Free Holiday Man by Marilyn Brant Page A

seductive.
    He waited for what seemed like an eternity, though the digital clock by his bed flipped only one number in her absence. Then her voice returned to the line.
    “Hi,” she said, a little breathless. “I locked the door and am lying down on our bed.”
    Our bed.
    He swallowed hard at those words, but he, too, had begun to think of the silk sheets of the Astaire Suite’s king-sized bed as “theirs.” He slid onto his hotel mattress, got as comfortable as he could under the circumstances and whispered, “Yeah? We’ll I’m lying down, too. What’cha gonna do with me, sweetheart?”
    “Turn off the light.”
    He flicked off the bedside lamp. “Done.”
    “Close your eyes.”
    He did. “They’re closed.”
    “What are you imagining?” she asked him.
    What was he imagining? Huh. Would he scare her off if he told her the truth? Yeah, sure, he’d fantasized about a lot of heavily sexual things since they’d met, the content of which could fill up an issue or two of Playboy , but there were also few daydreams that’d crossed his mind in the past few weeks that were decidedly…well, more homey than erotic.
    Bram shuddered.
    Since when was he a white-picket-fence, live-happily-ever-after-with-one-woman kind of guy? Must be all the jetlag finally catching up with him.
    He cleared his throat. “You’re in your panties and bra. I’ve just tossed the silly business clothes you always wear into a pile on the floor and—”
    “Silly business clothes?”
    Her indignant tone made him laugh. “I mean, I’ve peeled off of you anything that isn’t silky or lacy or see-through. And now I’m preparing to get rid of all the rest.” He paused. “I plan to use my teeth.”
    He heard her quick intake of air on the line and couldn’t keep from grinning. Those breathy little sounds she came out with made his day every time.
    “Um, okay,” she said. The delectable rustling of clothing being removed greeted his ears. “The silly business clothes are now on the floor.”
    “Thank you. You gonna tell me what color those panties of yours are, Shannon, or am I to assume they’re red, white and blue like the frosting on the cupcakes?”
    “They are not red, white or blue. Nor are they any combination of the three.”
    “Hmm. So, no pink? No purple?”
    “Nope.”
    “Does your bra match them?”
    “No.” She paused. “I’m not wearing a bra.”
    Now it was his turn to inhale sharply. He squeezed his eyes tighter and said, “All the better. I’ll deal with the panties when I get to them. For now, I’m kissing your neck, just under your chin, and then running my tongue along the soft skin at the base of your throat. Can you feel that?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. And, since there’s no fabric to stop me, I’m sliding my kisses further down. To your chest. To the tops of your beautiful breasts. I’m just about to reach your nipples, which are inviting me to kiss them, too.” He remembered her naked breasts and groaned. “What are you doing, Shannon?”
    “I’m gliding my fingers up your back. Kneading those stiff muscles on either side of your spine until you press yourself against me.”
    Bram flipped over on his stomach, eyes still closed, and imagined Shannon’s soft body on the firm mattress beneath him. “I can feel that,” he whispered. “Touch me harder.”
    “I want to crush your lower body to me, but you’re pulling back—”
    “Because I’m licking your nipples, Shannon. I want to drive myself into you, but first I need to hear you invite me in.”
    “You’re invited,” she whispered.
    God, he wanted to take her. Now.
    He swallowed. “Okay, then. So, I’m sucking on your nipples, squeezing them with my lips until you’re writhing beneath me. I hear the moans from deep inside your throat, and I hold your hands as I continue to kiss you.”
    She moaned. “Okay. I’m there.”
    “I’m getting impatient now, and my body hurts from holding back—”
    “Your boxers aren’t still