Kate Hoffmann - Ian

The only time he ever came in contact with these people was when they wandered across the bay to shop in Bonnett Harbor. Bonnett Harbor couldn’t boast a single 30,000-square-foot summer cottage or even a few billionaire citizens. It offered just enough to tempt the tourists across the bridge for an afternoon of shopping or a nice dinner at one of the town’s many restaurants.

“Nice view.”

The voice sent a shiver through his body and Ian slowly turned to find Marisol watching him from a nearby doorway. His gaze drifted from her face to her feet and back again.

“I like my view better,” he said, chuckling softly. “That dress is definitely going to get you in trouble.” The way it clung to her body, he was certain she wore nothing beneath it. He could see the curves of her breasts, her nipples as they pressed against the fabric and the sweet spot between her legs as she leaned against the door.

She crooked her finger at him and Ian walked across the room. Grabbing his hand, Marisol pulled him through the doorway and into a wide hall. They walked past the main stairway and Marisol opened another door and pulled him inside a tiny powder room built beneath the stairs. As soon as she locked the door, she turned to him and began to unbutton his shirt.

Ian leaned back against the edge of the sink and watched her, his heart slamming in his chest, unwilling, or perhaps unable, to stop her. Her hair brushed against his chin and he smiled as the scent of her perfume wafted up to his nose. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Undressing you,” she said.

“Why?”

“I have to.” She shoved his jacket and shirt off his shoulders at the same time. Ian reached behind himself to unbutton the cuffs, then let the clothes slide to the floor. She immediately began on his trousers, unbuckling his belt and working the zipper open.

When she slid them down, the handcuffs clattered to the floor unnoticed. Ian kicked off his shoes and stood in his bare feet, left in just his boxers.

Marisol stepped back, to the far wall of the bathroom, her hands clenched at her sides. “Now the rest,” she said.

Ian shook his head. “What are we doing here?”

“I have to see you,” she said. “Naked. I just have to. Humor me.”

Ian wasn’t sure what kind of game they were playing now, but she seemed dead serious. Her brow was furrowed and her breath came in quick little gasps. He reached for the waistband of his boxers, then slowly slid them down to his ankles.

Ian straightened, bracing his hands behind him on the edge of the sink. He’d been so surprised by her behavior that he hadn’t had time to react. But now, as her gaze drifted over his body, he felt a rush of heat course through his veins. Ian glanced down and watched as he grew harder with each passing second.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, a tiny smile curving her lips. “I knew you would be.” Slowly, she crossed the space between them, then reached out and ran her hand over his chest. Her fingers slowly outlined each muscle, as if she were making a scientific study rather than beginning a seduction.

Her fingers dipped lower, to explore his belly, and then even lower still. The moment she brushed against his erection, Ian sucked in a sharp breath. Her hand stilled for a heartbeat, her gaze fixed on his crotch. Ian wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but the curiosity was just about killing him.

Marisol slowly sank to her knees in front of him, her gaze still fixed in one spot, her hands exploring every detail. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, hoping that she didn’t intend to stop. If this was one of the activities usually practiced at cocktail parties, then he’d have to attend many more.

He watched as her lips came closer. The wait was excruciating but it was sweet torture, the kind that made the anticipation as much fun as what was about to come. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. What act of fate had put this woman in his life? He felt as if he’d been caught up in some fantasy. Things like this-women like Marisol-just didn’t happen to him.

Ian closed his eyes and drew a deep breath as her hands circled his hips to smooth over his buttocks. And then, she kissed him, her lips damp against the base of his penis. He groaned softly as she worked her way up the length of his shaft. If this was a dream, if he was somehow asleep, he’d feel like a fool later. But awake or asleep, he planned to enjoy it.

Her tongue danced over the tip of his erection, sending currents of pleasure racing through his body. When she took him inside her mouth, the shock of her caress made his knees weak. Ian had enjoyed this particular act many times in the past, but he’d never felt such an intense connection to his reactions. Or to the woman causing them.

Every movement brought him closer to the edge, but he fought it, wanting these strange and wonderful sensations to last. He looked down, but the sight of her, kneeling in front of him, her lips surrounding him, only brought him closer to completion, his orgasm just a heartbeat away.

A knock sounded on the door, but Marisol didn’t seem to notice. “Busy,” he called, his voice cracking slightly. And then, from out of nowhere, the orgasm hit him, sending a deep shudder through his body. He stifled a cry and tried to stop the spasms, but then realized that he didn’t want to.

She took him in, continuing to surround him with her tongue and her lips, sapping him of every last bit of his desire. When it was finally finished, Ian looked down at her and found her smiling, satisfied that she’d pleasured him well. She ran her tongue over him one last time, then slowly stood.

“You’re making me crazy,” he murmured, breathless and spent.

She reached for the glass of champagne he’d set on the sink and took a long sip, then placed a kiss on the center of his chest. “Get dressed,” she said. “I’ll meet you outside.”

With that, Marisol slipped out of the bathroom. Ian quickly reached over and locked the door again, then drew a long, deep breath. Hell, if he had to pay his brothers ten thousand to break their celibacy pact he would. He intended to have as much of Marisol Arantes as he wanted and he wasn’t about to put a price on that kind of pleasure.

“HE CERTAINLY IS HANDSOME.”

Marisol nodded as she watched Ian converse with a small group of men. She wasn’t sure what they were discussing, but they seemed to be engaged in a very animated debate. In truth, she was surprised he fit in so easily. The society crowd could be closed-minded and judgmental at times. But Ian didn’t seem impressed by the wealth or position of the people around him and they didn’t question who he was or why he’d been invited to the party.

“I guess, when I moved to Bonnett Harbor, I really didn’t expect to find anyone that interesting,” she murmured.

“And is he interesting?” Sascha asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

Marisol nodded. “He’s different. He doesn’t have an agenda, he’s just who he is,” she added.

“Unlike David?”

She winced at the mention of his name. “Maybe,” Marisol replied. “It really doesn’t matter, though, because I’m just using him for sex.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she regretted saying them. Perhaps it was the truth, but she respected Ian enough not to take their attraction lightly. It wasn’t just the physical connection they shared that fascinated her. There was something more to this man, something hidden beneath the surface that she found undeniably attractive. She hadn’t known him long enough to define what it was.

Sascha took a sip of her champagne as she scanned the guests on the terrace. “Speaking of lying, cheating scumbags, I spoke with David a few days ago. He and the Brazilian have parted ways. He actually admitted that conversation with her was such a chore he couldn’t stand her any longer. And, he asked how you were doing. I think he might give you a call. In fact, I expected him to turn up here tonight.”