Page 1 of Slow Burn

My fingers threaded through his as he led me along the long, carpeted corridor of the grand Hotel Paris. Heat sizzled between us as I squeezed him tighter, unable to wait for us to be alone.

‘This is my room,’ he said, stopping to pat down his pockets, presumably looking for his key card.

I ran my hand impatiently under his shirt, tugging hurriedly at the hem in an attempt to convey how desperate I was to rip the whole thing off and feel his golden-brown skin beneath my fingertips; to run my palms over his abs, which were so well defined that I’d been able to feel them through our clothes as we’d danced together down in the bar, performing the sexiest Argentine tango of my entire life.

‘Got it,’ he said, whipping the key card out of his pocket and tapping it on the pad.

The door opened and we stumbled inside, laughing softly in anticipation of what was to come. He kicked the door shut behind him and I turned to face him, breathless with longing.

‘Come here,’ he said, holding out his hand.

I took it, letting him pull me into his arms, shivering involuntarily as he ran one hand down my spine, making my back arch with pleasure. Groaning, I didn’t care how primal I sounded – I wanted him, and I wanted him now .

‘I do not even know your name,’ he growled, his voice low and gravelly, sounding older than the twenty-one or so years I guessed he was.

I hesitated. Tonight was the first night of the rest of my life.

Or, to look at it a different way, the last night of my old life.

I knew I would never see him again once morning came and that we didn’t have long together, but regardless I felt I was about to experience something – a significant moment in time – that I would always remember.

‘It’s Li,’ I said. It wasn’t totally a lie.

‘Li,’ he repeated. The nickname only my sisters used sounded prettier in his husky, Italian lilt. ‘Well if you must be Li, then I will be G. Or you can just call me—’

I kissed him to cut him off, partly because I was desperate to but also to stop him from saying more. The less we knew about each other, the better.