Page 6 of Forbidden Touch
Drivingaroundwithherinside of my classic Aston Martin is surreal. I mean, here’s this woman from a family I was raised to hate, but she’s not hateable. I’ve tried, and I can’t.
The scent of leather mingles with the subtle fragrance of her perfume, enveloping the car in an intoxicating blend of luxury.
Sitting back in my seat, I follow a direction or two from her sensuous voice to get to her place. My vision sometimes drifts unintentionally to her creamy legs and her ample chest. Then I beckon them away from her and focus on the road. I want her.
I’ve always admired her shrewd business tactics from afar, but being up close to her is another world. She draws me in like no other. If I could, I’d slurp her up with a never-ending straw.
Her feminine hand touches the black leather dashboard in front of her. “Pretty.”
Warmth rolls through me as I give her a knowing grin. “It used to be Dad’s car. He gave it to me as a gift when I turned 25 years old. So far, it has increased in value every year, so it truly is the gift that keeps on giving.”
The warm glow of the dashboard lights diffuses an intimate and seductive ambiance on her, highlighting the curves of her body as we drive through the night.
She smiles. “Gracious gift. How generous of him.”
Whoa. Did Fiona Wolfe just say something nice about my father? She’s comforting. Even the silence between us feels like an understood quietness we both need. I relax my shoulders and I glance at her again. “There’s been no one as graceful as you in here.”
She arches a sly eyebrow. “Ah, but I’m sure you’ve had plenty of women in here, though.”
Is she jealous? Hope so. I smile but hold my tongue. Maybe she’s heard stories or even seen a couple of ladies on my arm. Yes, I’ve had my fair share of women, but they’ve all been rather dismal. None of them have cheated on me, and no one has been narcissistic. They’ve just bored me, and that is all.
But Fiona seems different, and it’s throwing me off. I’m not ready for this night to end.
Before long, we arrive at her place, a tall, golden tower, known for being one of the most luxurious condominium offerings in Vegas. After pulling up to the entrance and circling the car to open her door, I offer her my hand.
When she takes it, tingles spread up my arm. Pausing for a moment, she turns to me. “Thank you for the lovely evening.”
Her sensuous body is close to mine. Too close.
The starry night sky stretches above us, creating a romantic backdrop for our encounter.
Swooping down, I capture her soft lips onto mine. Her lips are still, but warm. Then, as she tilts her head up, her lips part to receive the kiss. My hungry tongue enters her opening and explores the warmth of her willing mouth.
Her rose fragrance drifts to my nostrils and intoxicates me so that I can’t stop wanting her, needing her. I suck on her lips more, allowing my primal senses to take over and feed my greed. Her needs seem to grow hungrier too, kissing me in between breaths and whimpering.
A man clears his throat in the background, and I see his scuffed shoes from my peripheral vision. He’s standing too close, but I can’t bring myself to look at him because it doesn’t matter. I can’t stop kissing her and I don’t even need to breathe. I just need her.
“You’re in valet.” She whispers from the side of her mouth between breaths. “They’re waiting to park the car.”
I drag my reluctant lips away from hers, meeting her gaze. “Shall I come up?”
She nods quickly, half-closing her eyes and drawing in fast breaths. “Yes. Come up.”
After passing the key to a valet, I slip him a hundred. Then I slide my hand in hers and allow her to lead me to her front door. It feels strange because it’s usually me doing the leading. It’s me who brings girls through my mansion to get to my living quarters. They’re drunk, giggling, and gawking at the grandeur of their surroundings.
But for the first time, I have no idea where I’m going. Fiona is leading me. And she’s not wasted or stumbling with stilettos in her hand. She’s serious. Like a lioness, she knows what she wants.
I admire that.
We take the elevator to the 38th floor and step into a stunning penthouse. Soft, dim lighting bathes the home, emitting an intimate glow on the plush furniture and creating an atmosphere of luxury.
Glancing across the living room at the ceiling-to-floor windows, I take in the beauty of the Strip. “Wow. Fiona, your place is beautiful. You bought this for yourself?”
She waves a hand of dismissal. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
“No. This is amazing, and I’m legitimately impressed.”
She licks her sultry lips and turns on a hallway light. “Do you not have a nice place?”