Page 10 of Only the Wicked (The Sinful State #1)

Chapter Eight

Rhodes

She opens the door, uncertainty painting her features.

Perhaps I should heed her hesitation and ignore the electric charge reverberating through my extremities.

It’s been so long since I’ve experienced a physical reaction like this to a woman I just met…

Hell, I can’t remember the last time I met a woman outside of the corporate world. The random hook-ups don’t count.

Would I be pursuing her if she lived nearby? If I might run into her again? No, the intensity of my desire would have me backing up, taking time and space to ensure I maintain control.

Perhaps that’s what I’m sensing from her. As far as dinner dates go, we had a good one. Take the win, re-group… It would be the reasonable thing to do.

“Come on in,” she says, the curve of her lips eliminating any sign of unease. “We’re two adults, right?”

“On vacation.”

With my pointed statement, I step past her, briefly taking in her room.

There’s a gas fireplace with two chairs in front of it and a four-poster bed against the wall, directly behind the chairs.

A door opens into what I presume is the bathroom.

French glass doors open onto a small balcony with an iron rail and blooming flower boxes.

The door clicks closed.

“Where’s your vibrator?”

“You’re serious?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“That’s… Let’s get a drink.” She approaches a cabinet next to the fireplace with two wine glasses and a bottle of wine with a price tag dangling from the neck. I have the same set up in my villa.

She rests her hands against the cabinet, twisting to face me. Her posture pulls the sundress tight against her chest.

“What’s your longest relationship?”

“Seven years.” I move closer. “Yours?”

Her gaze travels to the far ceiling corner.

“Syd?”

“Closer to seven months.” Her lips purse, possibly amused. “I’m not one to keep track. But is that why you’re so comfortable with this…” Her hand sweeps her middle as if she can’t say the words.

“For the record, period sex can be hot.”

Her nose crinkles.

“I agree that for our first time, it’s not ideal. And to be clear, I’m not proposing sex.”

No, I’m apparently an extremely horny fucker. I reach around her for the unopened bottle, but I hesitate, unsure about opening it, as we don’t need more alcohol.

“What exactly are you proposing?”

I set the bottle back down. “Let me make you feel good.” I reach for her hand and lift it from the cabinet. “Are you game?”

“Is that an attempt to appeal to my competitive side?”

I’ve no chance of hiding the smirk that breaks out with her accusation. People say I’m good at reading people. I suppose I am. Her insistence on hiking while injured tipped me off to a few proclivities.

I should probably back out, beg off, but I want to kiss her again. So I do.

When I lower my lips to hers, her body melds into mine, eliminating any distance. Any trace of timidity evaporates. The urge to lift her onto the cabinet, period be damned, intensifies, so I break the kiss.

Months from now, I want her to remember the man she met on her between-jobs getaway. But there’s no need for self-torture.

I lead her to her bed and pat the mattress.

Her eyes narrow. “You said?—”

I stop her with a finger over her plush, no longer glossy, lips.

“I said I’m going to make you feel good. Turn around.”

Her fingers sink into the comforter.

“Trust me?”

The color of her eyes deepens as her pupils expand. Nerves? Desire?

Obediently, she turns, baring her back to me. I brush her hair over one shoulder and press my lips to her nape. Tiny goosebumps rise along her arms. With a gentle tug, I lower the zipper and slide the thin straps of fabric over her shoulders, letting the dress fall unceremoniously to the floor.

My gaze roves down her spine, over the curve of her lower back, to the black lace thong covering her smooth, shapely bottom. My throat tightens and the heart symbol on my watch lights with what I am certain is a significant pulse rate increase.

She looks over her shoulder at me, eyes dark, a shade of uncertainty mixed with want.

Me too, Syd.

I spread my fingers over the comforter, brushing the silky fabric back and forth.

“Lie down, face down.”

She climbs onto the bed, back to me, sheltering her braless breasts from my view.

Once she’s settled, I toe off my shoes and climb behind her, straddling her thighs. I slap my palms together and rub vigorously.

She rises a few inches, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Warming my hands. Head down now. Arms above your head.”

I press my palms to her lower back, and pause, letting the heat seep into her skin.

“Do you have cramps?”

“No,” she says, sounding small.

Embarrassed?

“Do you not get bad periods?”

“This is very strange first date conversation.”

I lift my palms, rub them vigorously again, and place them once again on her lower back.

Her head visibly sinks deeper into the pillow, and the muscles in her lower back soften.

Knowing she’s giving in, relaxing into this, I knead along her spine, up to her shoulders.

I’m not a trained masseuse, but I’ve had my share of massages, and I work her muscles in the pattern I’ve grown accustomed to with Swedish massages.

“Oh, my god that feels amazing.”

“I told you I’d make you feel good.”

She lets out a not-so-subtle groan as my hands spread across her rib cage, climbing higher until I reach the underside of her breasts.

“This is heaven. Did you do this for all of your girlfriends?”

I half-chuckle but then realize an answer is expected.

“Girlfriend. Singular, really.”

“I take it you left her, because no woman in her right mind would leave this.”

The goofy smile on my face stretches my facial muscles.

“She left me, actually.”

“Really?” She rises and I pat her spine.

“Lie flat.”

“Moron,” she says.

“Eh, she had her reasons.”

“Did you cheat?” There’s enough humor in her tone that I take it she doesn’t believe I would. And she’s right.

“I didn’t cheat. At least not with a human.”

“Do you have a blow-up doll fetish?”

“You’re a regular comedian.”

“Now that’s a job I haven’t considered.” She shifts and her rib cage expands beneath my fingers. “What’d you do? The not with a human bit is a touch creepy.”

“I didn’t mean…” Well, fuck, might as well tell her. “I skipped our engagement party.”

“Skipped?”

“Got caught up at work. She was understandably distressed. To apply politically correct terminology.”

“Have to say I commiserate with her. Can’t say I’d be too pleased.”

“In my defense?—”

“Oh yes, I want to hear this.”

“I proposed under duress. She gave me an ultimatum.”

“That didn’t work out well for her.”

“My grandmother says that my forgetting the party was my subconscious telling me I didn’t want to go through with it.”

“Your grandmother? Are you close to her?”

“Nana Libby. The only person who made any attempt whatsoever to take my side when Sara and I split.”

“That’s what grandparents are for, right? To love you unconditionally.”

I resume kneading her back, although my touch isn’t as intense.

“How long ago was that?”

“That Sara and I split? Two years ago, give or take a few months.”

“You’re like me. Don’t really keep count.”

“I suppose so. In retrospect, our relationship ended years earlier. We were just going through the motions. And it was totally my fault.”

“It’s never entirely one person’s fault.”

“Says the woman who has never had an anniversary?”

“Hey now.”

I lean over her and sink my teeth into her shoulder playfully.

Her lips spread into a grin, and I press my lips to the corner of her mouth.

“Now where’s that vibrator?”