Free Maid of Dishonor by Heidi Rice Page A

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.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜When did you become such a Neanderthal?’ she asked, her tongue licking the spot where he’d nipped her.
    â€˜When I had to talk business for two hours to stop myself jumping you on a barstool.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Hell, you’re like a Victoria’s Secret catalogue come to life.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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