Bringing Home a Bachelor

“None of your business,” he said to someone. “But yeah, you could say that. I’ve got a hot date waiting for me.”

Aaaaaack!

Pete was about to walk this way, and she still had the Spanx on. She’d die before she’d let him see those.

Melinda sprinted for his room, as he stood chatting a little longer, evidently with a coworker here at the hotel.

She jammed the key card into the slot, fell inside and banged closed the door. She dived into the bathroom, eyeing his toiletries as she rucked up the skirt of her dress and yanked down on the waistbands of both pairs of Spanx. After a mighty tussle, she managed to roll both of them down her thighs at once, into a sort of microfiber pretzel, and then panicked.

She had no idea what to do with them. She shoved them into the trash can and wadded up some toilet paper to throw on top of them.

By the time Pete came through the door, she’d launched herself out of the bathroom and onto his bed, hyperventilating.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, grinning at her. He held a full bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“Hi,” she huffed, leaning back on her elbows in what she hoped was a nonchalant pose. A drop of perspiration dribbled from her hairline down to her ear.

She took brief stock of the room—like hers, it was decorated in standard luxury-hotel fashion, with formal drapes at the sliding door to the balcony, and sheers in the middle for privacy. The bedspread was done in a fabric that coordinated with the drapes.

“What’s got you so out of breath?” Pete set the champagne down on a small, faux-Chippendale desk in the room, placed the glasses next to it and then began to work on the cork.

She cast about for an acceptable answer. The truth was completely out of the question. But so was, “I’m so desperate for you that I ran up seven flights of stairs, panting for your touch.”

She swallowed. “Oh, you know … I was just warming myself up for you.”

Pete knocked over the bottle. He licked his lips as he righted it. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. I got a little too warmed up, as a matter of fact.”

The cork shot out of the champagne and hit the flat-screen television on the dresser. His hand shook as he poured the bubbly into one of the flutes, then the other. Then he walked over to the bed and stood over her, his eyes hooded, gazing down at her. Pete no longer looked like a teddy bear. He looked faintly predatory and all male.

“You’re a naughty girl, Mel.” He handed her one of the flutes.

She flushed and gulped some of the wine.

“In fact, you’re just full of surprises. I had no idea.”

He sat down on the bed next to her, depressing the mattress so that she rolled right into him. He leaned forward, his face close to hers, their lips almost touching. “You didn’t come without me, did you?” His voice had gone husky.

Heat streaked like lightning to the core of her. “No …”

“I’m glad to hear that. I’d just have to make you come all over again.” Pete touched his lips to hers and she felt another flash of electricity shoot through her, leaving traces along her erogenous zones.

He smelled spicy, enticing. The outdoorsy aftershave mingled with the scent of his freshly laundered shirt and a musky smell that was all Pete—which went to her head most of all.

He slipped his tongue into her mouth, touching hers, and deepened the kiss. He tasted of champagne and mint and … cocktail sauce? She wasn’t sure, but then he set down his glass and took hers away, too, and it didn’t matter.

He took her face between his big hands and kissed her with urgency. She couldn’t think—she was all sensation, all pleasure.

Pete’s fingers threaded through her hair and he pushed her back onto the mattress. He found the hidden side zipper of her dress and pulled it down, down, down. He eased the spaghetti straps off her arms and peeled back the bodice. She wore a lacy black bra, strapless.

Pete kissed her cleavage and then freed her from the lace, the tiny sand dollar from the beach rolling onto the bedspread. His face became a study in boyish awe. Speechless, he mounded her breasts in his hands and then whistled like a construction worker.

Mel laughed, glad not to have disappointed him.

“They’re incredible … stunning.” He simply stared at them as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Yours to play with,” she said, trying to catch her breath—a lost cause. “For now.”

Pete fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and removed it, never tearing his eyes away from her body.

It was her turn to stare at his, to take in the solid mass of furred muscle that was his chest, the gym-hardened, cut arms, the tanned expanse of his skin. Her mouth went dry.

How could she ever have thought of him as a teddy bear? Simple: she hadn’t seen him shirtless in years.

And dear God, now he’d kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks and dropped his pants. Pete had the tough, built legs of a soccer or rugby player. How could she have known? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him in shorts. And she’d never seen him in plain blue boxers, as he was now.

He moved towards her with an expression of ownership that she’d never seen, either, a possessive gaze that made something inside her go all girly.

He mounted the bed and straddled her, then bent his head and kissed her again, the hair on his chest brushing her breasts erotically. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, the act imitating what he wanted to do between her legs.

When she was breathless, he turned once again to her breasts. He squeezed them together and took the peaks into his mouth, like a kid trying to devour two ice-cream cones at once.

Pure, hot pleasure overwhelmed her and reminded her that he was no kid. It surged between her legs and dampened her inner thighs. It spiraled through her belly, tugging at her womb.

Pete sucked harder, abrading her nipples with his tongue. Her powerful response to him came from somewhere primal; somewhere no other man had accessed before. A low scream tore out of her throat, shocking her, and turned to a keening noise as he continued.

She briefly considered shame, and rejected it. She threaded her fingers through his dark curls and pulled on them, her legs moving restlessly.

Pete tore his mouth from her breasts, rolled to the side and pushed the skirt of her dress up, over her knees and then above her thighs. Shame came rushing back, cresting as he gazed down at her, pooling at her core. She knew her thighs weren’t slender.

But he didn’t seem at all interested in evaluating the circumference of her thighs. Pete relieved her of her black lace thong before she could even squeak out a protest, and when she tried to pull down her skirt again, he grabbed her wrists. With one hand, he pinned them on the mattress, over her head.

“Let me look, Mel. I think you’re gorgeous.”

Heat rose in her cheeks and she muttered a denial.

“Gorgeous,” he repeated. He released her wrists, eased off her dress and looked his fill while she lay naked and blushing. After a few moments, her discomfort had her rolling to the other side of the bed, where she swung her legs off the mattress and put her feet on the floor.

“Where do you think you’re going, honey?” His voice was soft, but commanding. “And why?”

She struggled to verbalize her self-consciousness. “I—”

“Have you changed your mind?” He rounded the bed and took her chin in one hand. She could feel the heat of his body; smell his desire.

As she raised her gaze from the floor, she couldn’t help but notice that he’d ditched his boxers. That part of Pete that she’d never dreamed she’d see … it was heavy, thick, hard. She remembered from the beach exactly what it felt like in her hand. How would it feel inside her?

The thought made her go weak.