She blinked and lowered her head. He must not have noticed her port scar yesterday during the heat of passion. “I had a minor surgery done last year. The scar is fading—slowly,” she whispered.
She prayed to God she’d never have to have another port inserted into her chest. She’d hated it—walking around with a hole in her chest so that she could have a bunch of toxic chemicals poured into her with ease.
Everett lowered the fabric farther and his head at the same moment, and her anxiety fractured and scattered. His lips skimmed her chest, brushed across the small scar and kissed the upper slope of the breast that he’d bared. The friction of his goatee sliding over sensitive skin created an arousing contrast to his soft, warm kisses. She glanced down, watching him through a sensual haze.
The image of him opening his mouth and slipping a pink nipple between his lips was burned into her consciousness. She saw his cheeks hollow out slightly, the suction on her breast tugging at her clit and deep inside her. She gasped and clutched at the back of his head, letting her fingers tangle in his hair.
The abrupt cessation of his warm mouth and laving tongue startled her. He covered her damp nipple with the fabric of her dress and draped the strap over her shoulder. He put his arm around her and hugged her to him in a protective gesture.
“Your salads,” the waiter said, making Joy blink in disorientation. Everett must have heard his approach. Joy hadn’t been aware of anything but his mouth on her breast.
“Thank you,” Everett said, catching the middle-aged man’s eye. “Can you please give us some privacy for ten minutes or so?”
Heat rushed into Joy’s cheeks at Everett’s casual request, but the waiter took it all in stride.
“Of course. I’ll tell the chef to delay your entrées a few minutes, as well.”
“Thank you,” Everett said to the man’s retreating back.
He turned to her. She opened her mouth to speak, but paused when she saw the heat of his gaze. He held her stare as his hand moved again to the tie at her shoulder.
He lowered the fabric below both her breasts. She just sat there, her breath burning in her lungs, her nipples prickling against the cool, air-conditioned air. His stare lowered. She made a soughing sound as she inhaled with effort. His gaze flickered back up to her face.
“Can’t this wait?” she asked desperately. She was aroused—exquisitely so—but why must he do this here? She could hear the murmur of patrons in the main dining room in the distance and the clatter of china in the kitchen. She felt the weight of his stare pressing on her lungs. Her nipples felt tight, like every nerve in them demanded to be touched.
“No,” he said. “I want to make you feel like I did that time at the studio. Willing to do something impulsive, willing to take a risk when you know you shouldn’t. Do you think I do something like that often?” he asked, his manner intent. Joy’s breath flew inward when he touched the side of her breast with a fingertip.
“I . . . I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”
His glance at her was sharp.
“No? Not since you’ve discovered who I was? You haven’t wondered if Everett Hughes wasn’t as used to having beautiful strangers go down on him as he was drinking his morning coffee?”
She bit her lip when he touched a nipple. He circled it, detailing its contours gently. Her vagina clenched tight at the caress.
“Joy?”
She gasped when he pinched lightly at her other nipple. Arousal spiked through her body.
“All right. Maybe I’ve thought about it.”
He nodded, his gaze never leaving her face. His eyes had narrowed into gleaming slits. She couldn’t look away. She inhaled his scent in short, irregular breaths. His teasing fingertips on her nipples caused excitement to shudder through her.
“In my business, behaving like that on a regular basis is a sure way to have your private life stolen away from you completely. If the press has learned as a general rule that you know not to act like an idiot and how to keep your pants zipped, they start to expect a decent guy instead of a jerk. It’s all about managing expectations.”
She inhaled sharply when he molded both breasts to his palms and continued to stroke her nipples. “Then why are you doing this now, in a public place?”
“Because. What happened at the studio was a singular experience—one I hadn’t expected. Now it’s your turn,” he murmured. He pinched at both of her nipples, the caress soft and insistent at once. She moaned, her rising desire like a living thing, stealing over her flesh, making her its captive.
He cupped both of her breasts from below and examined them. He’d made the nipples prominent and hard with his stroking fingers, the rose color a stark contrast to the paler flesh. They looked like firm, lush fruit in his cradling hands.
“So beautiful,” he murmured before he bent and took a nipple into his warm mouth. Shards of pleasure tore through her. Her pussy tingled in approval of his lashing tongue. She gasped his name when he drew on her nipple and fondled her other breast with a lazy sort of deliberation that she found unbearably exciting. Her fingers raked through his hair. He groaned roughly and lifted his head, finding her mouth with his own. He slid his tongue between her parted lips, caressing her teasingly before he nibbled at her with kisses that struck her as controlled and feverish at once. She was so enthralled by his molding mouth that it took her a moment to realize he’d grabbed both of her wrists. He held her hands down on the leather seat.
“There,” he said, his gaze flickering over her face. “Now I have you at my mercy.”
“Everett. You told the waiter to come back in ten minutes.”
“Plenty of time,” he murmured.