It was Mark’s turn to look at her with a question in his expression. “Why archaeology?”
She smiled. “Who didn’t want to be a treasure hunter when they were a kid?”
Laughter bubbled up out of Mark’s chest, loud and a little surprised. “That was definitely not the answer I was expecting, but I think it might just be the best possible answer for that particular question.”
She grinned at him from under her lashes. “I do try to entertain.”
Mark could think of a few ways he wouldn’t mind being entertained–or being the entertainer–but it seemed a little soon to make that kind of a move, so he just chuckled. “You’re not half bad so far. Points for style. But you’ve tipped your hand too soon. Now I know you’re clever, and you’ll really going to have to wow me.”
Camille tapped one of her red-painted fingernails against her lower lip, thoughtful, and gave him a look that he couldn’t quite interpret. She dropped her hand back to her lap, and lifted her glass with the other to take a long sip of her martini. Mark lifted his eyebrows at her in silent question.
“Making plans,” she said, and gave him a wink that had his stomach tightening a little in warm anticipation. Maybe it wasn’t too soon to make a pass after all. And he really did want to make one. Or several. Whatever it took to get the bewitching woman sitting next to him back to his apartment and into his bed. “They don’t give the impression of being very well-behaved plans.”
Her tongue flicked out to lick a drop of her cocktail from her mouth. The look she gave him was enough to fan that little spark of warmth at the bottom of his stomach into something hot, kindling desire that had him starting to get hard in his slacks.
“No,” she said. “I don’t believe they’re well-behaved at all. In fact, I think these plans might be exactly the kind of plans that are very strongly frowned upon in public establishments.”
Forget half-hard. In a minute he wasn’t going to be able to walk.
Camille tossed back the last of her drink and rose from the stool where she’d been sitting. “Escort me to my car, Mr. Reid? If you please?”
She didn’t have to ask him twice.
*
The door swung shut behind them, and Mark pressed Camille back against the wall of the entryway, one hand curved against her cheek and the other supporting his weight. Both of her arms were wrapped around his neck, her body stretched out against his as she leaned up on her toes for a kiss. He gave it to her, long and slow and hungry, and when they broke apart they were gasping for air. Mark leaned down and kissed her again.
This time when they pulled back to breathe, Cami curled her fingers in the fabric of his shirt and tugged him further down the hall, in the general direction of the rest of the apartment. He took the hint, and they moved together toward the bedroom. Just outside the door, he paused to nip at the curve of her throat, and the little gasp that answered him made him groan against her skin.
“You know, Mr. Reid,” she breathed against his ear as he straightened. “I think I’d really like to blow you.”
Before he even had time to reply, she was dropping to her knees in front of him, her slender hands reaching for the buckle of his belt and the button of his slacks. She pulled the zipper down, and slipped her hand inside, pulling him out of his boxer-briefs. His knees threatened to buckle. Damn, did women like her really exist?
She made a low sound of approval as his cock popped free of the too-tight briefs that had been perfectly adequate before his run-in with her, cool air brushing against his skin. The hand that was wrapped around him stroked upward, then slid down again, and she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around him.
Mark’s head dropped back against the wall with a thunk.
Camille wasn’t hurried about it. She took her time, working him slowly, gradually taking more. His fingers curled against the plaster of the wall. He wanted to reach out, slide one into her hair, but wasn’t sure that he’d be allowed until one of her own reached up and caught his, coaxing him to tangle it in the sleek, dark waves. He tightened the hold until she moaned around him, the sound vibrating up his length and making him pant for air, but he didn’t pull away.
Abruptly, Camille drew back, licking her lips. Carefully, she tucked him back into his underwear.
Mark groaned. “What...?”
Her expression was all wide-eyed innocence as she turned her gaze up to him. He didn’t believe it for a single second.
“I think,” she said, rising smoothly to stand again, “that I’d rather you fuck me now.”
Mark growled low in his throat, and watched a shudder run through her, her pupils dilating wide and dark against the rich chocolate brown of her irises. He curled his hands around her hips and spun them so that her back was to the door, then pushed.
Like that, he walked her back until her knees hit the bed and she fell back against the mattress, dark hair spilling over the duvet. Her chest rose and fell with quick little breaths, and his fingers made quick work of the buttons on her blouse, tugging the hem out from the waistband of her skirt and pulling it open to reveal cream-colored lace against fair skin.
She was reaching for the buttons of his shirt, and he leaned down to let her, pulling the zipper of her skirt down and sliding it o
ff her legs. She kicked it away, and then her shoes followed.
Her stockings, Mark discovered, were thigh-highs held up with a garter belt that matched the cream lace of her bra and panties. It was all he could do not to moan. His hands traced the curve of her waist, from ribcage to hipbones, and slid down over the warm skin of her thighs.
“Take it off,” she said, breathless, as she pulled the last button on his shirt through the opening, and he shrugged out of the fabric, yanking his undershirt off after. He toed off his shoes.