mina moved against the solid column of his flesh, rubbed against him like a cat scratching an itch. “Sì, just like that. Nate—per favore—”
Mother of God. She was so far gone.
He backed her up against the wall. Sliding his hands up the backs of her legs, he brought her dress up with them. Relief was all he was giving her. Then he was ending this insanity.
Her gasp as he cupped the warmth between her thighs was so intoxicating he almost lost it right there. Tightening his fingers, he moved them against her in a slow rock that had her hips thrusting against his hand. Dear Lord, but she was responsive.
Moving his hand back up the flat plane of her stomach, he sank his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and found her hot, velvet warmth. She felt like heaven. So aroused, wet for him. It made the blood in his head pound against his temples.
“Spread your legs, baby,” he whispered in her ear. “I need room.”
She moved her thighs apart for him, her legs trembling so much he had to hold her up with one hand while he brought the thumb of his other to the tight bundle of nerves at the heart of her. Slowly, languorously, he rotated his thumb against her. Italian words tumbled out of Mina’s mouth, husky, unbearably sexy. Her hands gripped the concrete behind her, her eyes closed.
He bent and took her mouth with his own, swallowing every cry, every moan, as he stroked her wet heat. She writhed as he moved his thumb against her clitoris in an erratic movement that prolonged her pleasure, kept her orgasm just out of reach. Mina arched her back and sunk her teeth into that delectable bottom lip. Her breathing grew fractured, desperate. “Per favore. More.”
He gave it to her, sinking two of his long fingers inside her tight, wet heat. Slowly at first, he entered her, giving her a chance to get used to him. Then he picked the rhythm up, plunging deep inside of her.
Her cries came fast and urgent against his mouth. “Nate...”
Neet.
Gritting his teeth against the surge of lust that knocked him sideways, he found her core with his thumb and made her come in a deliberate series of movements that pushed her over the edge. Long and hard, the orgasm shook her petite frame. He caught her against him as her knees gave way and held her through every last shudder of it.
Never had a woman’s release turned him on more. Never had it made him shake with the need to have her.
It brought him hurtling back to vivid, mind-altering reality. To what he had done.
He told himself he hadn’t taken her. That he could still bring this back under control...
It was a lie he couldn’t force himself to swallow. Hadn’t crossed a line? He’d just crossed the Great Divide. He had wanted to touch Mina. He had goaded himself and her into it, to the point of no return, and then he’d walked across the line.
The sound of dishes rattling came from inside the suite. Their first course.
He set Mina away from him with unsteady hands, his head too full of emotion for the first time in his life to make sense of what had just happened. To process any of it. He could no more eat dinner right now than he could look at the stripped-down, dazed look on his wife’s face. His wife’s face. Dear Lord.
“I need to go.”
“What?” Mina pushed her dress down around her hips. “Dinner is here.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Eat without me.”
Her face crumpled. “Nate—”
He turned on his heel and left.
CHAPTER NINE
“SHOULD WE MOVE ON to the timeline?” Sheng Zhu prompted.
Nate nodded. He’d heard enough during the first ten minutes of the celebrity chef’s presentation to know it was a partnership the Grand would sign on to. Sheng Zhu was offering the five-year exclusivity he’d demanded, the numbers looked sound and it was clear the chef was a smart businessman first, hotheaded personality second. He’d given them everything they’d wanted.
Unfortunately, the significant part of a bottle of his favorite single-malt Scotch, consumed in a swank watering hole called the American Bar last night, hadn’t solved his other problem. All it had done was give him a throbbing headache and no answers about what to do with his sexy, irresistible wife.