wore it, or maybe turning her around and bending her over . . . maybe both. The blood drained out of his head as he pondered the possibilities. By the time he’d eased the fourth button free, his fingers were shaking. A bra peeked through the vee of her dress now and he leaned in, pressed his mouth to the pale flesh, licked the outer curve of one breast.
He managed to free all of the buttons, but he wasn’t quite done, he realized. Pale, gauzy white material still separated him from her and he stroked one hand down it, feeling the firm length of her thigh underneath it before he slid her a look. “I’m thinking about taking you while you’re still wearing your dress, you know.”
“What . . .” Her voice cracked a little and she stopped, clearing her throat. “What’s stopping you?”
Besides the fact that he felt like he was about to come just looking at her? Not a whole lot. Crouching down in front of her, he slid his hands under the skirts of her dress and petticoat, catching her panties with his fingertips and dragging them down. She went to step out of the heels she was still wearing and he shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “Those stay on, too.”
She blushed, her face flaming red and he laughed a little, stroking one finger down her foot. “You’ve looked so beautiful, so elegant, and so sweetly sexy all damned day. Now I get to muss you up and I’m going to enjoy it,” he said.
“And I have to wear the heels?”
“Well. No.” He went to catch her calf. “Take them off if you really want to.”
“No.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m fine.”
Then she laughed a little and the sound wrapped around him, settling inside his heart and warming every dark, cold place. “You know, I’ve never once had sex while I’m wearing so many clothes, never once—”
The rest of her words were a muffled shriek against his mouth.
He just couldn’t think about that. Tangling his hand in her hair, he used his free arm to boost her up. “Don’t,” he muttered. “I can’t . . . just don’t.”
He had to live with watching her fall in love with another man, although he knew she hadn’t loved Roger. The other guy before Roger, though? The jerk in college? Yeah, she’d loved him, and he’d hurt her. Zach had to stand by and watch it; had to watch her laugh with other guys, be happy with them while he bled and died silently inside. But he couldn’t listen to this.
He carried her over to the long, low gleam of the dining room table set up on the other side of the door. The hotel was one of the nicer ones and he’d thought they could order breakfast in, eat, and just enjoy the view over the bay.
Now, though, the only thought in his mind was the table was there. And it was close. Kicking the nearest chair out of the way, he sat her on the edge and bent over her, bearing down on her until she lay with her back flat against the surface. She whimpered against his mouth, her hands fisting his shirt while her knees came up and gripped his hips.
He tore his mouth away and lifted up, catching her legs and spreading them wide. His name was a strangled cry on her lips as he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to the hot, sweet core of her. Her hands tangled in his hair and she went to arch herself closer, but before she could, he caught her behind the knees, shoved.
“Be still,” he growled against her. Open . . . he wanted her open for him. Open and vulnerable, just like he was for her.
Stabbing at her with his tongue, he worked her closer and closer, felt her climax moving in on her. Knew it was close when her body started to tighten, clench with every touch, every stroke of his tongue. Knew it was close . . . and he stopped. Surging upright, he tore at the fly of his jeans while she gasped for breath and lay there staring at him.
She sat up, reaching for him and he let her, shuddering as she sank her teeth into his lower lip, as he felt the press of her breasts against his chest, the scratchy material of her petticoat caught between them. Abruptly, her kiss eased and she