One Wild Wedding Night_ No Way Out - Leslie Kelly [9]
She was going to punch him again. After she pulled away. Then she was going to call the cops. Any second now.
Only, none of those things happened. Inflamed by the feel of that tough, masculine body against hers and the wild, wonderful flavor of his mouth, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Tilting her head, she invited him deeper, tangling her tongue with his, filling all her senses with hot, irresistible man.
Her towel dropped. By accident.
Or maybe not. Maybe she let it go. Who could say?
Didn’t matter, the end result was she finally got to feel him. Feel the heat of his skin through his expensive, silky dress shirt. Feel those big, strong hands on her hips. He squeezed her backside, hoisting her up on her tiptoes until their bodies perfectly aligned. That long ridge of arousal was pressed from her pelvis to her belly and Vanessa’s legs shook as she remembered what it had been like to have him inside her.
She didn’t think, she certainly didn’t resist. Vanessa just soaked in all the sensations battering her body, wondering how in the name of God she’d ever considered herself a sexual being between the last moment she’d been in his arms and this one.
But even as she began to wonder if he was going to push her the few feet to the big, king-size bed, to finish this wild interlude the way they were both dying to finish it, Stan pulled his mouth away from hers. He released his grip on her butt, let her down and staggered back two steps.
“Woman, you are crazy,” he muttered between choppy breaths.
“You kissed me,” she reminded him, her voice just as ragged. The haze began to leave her and she bent down to grab the nearly forgotten towel, wishing her heart didn’t do a little happy dance because of the way he kept staring at her body, as if he’d never seen anything as glorious in his entire life.
She was a professional dancer and she knew she looked damn fine. So maybe he hadn’t seen anything as good, especially from any of those simpering sports groupies who followed professional players around, giving it up to any one who’d look at them twice.
Maybe it had been a long time since he’d seen a real woman. One with pride and confidence and power.
Well, wasn’t that just too bad for him.
Too bad for you, stupid. You know you want to see that man without his clothes.
“Crazy,” he repeated, now rubbing his jaw, right where she’d punched it earlier. As if he were trying to remind himself that she was dangerous to know.
Good. She hoped he never forgot it. Even if she did still tingle all over, every bit of her body sensitized by the completely unexpected kiss.
She forced the sensations away, struggling to find the white-hot anger she’d felt before she’d so foolishly let his embrace suck her dry of all feelings but want. “And you are the one who finagled your way into my room.”
“It’s my room,” he snapped back.
She snorted in disbelief. “That’s a lame excuse, even for a sorry fool like you.”
“Vanessa,” he said, his tone warning, his jaw rock hard, “you are in my room.”
“Oh, please. You told me a half hour ago that you never lie. Yet here you are lying like a cheap toupee on a fat man’s head.”
Though his lips twitched a bit, he remained stiff. “Then what’s my suitcase doing over there in the corner?”
Still scoffing, Vanessa glanced in the direction he pointed. “That’s my suitcase. The hotel brought it up for me when they moved me from my other room.”
“Uh-huh,” he muttered, walking over to the standard black piece of luggage lying on a portable luggage rack. He unzipped it, and before Vanessa could even demand that he get his hands out of her panties, so to speak, he held up a pair of briefs.
These were not the boy briefs she wore when she was feeling a little bloated. These were men’s.
“What…” she hurried over, pushing him out of the way, digging into the suitcase.
Men’s socks. Men’s shirts. Men’s trousers.
The suitcase, she realized, looked very much like hers, but it