Stroke of Midnight Read Free

shouldn’t have been the sort of woman to catch his eye. Usually he noticed elegance and refinement, while Jaye had a simpler style. Under that style was a raw edge of sexuality that caught and held him. His only worry had been whether he could get to her before every other red-blooded male in the place.
    She returned and gave him a questioning look. Surprised him with, “Still here?”
    “I can’t think of anyplace I’d rather be.”
    Her pleased glance encouraged him to snug her into his side again. He liked her there. She fit. He saw a hallway on the right and headed for it.
    “Shouldn’t you check with the office about your car? You’ll need to go do something official like sign papers.”
    “Carl will see to it.” The crowd thinned as they got closer to what now appeared to be a hallway to the storage area for the building.
    “Carl?”
    “My assistant. He takes care of all things official.”
    She pursed her lips. “Okay.”
    “My hotel’s around the corner. There’s a bar there.” But first he wanted to get her into that hallway, taste her, feel her, know she wanted what he did.
    “Slow down cowboy.” She dragged her heels. “I wasn’t planning on leaving the building. There’s a beer garden in the far corner.”
    He halted, set aside his image of them in a quiet booth sharing a bottle of Dom Perignon. “Beer garden. I’ve never been to a beer garden.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    The image of the quiet booth was replaced with one of Jaye in leather hot pants, her breasts spilling out of a loose peasant blouse. “I’ll go as long as we’re not forced to listen to oom-pah-pah music.”
    “This is a mistake.” She ran her palm across her upswept hair, looked surprised, then did the most amazing thing. She dug her fingers into the pile of hair at the top of her head and tugged out a wad of hair pins. She plucked and pulled and finally yanked at them until her hair fell into an impressive mass of waves to her shoulders.
    “Thanks,” he said. “I’d have done that myself but you beat me to it.”
    She raised an eyebrow. “What I meant was,” she said, ignoring his comment, “you’re a mistake. We’re a mistake.” She blew out a breath. “Going for a drink is a mistake.”
    “I don’t think so.” With her hair down, prim white blouse molded to heavy breasts, slim skirt, eyes sparkling, there was no way in hell he was going to let her go. Not now.
    She stepped up close to his chest, palmed the raw silk of his jacket lapel and shot heat straight to his cock.
    “Honey, this whole thing is wrong.” She said it with a smile that killed him where he stood.
    “Say that again.”
    “This whole thing is wrong.”
    “No, not that. Say ‘honey’.”
    She firmed her lips.
    “Say it.”
    “Honey.”
    He brushed his knuckles against her pebbled nipples as he reached for the ends of her wild red hair. He twined curls around each of his forefingers. “Thank you, darling.”
    Her eyes widened, green as the reflection in his lily pond.
    “Do you know how lovely you are?” he said. “Do you know your skin’s like milk, your lips are deep pink and your eyes say come get me?”
    “They do, do they?” she said on a breathy whisper. Her pupils dilated. He smoothed the pad of his thumb across her lips.
    They were close enough to the hallway that he could sidestep her into it. He sheltered her from the throng they left behind and tugged her closer, aligned her hips with his for full contact. “Yes, they do. And I will.”
    “I don’t recall agreeing to this drink and here you are making assumptions.” But the smile in her eyes said she was enjoying herself, him and the spice of their meeting as much as he was.
    A workman trundled a flat deck cart past them. When the rumble died away, they were as alone as they could be in a crowd.
    He took his chance, hoped he wouldn’t blow it. He palmed her backside and pulled her close. The flesh in his hands was round, firm and high. The ass of an