Exposed to You (One Night of Passion 2)

She gave him a shaky smile. “What’s your favorite movie of all time?”

He grimaced and clutched at her hips, tilting her forward slightly on his cock.

“Everett?” she gasped, feeling him press erotically against the front wall of her vagina.

“Hard to say,” he said tightly. “Probably On the Waterfront.”

“I can see that,” she murmured. “You have all the ragged passion of Brando, somehow stabilized.”

He grimaced, and she knew it had nothing to do with what she’d said. “What’s yours?”

“Casablanca.”

“I can see that.”

“Why?” she asked, finding it difficult to focus. The pressure in her genitals was becoming unbearable.

“You and Ilsa both have that elusive thing going on that drives a guy crazy,” he mumbled, referring to Ingrid Bergman’s character.

“I do not!”

“Have you ever been in love?” he asked her, abruptly changing the topic.

She couldn’t resist any longer. She pressed down in his lap, getting friction on her clit. A ripple of pleasure shuddered through her. “I . . . don’t know,” she gasped.

“How can you not know?”

“I can’t be sure.” She nervously licked at the perspiration gathering on her upper lip. “Have you?”

His fingers dug into her hips. He seemed to realize what he was doing and smoothed the silk over her skin as if to apologize for his forcefulness.

“Yeah.” Was that uncertainty she heard in his tone or some other emotion?

“But you don’t know for sure?” she whispered, scanning his features.

“No. I know,” he said grimly after a moment.

Her heart throbbed against her breastbone. Her vaginal muscles tightened around him without conscious instruction on her part. Change the subject, she thought desperately.

“When I was talking to Errol down in the diner earlier today, he said something about Katie being related to Howard Hughes. Is that true?”

“What?” Everett said, his gaze narrowed on her.

“Are you related to Howard Hughes?” she asked.

“Oh. Um . . . yeah,” he said as if he were trying to dredge for inconsequential information in a murky area of his brain. “He’s some kind of sixteenth cousin removed on my father’s side or something.”

His hands shifted. He lowered her nightgown back down beneath her breasts. She felt his cock lurch inside her as he stared at her chest.

“How much longer do we have to do this?” he asked, his gaze glittering . . . ravenous.

“Much longer.”

He exhaled exasperatedly. “Why did I know you were going to say that?” He stroked the tender skin at the sides of her body, making her shiver and her nipples tighten. Again, her vagina tightened around him. She shot him a repressive glance. He

knew how sensitive she was there. “Okay, how about the worst day of your life?” he asked.

“The day my mother died,” she said without thinking. He caressed her bare back with warm hands. This time, she found his touch comforting as well as arousing. “I had thought for sure when the end came, when her suffering finally ceased, I would be relieved . . . glad that her pain was finally over. I was wrong. It was exponentially worse, knowing I’d never hear her speak again, never feel her touch,” she whispered. He regarded her silently for a moment. “What about you?” she asked.