Olivia didn’t even seem to notice. ‘Want more...’ she murmured against his mouth.
Small fingers pushed at his tux jacket and, understanding her intention, he shrugged it off, the heavy material falling to the floor with a thud.
‘Better?’ he asked.
‘Better,’ she said, tugging at his shirt buttons greedily, deftly pulling the edges of Egyptian cotton apart. ‘Much better.’
She gave a small grunt of pleasure as she slid her hand underneath; her touch electrified him—set up a chain reaction headed due south.
‘My turn,’ he growled, and tore at the zip of her dress, glissading the silken material downward so it shimmied to the floor.
No bra. Sweet Lord. Olivia stood tall and straight and stepped over the pool of black silk. Naked except for flimsy lacy knickers and the lime-green sandals.
‘Perfect,’ Adam breathed. Her brea**sts were large, her waist slender, hips voluptuous. A body he had every intention of worshipping for hours. ‘Olivia, you are so very beautiful.’
And he was so very hard that any second now the tux pants would have to give.
A small frown etched her wide brow; almost as if he’d said something wrong. He kissed the frown away and cupped the heavy weight of her breast, his thumb swirling over her erect nipple.
A guttural moan escaped her lips to rebound in the steel confines of the lift.
He couldn’t wait. He needed her responsive body writhing under him, at his mercy. Desperation roiled in his gut, his hard-on painful.
Damn it.
‘While I would love to take you up against that glass plate, we have no protection.’ His chest pumped as he hauled in air. He wanted her so damn bad. ‘I need to get you to bed, Olivia. Now.’
She nodded, her face flushed, eyes wide and shell-shocked as he stooped to pick up her dress, held the silken black folds for her to step into. Stopping only to grab his tux and her clutch bag, he jabbed at the lift button.
Crowded thoughts tried to surface but he pushed them away. Instead he enclosed Olivia’s hand; somehow it seemed imperative to keep a connection between them. Fumbling in his pocket for his keycard, he tugged her along the plushly carpeted corridor.
One-handed, he slid the rectangular plastic in and waited for the green light. ‘Come on,’ he muttered, and heard her small breathless laugh beside him.
Finally, finally the key mechanism clicked and he pushed the door open to reveal the immense vaulted corridor that led straight to his bedroom.
Next to him Olivia froze, and without further warning she dropped his hand in an abrupt, almost savage movement.
‘Olivia?’ His brain tried to compute her reaction, struggling to function when his whole body was on high alert.
Her gaze flickered rapidly, eyes wide. Crazy though it seemed, it looked as though she were conducting an in-depth survey of her surroundings.
This was the benchmark suite for all his hotels. The height of luxury—all sleek lines and on modern trend. There were flashes of abstract colour on the cream walls, gleaming wooden floors chosen by one of London’s most iconic designers.
Her strawberry blonde head turned to study the lounge, the decadent enclave visible through the clear glass sliding door. Long dark eyelashes swept down once, then twice, before she slammed her hand onto her forehead.
‘What the hell am I doing?’
She took another step away from him, her expression dubbing him the equivalent of Genghis Khan.
‘I thought we were about to fulfil all our fantasies.’
Olivia winced, and for an insane moment Adam wondered if he’d imagined the past twenty minutes. Yet the tint of desire still touched her skin and his erection still ridged his pants.
‘I need to leave,’ she said.
‘Whoa.’ Adam stretched over to lean a hand against the door. ‘Not so fast.’
An expression flashed across her face so akin to fear that affront seethed in his chest.
‘Olivia, I’m not planning on keeping you here against your will, or taking anything you aren’t offering. But after what just happened you can’t just leave. Not without some sort of explanation.’ His libido was desperate for some sort of elucidation, ever hopeful of a reversal in fortune.
Hell, there was a part of him tempted to pull her back into his arms, confident that her body would overrule whatever misgivings she was so suddenly exhibiting. But he couldn’t do that—not after that flare of trepidation.
‘So, spill,’ he continued.
The tightness of her shoulders slumped fractionally but her body was still braced for fight or flight. Neither of which he would permit.
‘I made a mistake,’ she conceded, her voice taut, her hands smoothing the silken folds of her dress. ‘It’s as if I was caught in some sort of fog. A dream.’ She stared at him, her chin jutting out. ‘Now I’ve woken up.’