The Twin Switch (Millionaires Legacy Book 13; Gambling Men) Page 5

  But it didn’t work out that way.

  I touched the crisp fabric of his shirt. I could feel his heat beneath it. His chest was firm, his pecs defined.

  I’m not shallow. I know there’s more to a man than the shape of his body. But the particular shape of this particular man’s body was doing very strange things to my brain waves.

  I lowered my hands, feeling the ridges of his abs. A sudden vision of him naked bloomed in my mind, my fingertips trailing across his glorious frame.

  I wanted that. I wanted it more than I’d wanted anything in a very long time.

  He enfolded me in an embrace, the solid, strong, definitive hug of a man who’d decided exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was me. I was torn between amazement and arousal.

  I tipped my chin, and his lips touched mine, and my amazement fled. There was no room for anything inside of me except arousal.

  His lips were hot, firm, moist, with the perfect amount of pressure.

  He tasted like fine wine and smoky dreams.

  My lips softened, they parted. I invited him in and his tongue swept mine in an encompassing kiss that sent waves of pleasure all the way to my toes.

  My hands started to move. They unbuttoned his shirt. They touched his skin, and he gave a guttural groan.

  “This way,” he said.

  I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t care what he meant, just so long as his kisses didn’t stop and he let me keep feeling my way to his shoulders.

  * * *

  I figured out what he meant, and it was a good thing.

  I couldn’t believe his room was this close. But there we were, down a narrow pathway, across a patio and through some French doors.

  You really couldn’t call it a room.

  It was a suite—a presidential suite or a royal suite, or something with its very own name. I could feel how big it was even in the dim light.

  Then Max pulled off his jacket and ripped his way out of his dress shirt. And everything around me disappeared. He was hot with a capital H.

  Before I could look my fill, he pushed down the strap of my dress. He kissed his way across my bared shoulder. Every brush of his lips sent new tingles deep into my skin.

  I breathed deeply—such a fresh crisp scent. My fingertips traced their way from his abs, to his pecs, up the breadth of his shoulders that went on and on. My lips followed suit, and I felt his warm breath on my hair.

  I knew I should stop. My left brain told me I couldn’t careen off on a wave of feeling. I had things to do. I had Brooklyn to find.

  Finally, my right brain told me. Finally, after so very many disappointments today, an indulgence was mine for the taking.

  The debate was very short.

  Indulgence won with a capital I.

  I didn’t want to make Max guess, so I stripped off the little dress. I stood there in my panties, making myself perfectly clear.

  I was in his arms in a flash, his embrace warm and engulfing. My breasts pressed against his bare chest, sending my arousal to new heights.

  Then he lifted me like I weighed nothing. He started walking.

  “Bedroom,” he said.

  My right brain cheered. It was probably the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me.

  He carried me through a door to a second big room. Light filtered through an opaque blind, and I could make out a king-size bed, a padded headboard and a huge mound of pillows.

  We collapsed together onto the soft bed, Max on top, propping himself with his elbows.

  The quilt was smooth silk against my body. It was cool. A fan stirred the air overhead.

  His hands clasped mine, and he moved in slow motion to kiss my lips.

  I simultaneously moaned and sighed, melting against his mouth, then his thighs, then his chest as we pressed closer and tighter together.

  His weight felt good. It felt sexy. It pushed me deep into the soft mattress.

  His kisses were long and thorough, expertly sending messages to my breasts and inner thighs, making them tighten and buzz with desire.

  His lips were magic. His hands did nothing but caress my palms, yet I was writhing and stretching and lifting my hips.

  My panties were thin. So were his boxers. My thighs spread apart, and our touch through the whisper of fabric was a prelude to lovemaking.

  I wanted him. I wanted him very badly.

  I slipped my hands from his, wrapped my arms around him. He was steady and strong, like an anchor in a growing storm of desire.

  He slipped off my panties and stripped off his boxers.

  He produced a condom, then drew back to gaze into my eyes.

  His were midnight blue, deep and dark in the weak light. Lashes framed their richness, their sensitivity, their intense passion.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fantastic,” I said.

  He smiled then as he tore open the package. “You are all of that.”

  In seconds, his hips flexed and we were locked together.

  “Still good?” he rasped.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  His kisses began all over again.

  His hands roamed my body, and mine roamed his.

  He found all the points, and the spots—all the zones.

  I indulged myself, tracing his iron biceps, bulging shoulders and the contours of his back. His hands were strong and broad, blunt and certain.

  His rhythm was steady, teasing and building. I shifted my hips, tipping upward.

  He rolled us together, slightly to one side, bringing a pillow beneath me before rocking back.

  Pleasure rushed through me, leaving heat in its wake. Then again, and again.

  “Oh, my.” I gasped.

  “Oh, yes,” he said.

  He wrapped me tight in his arms.

  I clung to his shoulders, my fingertips gripping onto him tighter and tighter, hanging on as the world broke free.

  I fell from the planet, throbbing, and I felt him follow.

  The air was hot, perfumed and heavy. The sound of the fan whooshed loud above us. I could feel his deep breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, his heart beating hard, his sweat mingling with mine, and finally, the sweet weight of his limbs holding me fast.

  Max spoke first. “That was...”

  The fan circled a few more times.

  “It was,” I said.

  He smoothed back my hair and lifted his head to meet my gaze.

  “Layla,” he whispered.

  Then he tenderly kissed my mouth.

  “Max,” I said in return. I couldn’t help but smile.

  This was hands down the most amazing sex I’d ever had. I didn’t know his secret, but I loved benefitting from it.

  I was so satisfied.

  I mean, sort of satisfied.

  I mean, I was done...but I wasn’t finished—not with Max, not with sex. It was a revelation. In this moment, I felt like I might never get enough of him.

  He kissed me again, and I kissed him right back.

  He kissed deeper and longer, and my arms went around him.

  His hand covered my breast, and a quiver rolled through me.

  His caress sharpened, and his kisses turned deliberate.

  My energy roared to life, and arousal took serious root. Wherever he was going with this, I sure planned to follow.

  * * *

  In Max’s bathroom, I was getting a sense of the opulence of the suite. The soaker tub was big enough for three. The multi-nozzle shower could host a party. And there were enough luxury bath products and plush towels to keep me happy...well, forever really.

  I’d taken a quick shower and wrapped myself in one of the soft, white robes hanging in the bathroom closet. I hadn’t yet gathered up my own clothes from the living room.

  I
wasn’t so much looking forward to that part of the evening. Then again, I wasn’t dreading it the way I ought to be dreading it, either.

  I pulled down my hair, dried off the shower dampness with another of the towels. Then I used a little comb wrapped in a cellophane wrapper to tame the tangles. There was some nice-smelling lotion on the big marble counter, so I used a bit on my face and hands.

  My mind began wandering to Max and how he could afford a hotel suite like this. Clearly he had means. He seemed intelligent, and he was definitely classy. How could it be that a great-looking guy like him was still single?

  My brain paused for a minute, as single women’s brains do. Was he married? He hadn’t worn a ring—not that that meant anything. Lots of married guys didn’t wear their rings when they traveled. I would imagine that went doubly for Vegas.

  Then again, he might not be married.

  I gazed at myself in the mirror and my brain insisted on going over the what-ifs. What if he wasn’t married? What if he was everything he seemed? What if we fell madly in love, he wooed me around the world from London to Paris to Rome...?

  Then I chuckled at myself in the mirror.

  I was ridiculous.

  This was a one-night stand. It might have been the greatest one-night stand in the history of one-night stands. But it was over. I was going to find Brooklyn and convince her to come back to San Francisco—or at this point maybe straight to Seattle. But I was going to find her and force her to come to her senses.

  I was walking away from Max, and that was that.

  I had to admit, I was glad we’d gone twice. It seemed more worthwhile that way.

  I laughed at my reflection one more time before I left the dream bathroom.

  Max was in the living room dressed in an identical robe. His hair was damp, and I could only conclude there was another bathroom somewhere in the rambling hotel suite.

  I noticed my dress was neatly folded on an armchair. Since I hadn’t seen my panties on the bedroom floor, I was guessing they were with the dress.

  I gave a happy sigh inside. Guys like this sure didn’t come along every day.

  I headed for the dress. “I have to get going.”

  My guess was he wouldn’t be disappointed to hear I was clearing out.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  My back was to him, but I strained to read his tone. Was that disappointment or relief I was hearing?

  I shimmied into the panties. “I still have to find her.”

  My back to him, I dropped the robe and pulled the dress over my head.

  There was a knock on the door.

  It startled me, and I was weirdly embarrassed at being in Max’s hotel room. I reminded myself that he might be married.

  “Are you—”

  “Can you hang on for just a second?” he asked.

  “You want me to go in the bedroom?”

  He gave me an odd look. “Not unless you want to.”

  My married odds moved from 50/50 to 25/75 in a good way.

  I stayed put.

  Max opened the door, and a waiter wheeled in a cart. I could see a champagne bottle and two glasses, and a big silver plate cover.

  “Shall I set it up for you, Mr. Kendrick?”

  “No thank you,” Max said, handing something to the man.

  I presumed it was a tip.

  Max closed the door behind the waiter. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I said, thinking his considerate gestures were getting a little out of hand.

  “Come and look,” he said with a self-satisfied smile.

  I moved.

  He lifted the plate cover.

  The aroma hit me first. Chocolate soufflé.

  “Are you serious?” I asked, even though I was staring right at it.

  “I was sorry you had to miss it.”

  “You replaced our dessert?” After I’d so unceremoniously rushed away?

  A teasing glint came into his eyes. “I hope you worked up an appetite.”

  For the first time, I felt self-conscious about our vigorous lovemaking. I wrapped my arms around myself.

  His eyes dimmed a shade. “I’m sorry, Layla.”

  “No, no.” I shook my head. “This was very thoughtful.”

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.”

  “You look embarrassed.”

  “Well, now that we’re making such a big deal of it. I guess I am. I’m standing here in the hotel room of a man I only just met who may or may not be married.”

  He drew back. “Whoa? What? I’m not married. What makes you think I’m married?”

  I wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase it—since now that he’d denied it, my suspicions seemed less rational.

  “You didn’t say you weren’t,” I said.

  “I told you I wasn’t a cheater.”

  I remembered our earlier conversation. “That was about a girlfriend.”

  “Seriously? A wife trumps a girlfriend, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. I mean, there was an obvious answer for that, so I didn’t bother to say it out loud.

  “Why didn’t you just ask?”

  He had me there. “I, uh, didn’t think of it ’til later.”

  He looked thoughtful. “I guess I didn’t, either. You’re not married, are you?”

  For a split second, I was offended. Then I realized it was a ridiculous reaction. He couldn’t know it about me any more than I could have known it about him.

  My embarrassment disappeared, replaced by self-deprecating humor. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

  “I was too intent on making love with you.”

  “I’m not married,” I said.

  He heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Now that we have that out of the way.” He then glanced to the soufflé. “Are you going to let this get cold?”

  “No.” I wasn’t giving up the decadent dessert a second time.

  Max took the soufflé and the bottle of champagne, and I brought along the glasses and plates. We settled cornerwise from each other on the padded chairs of a big dining room table.

  “So are you some überwealthy—” I glanced around the place “—like prince or something?”

  He laughed as he popped the champagne cork.

  “This is just business,” he said.

  “What does that mean?”

  Max nodded. “It means the corporation gets a really big discount. So don’t be too impressed.”

  “What kind of business.”

  He filled my glass with the bubbling champagne. “Do we really have to talk business?”

  I was curious, but I wasn’t going to be annoying about it. “I suppose not.”

  “I want to pretend I’m on vacation.”

  “I wish I was on vacation.”

  He raised his glass.

  I did as well.

  “To vacations.”

  “I will definitely drink to that.”

  Once this was all over, and James and Brooklyn were safely married, I was seriously considering going on a vacation. I figured I was going to deserve it.

  The champagne was crisp, smooth and ridiculously delicious. And I ate every bite of my soufflé while Max talked about his kayak trip to Angel Island.

  So he did row...well, paddle, I guess. But he stayed in shape. He definitely stayed in shape.

  Too soon the champagne bottle was empty.

  “I have to go,” I said again.

  Brooklyn was still out there.

  He took my hand lightly in his. “Stay here. With me.”

  I shook my head. As comfortable as I felt with him, we had only just met and spending the night in his hotel room seem
ed way too intimate, even if a part of me desperately wanted to sleep in his arms.

  “Why?”

  “You and I just met.”

  He thought for a moment before nodding. “Too soon?”

  “Too soon.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from liking the implication that there might be a later, an again, possibly a future. It didn’t matter that I was getting way ahead of myself again. Max was one great guy, and if only for this moment, it felt like this could be the start of something.

  He was quiet, thinking again. Maybe he’d try to change my mind. Maybe my mind could be changed. Maybe I was being too hasty in turning down his offer.

  “What if you don’t find her?” he asked.

  “I’ll have to...eventually.”

  “You’re planning to wander the lobby all night long?”

  I had to admit, I hadn’t thought through past midnight or so. All of my plans ended with me finding Brooklyn. There were night flights back to San Francisco. We’d take one.

  “Let me get you a room,” Max said.

  I didn’t understand what he meant.

  “At the corporate discount,” he said, moving to pick up a hotel phone.

  “You can’t—”

  “Sure I can. If you find her, no harm, no foul. If you don’t, there’ll be a room waiting when you decide you have to sleep.”

  I opened my mouth to protest again. But then I stopped myself. He was right, and I was going to be logical about it. If I didn’t find Brooklyn tonight, my best bet was to try again tomorrow. I’d rather sleep in a discounted room than in a lobby armchair.

  Unless I stayed with Max... Which I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I had to trust my left brain on that.

  “This is Max Kendrick,” he said into the phone. “Can you book a tentative reservation under the name of Layla Gillen?” He paused. “One night. Is there anything available on thirty-five?”

  He covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Might as well have a view of the Strip.”

  I didn’t need a view of the Strip. I’d rather take a bargain room overlooking the mechanical wing. Even at a corporate discount, this was going to hurt.

  “Perfect,” he said into the phone. “Thanks.” He hung up and returned to his chair. “The key will be waiting at the front desk if you need it.”

  “What’s the damage?” I asked, bracing myself. Maybe I would sleep in the lobby.