Dear Love Doctor Page 11

“America,” Hunter answered promptly.

  Suddenly Daffy realized she’d stepped into conversational quicksand. Not everyone had grown up the way she had. “You don’t travel much?”

  He shook his head. “Not in the past, but now things are different.”

  “You mean because of the success of your company?”

  Hunter shifted forward. Tipping his glass toward Daffy, he let his voice drift lower. He’d had enough of chitchat and he didn’t want any more reminders of the differences between his past and the pampered youth of the elegant and desirable woman sitting beside him in this limousine, sent courtesy of TekWare. “I mean,” he said, letting his fingers explore the soft skin at her nape, “now that I’ve met the dream travel companion, I think I’ll be seeing a lot more of the world.”

  Her lips had parted slightly and her eyes were even larger and darker and more alluring than usual. God, he wanted her. But could he win her over? For all the signs of desire she exhibited, she played a rather devious game of kiss and catch. Should he kiss her? He could almost taste her lips. Nah. One thing he’d bet more than a C-note on was that Daffodil Landry needed to be worked way up and over before she let go of her mind so that the passion pooled within her could come rushing out.

  Hunter sat back against the cushions. “For starters,” he said, pointing out the window of the limo, “let me show you Las Vegas.”

  Daffy seemed to wriggle and suppress a sigh before she answered with, “Great. What’s first on the agenda?”

  Hunter hid his grin by once again glancing out the window. The lights of the Strip were beaming full force on them as the car traveled toward the boulevard of neon, cash, credit, and dreams come true and dreams gone bust. He had to hand it to Daffy. She recovered quickly. She could go from panting to sounding all business in the blink of an eye. He’d never met a woman who could parry his thrusts quite so well.

  That phrase grabbed his mind and he pictured her beneath him, passionate, driving him wilder than wild, sucking him in, deeper, deeper, deeper . . .

  “Hunter?”

  “What?”

  “So what’s our first stop?” She was running her tongue over the lip of the champagne glass and Hunter had the silliest sensation that she had read his mind.

  “Dance?” They were stopped at the light by Mandalay Bay, site of a hot dance club. “At one A.M., this place is just starting to rock.”

  “I’m up for anything,” Daffy said, brushing his thigh with her hand as she leaned over to glance out the window.

  Hunter bit back a groan. Daffy had set off a whole new slow burn in him with that touch. To be too needy would be a strategic error. The last thing he wanted to do was take her to bed too soon.

  Dancing would be good. Maybe it would burn off some of the fire threatening to make him forget all about taking it slow with Daffodil Landry.

  11

  Dancing achieved exactly the opposite effect. By the time Hunter made it to the suite reserved by TekWare at Caesar’s Palace, he felt like a high school dweeb on his first date.

  Daffy moved with the speed of sound waves carried over space and time. Her body flowed and levitated and wound around him, teasing him with every caressing movement. Her dress slipped off one shoulder and he soaked up the sight of the sexiest bare shoulder he’d ever seen until he wanted to stop the music and pull the other skimpy strap off and take her there on the floor under the throbbing lights and heat with the marimba band pounding in a crescendo that matched and beat and carried till their climax overtook all other sensations.

  Get a grip, James, he ordered himself as he opened the door to their suite. You’re Mr. Cool, just out for a good time. That doesn’t mean you have to lose your mind over the babe. He handed her the second key and pushed open the door. “After you, my dear,” he said.

  Her eyes widened and she slipped past him, her body brushing the front of his. As with their dancing, the touch appeared to serve as a hint of things to come. But was it an invitation, or was Daffy playing her own game of Bet You Can’t Catch Me? TekWare had reserved a two-bedroom suite for its keynote speaker, and Hunter had made sure Daffy knew she had her own room if she wanted it.

  As if he didn’t expect to have sex. Well, a guy didn’t need a bedroom for that.

  Daffy paused inside the door and glanced back at him. “Coming?”

  Oh, yeah. He nodded and stepped into the foyer. “Nice digs,” he said.

  “Nice?” Daffy danced forward into the large sitting room. “It’s lovely. And so spacious.” She cocked her head and glanced around, probably counting the doors that led discreetly from the center room. One to the right, one to the left, plus the door to the mini-bath off the foyer.

  “I’m glad you like it.” And he was. For someone who was used to the best from birth, and the world traveler that she was, Daffy might easily have sniffed at the nouveau-Vegas accommodations. Hunter didn’t know much about furniture, but he doubted that the overstuffed sofas and side chairs and marble-topped tables and crystal lamps dated back as far as Y2K.

  “And look at the view!” Daffy knew she was chattering, but she couldn’t stop the flow of words. She wanted to ask what came next, but she was both too nervous and too savvy to utter those words. So she kept up the river of talk, one part of her wishing he would take her in his arms and dam the flow with his mouth.

  His mouth. Those full, warm lips that curved upward, welcoming everything the world had to offer. Her own mouth watered as she watched him move toward her, slide one arm around her shoulders, and guide them across the room to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Do the lights stay on all night?” All too aware of his arm around her, Daffy pointed at the neon rainbow arching across what should have been nighttime darkness.

  Hunter shifted his left arm enough to reveal his wristwatch. More than the incredibly late hour of 4:15 A.M., what stood out was the simplicity of the watch. Maybe he’d worn it before, but she hadn’t noticed. It looked like an ancient Timex.

  “Since it’s after four,” Hunter said, “I guess you might say they stay on all night.” He must have seen her staring at his watch, because he added, “What? You expected something a bit more upscale?”

  Embarrassed, Daffy shook her head, then admitted, “Well, yes.”

  He laughed and pulled her closer. “That’s one of the things I like about you. You’re so honest.”

  All of a sudden they weren’t side by side, but rather face-to-face, hip to hip. His hands traced circles on her shoulders and, scarcely breathing, Daffy tilted her head to meet his kiss.

  Cupping the back of her head, he gazed into her eyes until she thought she’d drown in the depths of his midnight eyes. He traced the line of her mouth with the back of his thumb and said, “I haven’t always been rich, Daffy, but I have always known what I like in a woman.”

  Her heart skipped and she knew her lips parted of their own accord. She forgot she’d vowed to toy with him, to tease him, to drive him wild as he plotted to prove he could win her heart within the month. A slow curl of heat low in her body sparked and her legs quivered in anticipation.

  The kiss was everything she knew it would be. Gentle, assessing, tasting. When she moaned with desire, he responded by exploring her mouth even more thoroughly. Clearly he was far too masterful a lover to cede to her own desperate need and speed the quenching of the sexual flames he ignited in her.

  “We have all night long,” he murmured after she lifted her hands to the back of his neck and tried to return his kiss with the heat she could no longer control.

  Now his hands were on the sides of her face, drawing her to him as he tasted her mouth. Daffy knew she moaned, but she had moved past caring about her pride. He was driving her beyond sanity.

  He knew it, too. He chuckled softly, then suddenly switched tempo and took her mouth and her tongue with all the force she’d been craving. She gasped and answered him in kind, dragging her fingers through his hair as her tongue mated and danced with his.

&nb
sp; They fell onto the closest sofa, Hunter on top of her but somehow managing not to crush her. Not that she would have noticed. Her entire world had become the touch and feel and heat of their bodies. He was taking all of her mouth, his kisses seeking, knowing, possessive.

  And suddenly he stopped. Daffy gasped for air, one fingertip to her swollen lips. Her panties were damp through. Her lipstick and mascara streaked Hunter’s collar.

  And then he smiled, his look every inch the predator who has claimed his prey. “You are incredible,” he said in a low, roughened voice. He was straddling her on the sofa, one knee between her dress, which Daffy realized had scooted up around her hips, revealing a lacy garter and the tops of her stockings.

  She didn’t trust her voice. She nodded, licked her lips, and said, “You, too.” What she wanted to say was, “Don’t stop!”

  Did she?

  Hunter lowered his head toward her, but this time he only skimmed a touch of his mouth over hers before he took the side of her neck in a possessive kiss.

  Daffy cried out.

  He stopped at once. “Too rough?”

  “Oh, no. Too good.” Then she blushed.

  “No such thing,” Hunter said, placing a kiss on her right shoulder, then one on her left. Half sitting, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the floor. He reached backward and slipped free the one heel Daffy still wore, then kicked his own shoes off.

  All the while she lay there watching him, her breasts rising and falling with shallow pants, her nipples puckering and straining to break through the silky fabric, proclaiming just how much she wanted this man.

  “Now,” Hunter said, easing down beside her, “we can make some progress.”

  As close as he lay, Daffy could tell from his heated erection that more progress wasn’t what was called for. They needed release; they needed satisfaction. Adopting a slightly naughty smile, she folded her hand around his manhood and said, “I adore progress.”

  Hunter growled and moved against her hand. “Hey, who’s in charge here?”

  She grinned. “We haven’t known each other all that long, but somehow I think the answer has to be ‘Both of us.’”

  He laughed and before Daffy knew that he’d moved, he buried the sound against her breasts. Her dress wasn’t much more than a slip with straps and even through the fabric, her nipples danced against his touch, leaping in response.

  He shifted and her hand dropped from his body. Fine, Daffy thought dreamily, for now I’ll just let him have his way with me.

  His face buried in her breasts, Hunter said a prayer of thanks as Daffy’s warm fingers slipped free of his overheated erection. So much for being in control—her touch had almost pushed him over the edge. And there was too much pleasure he wanted to experience—and to share with Daffy—before he lost his grip on things.

  Easing upward, he soaked in the sight of Daffy lost to the ecstasy he was creating in her. Her eyes were half closed, her head thrown back on the couch cushions in a way that had her hair spread out like a golden halo. He shook his head slightly as that thought chased across his mind. Silly, Hunter. She was no angel—just one hot babe, ripe for the plucking.

  The top of her dress had fallen halfway off. He worked it lower, revealing even more of her lush breasts mounding above a scrap of lace she called a bra.

  He made a noise low in his throat. He had to have this woman.

  She wriggled beneath him, lifting her hips and nudging his groin as she moved. Hunter captured her wrists and pushed them over her head. Her eyes opened fully and her mouth rounded in a delectable “O” of surprise.

  “You’re mine,” he said, “all mine.”

  Daffy ran her tongue over her lower lip, no doubt still tasting him. He accepted the invitation to remind her again of his lips and, still holding her hands captive, plundered her mouth. She answered him as savagely as he claimed her, and Hunter knew he was the one who’d become a prisoner.

  He broke free of the kiss and lowered his mouth to her breasts. Working first one nipple, then the other, he reveled in the way she arched her back and whimpered for him to take pity on her and give her the satisfaction she craved. Oh, she didn’t actually say those words, but he heard the request in the breathy moans that escaped her lips and the way her hips kept rising to meet his, in the way she’d thrown her head even farther back to offer her breasts completely to his demanding touch.

  Unable to hold off, Hunter reached for his belt buckle with his free hand.

  He had it halfway loosened when Daffy whispered, “Please, hurry, Hunter. I can’t wait anymore.”

  Hunter smiled. Stilling his hand and forcing himself to count silently to ten, he said, “Not even just a little bit more?”

  “No!” Then she laughed, but the sound was more ragged desire than humor.

  Hunter let go of his belt buckle and trailed his hand along the inside of one thigh. She quivered at his touch and he wondered whether he could hold out himself. The idea of Daffodil Landry begging him to impale himself in her pleased him to no end, but this was a dangerous game he was playing. His own control might not outlast the sweet torture with which he wanted to torment her.

  His fingers reached the top of her stocking. “I didn’t know women wore these anymore,” he murmured, fingering the garter where it engaged the top of her hose.

  “Undo it and I won’t be wearing it either,” Daffy said, then blushed. “Now that’s ladylike reticence, isn’t it?”

  Again he smiled. He realized he’d smiled more since they’d arrived in Vegas than he could remember doing of late. “Most ladylike,” he said, leaving the stocking in place and easing aside the scrap of satin that she called a pantie.

  Daffy gasped and rocked against him. He’d loosened his hold on her hands and she bolted up to catch him by the shoulders. “Hunter!”

  “Yes, Daffy?” Even as he eased one finger inside her, he lowered her back to the cushions, this time keeping a firmer grip on her wrists with his other hand. She was his, but she needed to be at his mercy. He didn’t know how he knew that, but somehow he did. Daffodil Landry was a woman used to being in charge, and taking that command away from her would only heighten her passion.

  She was wet. She practically sucked his finger inward. Hunter withdrew his finger just to watch the look of need on her face, then slowly claimed her again, opening and teasing her with his exploration while he leaned forward and kissed the back of her arm raised above her head.

  She moaned and her breath came more quickly. He tasted the lobe of her ear and circled her clit with his finger. He flicked his tongue inside her ear even as he palmed her. Oh, yeah, she was his.

  Daffy couldn’t remember when she’d last taken a breath. Hunter had consumed her body and her passion-drugged senses now ruled her mind. She rocked against his hand as he palmed her, one finger leading her to climax like a conductor’s baton urging on an orchestra.

  She strained to reach for his belt, free him from his zipper, and encase him in her panting warmth. But any movement on her part was met with another kiss—this time on her wrists, then on her palms, then skipping up her arm to the rounded top of her shoulder.

  “You’re mine,” he whispered. “Let me guide your pleasure.”

  Her answer was another breathy moan as her climax built. Through her hazy vision, she noted his satisfied expression. Too, too late, she realized he had triumphed. But as his clever finger found the center of her desire and another wave of pleasure uncurled within her, Daffy forgot all about not letting Hunter win a victory over her.

  She arched against his hand. He covered her mouth with his. Between kisses, he led her upward, his words wrapping around her while his body claimed possession of her. “Give it to me, Daffy,” he said. “Let me take you where you want to go.”

  A pounding began, louder even than the blood beating in her ears as it matched the rhythm pulsing within her feminine core. She was sensation, she was sex itself, she was putty under Hunter’s touch. Daffy cried out as she
pulsed against Hunter’s hand. He let go of her wrists and she clasped him around the neck, shuddering and laughing from the joyous sensations he’d created.

  “That’s my girl,” Hunter said, holding her close.

  She wrapped her legs around him and tugged at his belt buckle. “You’re not even naked and look what you did to me.”

  He grinned. “Just wait for Act Two.”

  The pounding grew louder.

  Someone was at their door.

  One hand on his zipper, Hunter called out, “Go away!”

  Instead of obeying, the intruder wanna be grew even more obnoxious. Through the hazy afterglow of her orgasm, Daffy heard Hunter’s name called out, in a none-too-sober male voice raised high enough to wake the dead.

  “Let me in, Hunter. Brought you a present!”

  “Shit!”

  Daffy almost echoed Hunter’s expletive as the man yelled again, and this time she recognized the voice. Aloysius’s.

  Hunter smoothed his thumb over her cheek. “Let me get rid of him,” he said, easing his body off her. “Then we can get back to the business of pleasure.”

  Daffy nodded. Without Hunter’s touch, she felt incredibly abandoned. Vulnerable, too. As Hunter straightened his clothing—an impossible task, given his arousal—she glanced at her disheveled dress, her legs spread wide, her breasts open to Hunter’s hungry gaze.

  Shyness battled with satiation. She should blush, but with the languid warmth he’d released in her, she could scarcely move to cover herself.

  “Don’t budge,” Hunter said in a commanding voice, kneeling beside her. “Please?”

  She smiled and nodded, touched by the raw edge of desire in his entreaty. She had the mighty Hunter James eating out of her hand.

  He headed toward the door, calling, “Pipe down. I’m coming.”

  Daffy smiled at his word choice. Absent the pesky Aloysius, his words would be true. What an amazing lover. Daffy took in again her dress hiked above her garters, her panties pushed aside to reveal her damp and still gently throbbing inner lips. She rubbed her thighs together. No wonder he’d bragged—