Maid of Dishonor (6 page)

They broke apart at the pained words from the bartender.

‘Sure,' Carter replied as he threw several bills on the bar. ‘You ready?' he asked as he grasped her hand.

She nodded.
As ready as I'll ever be.

‘Have a good evening, folks,' the bartender called after them, stuffing what Gina suspected was a hefty tip into his pocket.

She blew the guy a cheeky kiss, letting impulse take over as Carter led her out of the bar.

What harm could one night do, now? Carter Price was here and available—and hotter than ever. And they'd both changed so much from who they were then. But one thing had never changed. How easily he could send her senses reeling—until desire flowed through her veins like a heady drug. And if the only thing standing between her and complete closure was that lingering hunger—didn't she owe it to herself to give in to temptation one last time? And get a definitive answer to that question? Now she had the chance?

She'd waited ten years, for goodness' sake. Surely that was long enough?

She might have turned over a new leaf, but she wasn't a nun!

FIVE

Are you out
of your freaking mind?

Carter clasped Gina's hand, headed across the lobby towards the elevators and felt as if he were charging back in time.

Ten years. Ten long, life-altering years since that one dumb act of self-destruction. And he hadn't learned a damn thing, because all he could think about, all he could focus on, was the urge to get into Gina Carrington's panties all over again.

The hunger that had gripped him as soon as he'd seen her sweeping through the hotel lobby—convinced she had to be some kind of weird erotic apparition brought on by jet lag and frustration—had been gnawing at his gut all night. He'd managed to dial down the intensity for two solid hours, talking about his business to keep his mind out of his pants—but the insistent ache had snapped and snarled throughout like an angry dog.

Every time she swung her head and that up-do threatened to tumble down. Every time she puckered up round her straw and he felt the tug in his groin. Every time her voice lowered to make a point and the sultry purr prickled over his skin like a cat testing its claws.

As the night had drawn on he'd gotten fixated on the ache, and accepted the fact there was no way in hell he was going to be able to walk away tonight.

The elevator took an eternity to creep up to the fifteenth floor crowded with tourists and businessmen and the woman standing beside him, whose fingers remained cool and firm in his. His grip tightened as they finally escaped the crush and he strode down the corridor towards his suite.

He heard a muffled curse behind him. ‘Carter, slow down, before I break an ankle.'

He stopped as she stumbled on those killer heels. The urge to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder was so strong—he went with it
.
No way was he risking a broken ankle putting this booty call in jeopardy.

‘Carter, what are you doing?' she yelped as he dipped, scooped her up and swung round, her legs flailing as her lush butt pressed into the side of his head. ‘Put me down, for goodness' sake.'

‘Not a chance.'

‘I can walk!' The protest came out in breathless pants as her stomach rode his shoulder blade.

‘Not fast enough for my liking.'

‘This is so undignified,' she announced, but the husky laugh spurred him on, reminding him of the bad girl she'd been. Good to know that girl was still there beneath all the poise and professionalism—and the dumb apology.

He balanced her on his shoulder as he slipped his keycard into the slot on the door of his suite—amazed his fingers were steady enough to get the thing to work the first time.

Kicking the door open, he marched into the room and dropped her on her feet. The night-time view of the Hudson River displayed by the suite's glass walls had taken his breath away the first time he'd stayed at The Standard. It barely even registered now as all his attention zeroed in on the woman framed by the panoramic cityscape. An errant curl cupped one flushed cheek while her uneven breathing tightened the silk across that amazing rack. Right now, he could have been staying in a Motel 6 and he would have felt like a king.

He grabbed her wrist, dragged her to him. ‘Come here.'

‘I am here,' she announced, the haughty tone calling to his inner caveman.

He plucked the pins out of her hair, let the mass of soft brown hair cascade into his hands. ‘I want it down.'

She laughed, shaking her head until the riot of curls bounced over her shoulders. ‘Do you now,' she murmured, draping her arms round his neck and twisting a finger in the hair at his nape.

‘Yeah.' He held her head, nipped at her bottom lip, then feasted on that soft mouth, his tongue thrusting deep—his hunger intensifying when she thrust back.

He pulled away, his breathing harsh at the sight of her reddened lips, the dark dilated pupils.

‘When did you become such a Neanderthal?' she asked, her tongue licking the spot where he'd nipped her.

‘When I had to talk business for two hours to stop myself jumping you on a barstool.'

‘How intriguing. I had no idea you were thinking about sex while discussing how to grow business opportunities in a hostile investment environment.' She purred the words like a phone-sex operator. ‘You sounded very informative.'

‘It's called multitasking.' He reached up to find the zip on her dress, yanked it down with a sibilant hum. ‘The whole time I was imagining you naked.'

She gave a husky laugh as the bodice drooped to reveal the scarlet lace of her bra.

‘Well, maybe it's time you stopped imagining.'

She stood back to wiggle out of the silky shift. It pooled around her feet as his gaze devoured the sight of firm, full breasts, the delicious curve of waist and hip and those mile-long legs, her nakedness barely covered by the skimpy swatches of lace.

Lust seared through his system as the last of the blood left his brain.

‘Hell, you're like a Victoria's Secret catalogue come to life.'

‘A man who reads lingerie catalogues.' She laughed. ‘You may be my perfect date.'

He dragged her close, let his palms skim over lush flesh and struggled not to hold her too tightly. He wanted to be inside her, right this second. But more than that, he wanted to make this good, better even than their first time. He wanted to savour her, to seduce her, to make her beg, the way she'd once made him beg.

‘I hate to ruin my perfect-date status. But not a lot of reading went on. That catalogue's the equivalent of
Playboy
when you're a twelve-year-old boy,' he whispered against her neck and felt the shudder of response. ‘But Victoria and her secrets are dead to me now I have the real thing in my hands.' He unhooked the lacy bra, threw it away, and cupped the heaving flesh in rough palms. She let out a slow moan as he rolled her nipples between his fingers and watched them stiffen.

He fastened his mouth on one engorged tip, made it swell and elongate beneath his tongue, revelling in the choked whimpers of her surrender.

Her fingers fisted in his hair and she jerked his head back. ‘I want you naked too, Carter.'

He grinned at the eagerness, all traces of subtlety, of subterfuge, of teasing gone. But he didn't plan to make it that easy—not for him, and certainly not for her—despite the fact that the pounding in his pants was now painful. ‘Not yet,' he said. ‘Take the panties off.'

A tiny crease crossed her brow and her chin firmed. ‘I don't take orders,' she announced, the act of defiance somewhat undermined by the heaving breasts and the erect nipples, glistening from his attention.

‘Take them off, or I rip them off.' He let his gaze drift to the delicate red lace. ‘Your call, but they look pricey.'

Her eyes narrowed, but then she laughed. ‘You want them off,
you
take them off. Knickers aren't that easy to rip...' she began.

He twisted the delicate lace in his fist and tore. ‘You were saying?' he murmured as he flung away the tattered remains of her pricey underwear.

Her eyes went round, but he caught the flash of shocked arousal lurking in the deep green depths.

That's right, sugar. I'm the one on top now.

‘Those were worth fifty dollars,' she gasped in a breathy whisper that sounded more surprised than outraged.

‘Not any more, they're not.' He curled a hand round her waist, yanked her back.

Her palms flattened on the front of his shirt, and he saw the spark of excitement, a split second before she gripped his collar—and ripped.

‘Two can play at that game, big boy,' she purred as the sound of tearing cotton, buttons popping, filled the air.

But when she let go of the torn fabric to touch his bare skin, he grasped both her wrists, swung her round, banded his arms around her midriff, and held her captive. ‘But only one of us can win.'

‘What the...?' She struggled as he brought her flush against him and her naked buttocks nestled against the stiff ridge in his pants.

‘No touching,' he commanded, nipping her ear lobe. ‘Until I say so, sugar. I'm in charge this time.'

And he didn't intend to relinquish control. Until they'd both been burned to a crisp.

* * *

What the heck?

Gina squirmed against the immobilising forearm, but her movements only increased the friction, making her more aware of his big body surrounding her—and what felt like a two-by-four nestled against her bottom. She stilled, sure she could feel the massive erection barely contained by his trousers swelling even more. And wondered how the hell she'd got into this position.

Trapped, vulnerable, overpowered and impossibly aroused.

‘Look at yourself.' The low command whispered against her ear, the shiver of awareness skittering down her spine. Heat flushed through her as she lifted her head and saw the shocking reflection in the glass wall that looked out across the dark expanse of the Hudson River.

Moonlight illuminated her naked body—which glowed an unearthly white but for the stiff rosy nipples and the neatly trimmed raven curls at the apex of her thighs. Her pale shape contrasted sharply with the tall dark figure holding her captive—still fully clothed but for the glimpse of chest she'd exposed.

She gasped, shocked not just by the wanton view, but the fierce surge of desire. ‘For goodness' sake, Carter, draw the blinds or something.' She fought his embrace. ‘The whole of Manhattan can see us.'

She might be an exhibitionist, but she didn't want to get arrested.

‘Settle down.' He chuckled, the sound thick with arrogance and amusement. ‘The glass is treated. No one can see you but me.'

She stopped wriggling, far too aware of his forearm flexing under her breasts, the chest hairs prickling against her back and the rod of steel that pressed into her buttocks.

‘And I intend to enjoy every single inch,' he murmured as he lifted her limp arm and placed it around his neck, making her breasts thrust forward.

She swallowed, her throat parched as her eyes watched herself in the glass—mesmerised by the sensual image, and the harsh demand in his gaze as his eyes met hers. Suddenly this wasn't a game any more.

Shock and excitement burned away on a surge of lust so fierce, so all-consuming, she felt woozy.

He drew his thumb down the inside of her arm, making her whole body quiver as sensation arrowed to her centre. His forearm tightened around her waist, holding her upright for the delicate torment, as seeking fingers circled her breast, exploring in maddeningly slow circles.

She moaned, stretching into the teasing caress. ‘You need to hurry up,' she demanded. ‘Before I explode.'

He plucked at her nipple. The pinch was painless, but hard enough to send darts of sensation spiralling to her yearning sex. And make her cry out.

‘Patience, grasshopper,' he whispered. ‘Or you will be punished.'

A hoarse laugh popped out of her mouth—her mind dazed by the slow torture, and the unbearably erotic threat.

‘Shh.' His lips nuzzled the soft skin of her neck. ‘We've hardly even started.'

‘Oh, God!' She jolted against the restraining forearm as his torturous touch left her breasts and trailed down. His fingertips caressed, stroked, seduced, but so slowly, she knew she'd probably die of anticipation before they got where she needed them to be.

‘Please...' she sobbed as her belly shivered, each tormenting caress sending a new pulse of heat to her core.

‘Please what, sugar?' he mocked, the thick molasses of his accent scraping at the last of her resistance. ‘Please stop?'

‘Don't you dare!' she demanded, her voice hoarse with desperation as his fingers teased the curls that hid her sex, but stopped short of their goal.

Her eyelids fluttered open. She stared at their reflection, registering the dark hand so close to heaven and yet so far—and the feral arousal on his face.

Who was this guy?

‘Tell me what you want,' he said, his voice strained but firm, ‘and you just might get it. If you ask me real nice.'

‘Touch me.'

‘That's not nearly nice enough,' he mocked, still teasing her with his circling fingers.

‘Touch me, please.'

She writhed as his fingers delved into the slick folds. At last. He swept across her swollen clitoris and the coil of desire tightened unbearably.

‘That's not...' She protested, frustration rising and intensifying the need as he retreated again. Why wasn't he touching her
there
?

‘That's not what?' She heard it then, the smug hint of amusement. ‘Maybe you need to beg?' he teased.

‘Oh for...' She bit off a curse, held back from that glorious oblivion by an invisible thread—that only he could cut. ‘Will you just touch my...'

She cried out, the tirade interrupted as blunt fingers stroked over the burning nub.

‘Touch you there, huh?'

She writhed, bucked, giving him his answer as he caressed the perfect spot—and she hurtled towards oblivion under the exquisite torture.

‘Come for me, Gina.'

The wave crested, and broke in a shattering shower of bright white sensation, as if brought forth by his command. Then flowed over her in one glorious surge after the other as he stroked at the heart of her—in the perfect place, at the perfect pace—beckoning her up and over again.

His hand withdrew and she sagged against him, hollowed out, exhausted, by the staggering intensity of her orgasm, and the fight to maintain some control over her own body—and his effect on it.

A fight she was pretty sure she'd just lost. Completely.

Rousing herself, she swung round as his forearm loosened. And grabbed hold of his shirt, tearing the remains of it off his shoulders, determined to regain some of the lost ground.

She threw the tattered cotton over her shoulder. ‘Oh, dear, look what I did to your shirt,' she mocked. ‘I guess I won't charge you for the panties.'