Blyss gasped as his thickness entered her in a smooth glide. She hadn’t required lubrication because she’d been turned on since he’d gotten caught on her dress. Mmm, he felt like hot, hard steel. Every in-and-out motion teased at her apex, and she thought she might even climax, even though simple thrusting generally didn’t do it for her.
She glided her fingers through his hair, seeking to grip hanks but it was so short, like uncut velvet. And then she did something she never did with her hookups. She didn’t even think about it. Her head simply tilted and her mouth sought his. He tasted like champagne. His moan echoed inside her, stirring up her own moan. His powerful biceps flexed under her hands. His hips slammed her against the wall.
Gripping him at the back of his neck, she kissed him deeply, wanting to get lost in him, to find... No. Mustn’t be a fool.
Stryke gasped harshly, yet quickly muffled the noise by pressing his mouth against her neck, his teeth pressing gently into her skin. “Shoot, I didn’t use a condom...”
“I am on the pill,” she whispered. “No worries.”
“Whew.” And as his body shook against hers, she reveled in his quick yet furious orgasm that shuddered his body against hers. Until she remembered...
The desk drawer beside her slid open with ease. She palmed the item she’d placed inside earlier and then slid her hand inside his suit coat. He was lost in the orgasm, oblivious to her actions.
“That was so—mmm, good.” His eyes sought something in hers, so desperately, Blyss felt as if she’d done something wrong. “You’re...” He sniffed, pushing his nose against her neck again and lingering at the base of her ear where her hair must tickle his face. “God, you smell good. But there’s something...”
She dropped her legs and tugged down her skirt. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. I just...” He pressed a hand over her breast, and it was only then that Blyss noticed how her heartbeats thundered. She’d love to do it again with this one—to actually take her time and find her own orgasm—but...
She would see him again. He just didn’t know that yet.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “But you don’t belong here.”
The hand at her chest suddenly felt like a two-ton weight. Blyss gaped. She shook her head. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know why I feel that, but I do,” he said. “Something about you. Are you...lost?”
A knock at the door sounded.
Stryke quickly zipped and Blyss tugged down her dress and adjusted the red ribbon at the top of her silk stocking. “Lorcan?” she called.
“You busy?” a British voice called from outside the door. They’d done this drill before. He knew never to simply open the door and walk right in.
“He’s my assistant.” And such perfect timing!
She pushed by Stryke and strode toward the door, hands smoothing over her hair. “I have to get back. They’ll be looking for me. You should leave now. Please.”
She unlocked the door and opened it, revealing Lorcan waiting outside. He knew better than to show a cheeky grin or even a raised brow. The man was ever discreet. She returned the same courtesy to him. Turning, Blyss gulped down the longing that had been planted there by Stryke’s sensual prowess. She’d wanted to linger.
Really? Linger against his heat, his overwhelming essence of man, sex and muscle? Sounded delicious. But indulgence in what her heart desired was something she never allowed.
Stryke passed her and slowed, as if he wanted to say something to her, but with Lorcan standing in the doorway, his eyes respectfully gliding along the door frame, Stryke simply nodded and walked out.
“Don’t go back into the gallery!” she called after him. “Please.”
He nodded as his strides took him down the hallway and away from her.
And she turned and strode back to the desk, palm pressed over her heart and biting her lip to prevent the tears.
Tears? What had he meant when he’d insinuated she was lost? Perhaps he hadn’t been such a wise choice, after all. It was too late to alter her plan. She’d already completed the main step.
She would have to see Stryke again. And she looked forward to it. She dreaded it, as well.
“Everything all right, duck?” Lorcan asked.
She nodded. “I’m sorry. You know sometimes I just...”
“No need for an explanation. I’m headed out myself with a pretty young thing. Wanted to let you know I’m leaving. Unless you need me to stay and lock up?”
“No. Thank you, Lorcan. I’ve the security guard and the waitstaff will be around, as well. Go have some fun. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Yes. We’ll cement our plans for the showing then, eh?”
She nodded.
If all went well, that showing would never occur. And the only one aware it had failed would be her. She had a plan for keeping Lorcan in the dark about it.
He left the office door open, and Blyss bent and peered past her assistant to see if she could still see Stryke’s back, but he was gone.
“The Île Saint-Louis,” she whispered. “Now to step three in the plan. This will be the most difficult.”
And if her heart got in the way again she truly would be lost, as he’d guessed.
* * *
Talk about the cold shoulder.
Stryke actually shivered as he strode down the darkened hallway, passed by the gallery and aimed straight for the exit.
Outside, he shrugged off the uncomfortable suit coat and tossed it over a shoulder. He should have hailed a cab, but he could see the river Seine from here. One thing he’d learned since arriving in Paris: if a man could locate the river, he’d never get lost. There was the left bank and the right bank, and the river. And he knew the island where he was staying was to his left.
It would be about a twenty-minute walk. He could use the fresh air. It was July and even nearing midnight the air was sultry. But not as sultry as the sexy handful he’d just held up against the wall.
“Blyss,” he murmured.
And yet.
“What happened back there?”
Earlier this evening he’d donned a borrowed suit, met Blade on the street before the chocolate shop and entered the gallery with hopes to view some interesting artwork. A couple of rednecks mingling with the snooty set. It was supposed to be a kick. Stryke hadn’t expected to pick up the hottest chick in the place.
And to have sex with her.
Blade and his miniskirted twins had nothing on what he’d scored.
But the craziest thing of all? There had been something about her. And it wasn’t her beauty or her bold tease or the quick but satisfying liaison. He toggled the cuff link she’d returned to him. Her scent had been... Well hell, he didn’t know how to categorize the uniqueness of her. Beyond the sweet flowery perfume, he had scented something deeper. Intriguing. Familiar?
“Crazy,” he muttered as he strolled along the river. Lights on the buildings cast a spectacular show across the Seine’s darkened waters. He marveled that tourists were out in full force. The City of Light truly never slept.
