No one would have suspected. She had an innocence in her face, a cheerleader all-American scrubbed clean look, but a body like a movie star. All woman, ripe and curvy. Not skinny and flat. He loved it. And knew, even if she wasn't rocking against him, that he held a real woman in his arms. A woman who enjoyed being a woman. And he wanted to do nothing but see pleasure on her beautiful face.
Bryce got down to the business of giving her exactly what she wanted and tasted every inch of her he could reach, stroked her, nipped and soothed and discovered the backs of her thighs were extremely sensitive. Then suddenly, they were over the top, thrashing against each other, rolling across the lush carpet. In the space of a few minutes they tried three positions, laughing as they contorted, then gasping when the friction was almost too much to bear, hurrying, taking only seconds for a thick kiss, and when he had her beneath him, vulnerable, he pushed into her with a measured deliberation that made her cry out and claw for him. She locked her legs around his hips and thrust and pulsed, touching him everywhere, and he held her off the floor, pushing and retreating, watching her pleasure ignite over her exquisite features. He would take that moment with him forever, he thought. Never had he been with a woman who was so confident in herself, in her sexuality, and it made him want her more. She gave as much as she took.
Then it came.
The heavy rush of heat and sensation, a tingling so intense it felt like needles on his spine. Like a throbbing wave about to crash. Suddenly she gripped his jaw and whispered, "Take me with you," and he pushed, once, twice, and they reached for the stars together.
She cried out and bowed like a ribbon of womanly passion.
Time stopped. Soft moans and panting breaths filling the expensive hotel room. Moonlight spilled through the windows and coated them as his desire beat a throbbing pulse inside her, stretching as her feminine muscles flexed and pawed around him.
Bryce looked down at her, trembling with the power of their loving and she smiled up at him, pulling his weight onto her. She was barely sated, her foot sliding up his calf, his thigh, her hands stroking him, holding him as if she'd known him all her life and not just the past few hours.
With a hard sigh, he rolled to his side, tucking her close, yet before they could catch their breath, pagers went off, a cell phone rang.
He kissed her deeply. "Ignore them."
"I can't." But she kissed him back anyway, then disentangled herself from him.
He rose up, reaching for her. "Where are you going?"
"I have to answer that." She knew from experience that whoever was on the other end of that line would not give up. "Don't want hotel security coming up and asking why we're still making so much noise, right?"
He didn't give a damn. He wanted her again.
But she was already going for the phone, gathering her clothes as she talked softly. She looked back at him, and he let his gaze roam her naked body, to the deep chestnut brown hair spilling down her back. Man, she was luscious. She smiled, returning the stare with equal intensity. He felt himself grow hard again. Then she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.
Bryce looked around at the debris of clothes, and started to reach for them, then gave up and fell onto the carpet.
He'd never done anything like that before. Never.
A total stranger. A siren in a little black dress and pearls.
Less than five minutes later she came out of the bathroom, fully dressed and pulling on the strappy little sandals that made him want to taste her ankles. She walked to him and stopped. He hadn't moved. Good grief, he could still scarcely breathe.
"I have to go," she said and her eyes were all business.
Her sudden smile was small and purely feminine. "Yeah. No strings remember?"
"And no names."
She tipped her head to the side. "It's better this way. You have an important job and I'd just be a complication."
"Just who the hell are you?"
"An embassy secretary."
Her expression, one that had been so open with emotion minutes ago, slammed closed. Cold. Detached. And making him think that the woman standing before him now was a ghost of the passionate creature he'd held in his arms. He didn't like it.
She tossed him his pager, and he caught it. "The first lady is calling you."
He looked at the pager and wondered how she could tell from just a number. Or was that just an educated guess? Most Secret Service agents in a crowd didn't look very secretive. When he looked up, she was lowering onto his lap, her arms wrapping his neck. Her mouth played over his with a heat that seared him again.
Now this was the woman he wanted to be with. "Can I interest you in another round, darlin'?" he said against her lips as his hands moved under the hem of her dress.