Page 63 of Backlash

“Why don’t we both just sleep in here?” she suggests. “The bed is huge. We can still behave.”

“I am shocked.” I pretend to be offended. “Do you think I’m that kind of guy?”

Adair crosses to the bed and grabs the clothes, sticking out her tongue. She darts into the bathroom to change. I stare at the closed door between us. A vivid fantasy takes hold of me.

I walk over and open the door to find her stripped to her bra and panties. She doesn’t even fake surprise. Adair’s in my arms in an instant. A second later, she’s pinned to the wall, my lips on her neck as she rocks against me. I reach behind my head, grab my collar and pull my shirt over my head. Her skin is soft and inviting against mine. She runs her hands across my chest.

“Sterling,” she whispers.

“Sterling!”

I blink and see her standing in the doorway.

“Sorry,” I say. “I was thinking.”

She smirks, and I wonder if she can actually read my mind. Now that I’ve come back to earth, I discover the reality is better than the fantasy. She’s in my clothes, my boxers hanging loosely off her hips and my ribbed tank clinging to her curves. Her nipples poke against the thin fabric. She moves across the room, showing no self-awareness of how incredibly sexy she looks.

“Are you going to sleep in that?” she asks.

“Um…” What are words? “No.” I hook my collar and tug my shirt off. I toss it on the floor to discover Adair is now the one staring. My pants follow, turning her cheeks pink.

“Let’s watch something,” she says quickly, grabbing the remote.

We climb into bed, both hesitating about how close to each other we should be. Adair scoots next to me, until our bodies are brushing, and flips on the television. She scans through the channels with a focus usually reserved for brain surgery. Finally, she lands on an old film adaptation of Wuthering Heights.

“I’ve never read this,” she admits. “I can’t get through it.”

“Heathcliff is a dick,” I say.

Adair laughs while giving me a pointed look.

“What?” I roll over and pin her to the bed.

“I was just thinking it takes one to know one.” Her eyes gleam, and despite being the butt of her joke, I find myself moving to kiss her. It’s long and slow, but our bodies soon get the idea. Adair’s legs fall open, allowing me to center myself between them. A soft hand runs along my abs, gliding around to my back and dipping below the elastic of my boxers. I break the kiss, moving lower and planting kisses down her neck. I skim over her collarbone and slowly move to the valley between her breasts. She moans softly, melting against the bed. I take this as a sign to continue, so I move to the peak of her nipple, closing my mouth over the thin fabric and sucking gently.

“You’re going to pass that Econ exam, right?” she pants.

I release my suction and kiss the swollen pebble. “Why do you ask, Lucky?”

“Because this is a very big bed,” she whispers, “and it would be a shame to…”

“Yeah?” I coax. “It would be a shame…?” I need to hear her say it—ask for it. It’s her first time. I can’t rush her, even if the blood rushing to my groin has other thoughts.

“Sterling, I want to—”

She’s cut off by the door to the bedroom flying open. I roll off her, grabbing the sheets to cover her, and yell, “Close the fucking door!”

But it’s not Francie there. A man in an expensive suit marches into the room, fury radiating from him. He’s tall with graying hair, and he looks down at us past a long, hooked nose. “Who the fuck are you?” he says with a snarl.

“Who the fuck are you?” I repeat.

“I am Nicholas Randolph, the manager of the Eaton,” he says in a clipped tone as he takes a walkie-talkie from his pocket and flips it on. “Have security meet me at Suite 600.”

Fuck!

“There’s been a mistake,” I say in a rush. “We’re friends of the Eaton family.”

“I wasn’t informed the family had placed guests in the suite. We’ll have to sort this out with the police.”