Kiss & Tell

The heat he’d been feeling grew to engulf him, and the surface of his skin fairly burned. “Are you sure you want to know?”

She nodded, the look in her eyes one of hunger, of craving, one that caused him to ache. When he leaned toward her, he wasn’t a journalist. He was only a man. A man who hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since melting into her kiss.

And so he kissed her again. This time he didn’t have to be still or discreet. He was able to close his eyes and give in to the desire that rolled through him the moment their lips made contact.

He continued to hold her face as he slanted his mouth over hers and coaxed her to open. She turned toward him, leaned into him, allowed him the access he wanted, and met him with her tongue.

The kiss was tentative, a gentle exploration. He didn’t want to rush her or push her or frighten her away. She didn’t want to give in too quickly or show him too much of her need. He felt it, though, in the tense way she held her jaw, in the tautness of her neck as she kept her head straight.

She’d admitted to having no lover. He had a feeling it had also been a while since she’d had something as simple as a kiss. Not that this kiss was any simpler than the one in the club, any less arousing or potent.

The difference was in being alone and able to complicate things as thoroughly as they wanted, with no one to interrupt, with nothing to keep the kiss from becoming more.

She pushed forward, exhaled tiny moans into his mouth, used her teeth to nip, her tongue to bathe the damage, her lips to play catch and release with his.

Then she shifted her position, turning her body toward him instead of the vanity, and looped her arms around his neck, raking the fingers of one hand up his nape and into his hair. Her hunger was a match lit to his.

The hand with which he’d been cupping her face moved to cup her slender neck. His other hand found its way to the slit in her dress, and to her thigh. He slipped his fingers between her legs, and she parted them in invitation, whimpering as she did.

He stroked down to her knee, up to the seam where the sequined fabric split, but no farther. As much as he wanted to go there, he needed a sign that she was ready to take things that far.

She gave it to him with a softly whispered, “Please,” and with a hand that guided his higher between her legs. Before he’d even cupped the mound of her sex, he felt her moisture and her heat.

He used the edge of his index finger to play her, pressing it against her, rubbing it back and forth over her clit. She jumped, shuddered, blew short, sweet panting breaths against the edge of his open mouth.

“Good?” he asked.

“So good,” she answered, the words more moaned than spoken. “Can you—”

“Make you come?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.” This time the words rolled up from the back of her throat, a growled order as much as a plea.

He smiled, covered her mouth, bruised her with his kiss until his erection strained against his fly. When he pulled away, she urged him back.

But first…“Your hose—”

“Get rid of them.”

He loved a woman who knew what she wanted. One brave enough not to let propriety get in the way. He found the seam between her legs, dug his fingers against it and tore the fabric free, finding a scrap of a thong covering her sex, and scooping it aside.

She was smooth and damp, and she gasped when he touched her. He moved his lips to the base of her neck and parted her folds with his finger. Her throat vibrated with the sounds she made as he toyed with her, sliding a finger inside her, flicking his thumb over her clit.

She tucked her chin to her chest, closing her eyes, gouging her fingers into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks, and rode his hand, pumping her hips where she sat, sliding on and off his finger.

He ran the flat of his tongue along her collarbone, kissed his way back to her throat, moved to the swell of her breast and pushed her dress aside. He found her nipple and sucked, penetrating her sex with a second finger, rolling the tip of her breast with his lips. She was close now.

He’d hit the right rhythm, found the right combination of pressure and motion, and he kept it up, stroking, rubbing, in and out and around. She tensed, grew wetter. Her breathing quickened, becoming labored and shallow and damp.

And then she cried out, tossing back her head as her orgasm consumed her. He watched the fierce sweep of emotions cross her face, felt her sex contract around him, found himself awash on an amazing high at being able to give this to her, share this with her. At pleasing her so completely.

She came down quickly, shaking, her hands sliding from his shoulders to his biceps, color rising to her cheeks as she dipped her head. “I can’t believe—”

“Believe.” He didn’t want her to feel self-conscious, or awkward at what she’d allowed him to see. He wanted her to bask in the lingering sensation, not embarrassment.

“But you didn’t. It’s not right—”

He smiled, leaned forward to nuzzle the skin beneath her ear. “If you want to do something about that, I won’t say no.”

5

TEN MINUTES LATER Miranda and Caleb were sneaking into the Inn at Snow Falls’ kitchen, ready to feed their hunger with leftovers since the lack of a condom had kept them from feeding it in more intimate ways.

Miranda was still smiling at Caleb’s lack of preparedness. Her own lack was just as sad, but then she never expected to cross paths with eligible men. She’d resigned herself to a life of having sex with herself and her vibrators, and poured out her sensuality onstage.

But a sexy, gorgeous and extremely persuasive man like Caleb—for him not to have a condom at the ready for the women he must meet…She glanced back at him, her smile widening and taking over her face.

“Are you laughing at me or with me this time?” he asked from behind her as she waved at the dishwasher, Earnesto, who winked back a promise not to tattle to the boss about her bringing company along on her kitchen raid.

“I’m not laughing at all.” At least not outwardly. Inside she was like a kid on an amusement park Tilt-a-Whirl. “I’m giddy because I can’t wait to dig into the chipotle tomato cheese spread I heard Chef made up today. He always keeps snacks around for us late-nighters.”

In the smaller of the kitchen’s three refrigerators, she found the cheese spread and a bottle of wine; the latter she handed to Caleb. After grabbing two saucers, she pointed him to the rack of wineglasses and a bag of seasoned bagel crisps. Then she led him toward the corner of the kitchen where a folding table with four matching chairs was tucked away in a small alcove for the inn’s staff to use.

She sat facing the kitchen, which was probably a mistake since it left him to sit facing her and the wall, and left her to deal with his scrutiny. It wouldn’t have been awkward had he not just fingered her to orgasm. But he had, and she could hardly ignore how close they’d come to taking things all the way.

Caleb went back to the utensil cabinet for a corkscrew while Miranda removed the cover from the cheese spread and opened the bag of bagel crisps. By the time he had the wine opened and poured, she had used one of the sturdiest chips to scoop cheese onto their plates.

“Do you do this a lot?” he asked. “Midnight snack in the hotel kitchen?”

“Of course.” She laughed, dipped a chip half into her cheese. The light in the alcove wasn’t as bright as in the main part of the kitchen, making it hard to read his face. “A perk of the job. And a good one since the town is short on all-night convenience stores.”

He watched as she popped the bite of food into her mouth. “That’s one of my favorite things about New York. The bodegas. Need a sandwich or a roll of toilet paper or batteries at 4:00 a.m.? It’s a one-stop shopping trip.”

“Is that where you live? New York?”

He shook his head, reached for his wine. “Not anymore.”

She noticed he didn’t volunteer where he was from. “Do you miss it?”

“Not much to miss.” He held her gaze while he drank, and returned his glass to the table. “I’m there a lot. And I’m in L.A. a lot.”

“Is all that travel for work or pleasure?” she asked, doing her best not to look away. His attention was so focused on her, his expression so intense.

“A little of both. I work in…the arts,” he said, and she picked up on his hesitation.

The arts could mean books or movies…or music. He’d said he was here for a wedding, one that would be a big deal. She’d gathered from the staff’s whispers while they scurried to do Ravyn’s bidding that the singer was home. As far as Miranda knew, Brenna had not been in contact with her mother. But with the congressman here as well…

Could Brenna and Teddy be tying the knot? Could Caleb be here because he knew Brenna as an industry insider, or was a friend? She wanted to press for Corinne’s sake, but if Brenna didn’t want her mother to know what was happening, well, it wasn’t Miranda’s business anyway.