Page 7

“More than you would think.” He says, running a hand through those dark locks to rest on the back of his neck, pausing to massage a knot.

“Well, I spent way too much on these panties to give them to a rando. Even if he’s some great hockey player.

” That earns me another laugh and a warm ball forms in my chest at the sound.

The urge to keep him smiling, to help him forget what’s happening on the other side of the door, is all-consuming.

We listen to muffled voices in the hall. Security must have arrived. Dalton leans forward, reaching for his shoes. Before I can think better of it, my hand falls on his shoulder.

This is a stupid idea, I chastise myself, but the word still comes out.

“Stay.”

He stills, twisting back to look at me over his shoulder. He searches my face, trailing my lips down my neck to my chest and then back. The look he gives me pools in my core. I try to ignore the clenching desire. Forcing a smile, I keep my voice light. “I’m not propositioning you, you idiot.”

The smirk I’m growing too familiar with returns.

“We had a good night, better than most dates I’ve been on in a long time.

You shouldn’t let her ruin it by sitting down at the bar by yourself like some sad sack.

Stay here until they clear her out of your room.

Then we can go our separate ways, on our terms. Not hers.

Until then, let’s order room service. “The Proposal” is on next.

” A reminder has popped up on the TV. I flagged the movie earlier as one of my veg-out chick flicks.

Thank the Sweet Baby J it isn’t the reminder for Ellie’s new movie.

“That was one of my mom’s favorite movies.” He glances at the TV.

“She’s got good taste,” I let my hand slip from his shoulder and settle back against the pillows, throwing side eye until he relents.

“You’ve got a deal, forty-eight.” Dalton drops his shoe back on the floor, arm muscles flexing indecently as he slides himself back on the bed, closer to the center this time. He snatches the room service menu off the nightstand. “Wanna split a burger and fries?”

“As long as there’s bacon on it. Yes. And it goes on my room bill.

Tax write-off for the company. Ramona said so.

” Which was true, but it’s also one more thing to keep the scales balanced in my favor.

I turn up the volume on the TV as the shouting in the hallway escalates again. We both pretend not to hear it.

“Well, thank you for dinner, Ramona,” Dalton says, flipping over the menu to look at the desserts. His foot swings out, tapping mine twice, then staying there, our pinky toes resting against each other. “And thank you, Jenna.”

We both know he’s not talking about the room service.

I don’t pull away from his touch, knowing he needs it. Hell, maybe I do too.

“You’re welcome, Dalton.”

The food arrives halfway through the movie and the poor delivery guy must think I’m hiding a body in the room with how quickly I shoo him away, cracking the door just enough to slip in the tray.

Which, I guess, is somewhat true. Since I make Dalton hide in the bathroom just in case Ellie pops out from his room like some hellish jack-in-the-box.

By the grace of all that is holy, the door across the hall stays shut, but I can hear voices inside and what sounds like vomiting. Fun times!

Whether it’s the enhanced effects of our drawn out night of drinking or if the chef is a bad ass, the burger is amazing.

Both of us digging in with a fervor that people avoid on a first date.

Making me even more grateful that tonight is anything but a date.

The real treat is the slice of chocolate cake Dalton added to the order, admitting to a fierce sweet tooth.

Which is how we end up sitting cross-legged at the foot of my bed, passing a fork back and forth while watching Betty White fondle Sandra Bullock.

I’m pretty sure Betty White is my spirit animal.

It’s impossible not to idolize that woman.

A moan slips out as I pop another bite of cake into my mouth, savoring it before handing over the fork. “It’s almost as good as an orgasm.”

Dalton pauses, the fork poised just before his lips. An eyebrow quirks. “I’m starting to think you haven’t been having sex with the right guys.”

“And for that rude comment, you don’t get the last bite.” I spring, going for the fork which he jerks up, just out of my reach with a challenging grin. But I’m faster than he expects and wind my fingers around his wrist, tugging to bring it back within reach.

“No way!” He says indignantly, passing the fork to his other hand. Dalton stretches it behind his back in an attempt to put himself between me and the dessert. “You’ll have to go through me, forty-eight, and I’m a damn good defenseman.”

“Too bad you’re not so good at keeping your eyes on the prize.” I lower my hand, revealing the final piece of cake clutched between my forefinger and thumb. “Enjoy your empty fork.”

Dalton whips to the now empty utensil, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

His teeth flash as he flings the fork to the ground and dives for me.

With a squeal, I flop back toward the pillows and try to stuff the last bite of ecstasy in my mouth.

But shit, his reflexes are fast. Dalton’s on me in a heartbeat.

Our legs tangle as we wrestle for the upper hand.

By the time his fingers close around my wrists, the last bite is smashed flat, both our breathing ragged and punctuated by laughter.

My arms are pinned above my head, Dalton’s beautiful face hovering inches from mine.

His breath is chocolate sweet, eyes bright with the same excitement coursing through my veins.

I steal a glance at his too-near lips, wondering if they taste like cake.

Every nerve ending fizzes with awareness of the man on top of me.

He shifts, thigh pressing deeper between my legs in all the right places.

I suck in a breath, stifling an involuntary moan.

The cake still smushed in my fingers is forgotten as a riot of sensations flood me, drowning any rational thoughts with carnal need.

Slowly, Dalton glides his nose over my collarbone, lips tracing behind until they reach my ear. I’m practically panting as his teeth graze my ear lobe. His whisper comes out all smoldering and playful. “That’s my bite.”

His knee presses against my core again, causing my breath to hitch, and I feel the graze of his cheek against mine when he grins. The fucker is playing with me. Oh, it’s on.

Arching my back, I press myself against the length of his body, satisfied when he sucks in a breath of his own. He growls when the peaks of my breasts push into his ridiculously distracting pecs.

“You mean my bite.” I nip at his neck.

There’s a beat, where I hope he’s struggling to compose himself just as badly as I am. Then his grip changes, pulling my hands down between us as he shifts his weight, making room for my still-captured arms. “Not if I get my mouth on it first.”

Holy shit, are we talking about cake anymore?

There’s fire in his eyes, the same one I saw in the hallway.

The one that undoubtedly encourages women to slip him their panties.

Hell, I’m damn near ready to rip off my own and hand them over.

Never breaking our gaze, Dalton guides the now smashed piece of cake into his mouth, along with my fingers.

My breath catches as his teeth graze the pads, his tongue swirling first over my index finger and then thumb, cleaning off the lingering chocolate.

I vividly imagine that tongue working its magic elsewhere.

The low moan that escapes is pure, carnal instinct, and I find myself pressing back into his thigh, shamelessly grinding against the building tension growing between my legs.

Dalton’s body tenses, and holy shit, the gorgeous man is rock fucking hard for me.

Releasing my hands, his eyes fixate on my lips.

I’m not sure who moves first, but one second we’re staring at each other like we’re starving and the next, the feel of his lips against mine is the only thing I want in the world.

And God help me, I want them all over my entire body, worshiping every inch until I explode.

Wrapping a leg around his waist, I pull the beautiful man closer, silently begging for more, and mercifully, he complies.

A hand slides under my neck, tilting my head back so he can deepen the kiss, while the other moves to my waist, finding a patch of exposed skin between my sweatpants and t-shirt.

We moan into each other’s mouths as Dalton’s tongue swirls with mine, claiming it with each stroke.

My hands scrape against the stubble on his chin, tangle in his hair, and glide over the taut muscles of his shoulders, relishing every inch of honed sinew.

Gasping for air, I mourn the loss of his mouth on mine until it travels along my jaw to the sensitive place just below my ear.

The hand on my hip slides up, blazing a trail of heat as it glides over my stomach, hesitating just under the curve of my breast. I should say no, I should stop this.

Instead, I give a whisper of approval. “Touch me.”

His mouth is instantly back on mine as his thumb sweeps over my nipple.

It hardens under his touch and I’m bowing against him, pleading for more.

I wind my fingers in his hair as his head lowers to my other breast. One hand still teasing me, Dalton’s teeth nip at the other nipple through my t-shirt and I nearly come unwound.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched me this way.

Even my ex never set my body alight like Dalton has in a matter of minutes.