Kate Hoffmann - All Through The Night

Gently, deliberately, he wove his fingers through hers, then pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “So, why don’t we start with introductions?” he murmured, his words warm against her skin. “My name’s Beckett. Pete Beckett. What’s yours?”

He glanced up at her and sent her a charming grin. The game had begun, and he’d just upped the ante.

NORA TOOK A LONG GULP of her champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose and going right to her head. But no matter how muddled her mind became, one thought screamed from within. Run away, run as fast and as far as you can from this man whose mouth is teasing at the inside of your wrist, whose words have the capacity to render you defenseless—this man who’s demanded to know your name.

Her big night out was supposed to be a simple experiment, a chance to dip her toe into the dating pool without risk of being swept away by the tide. But sitting here next to Pete, she felt as if the water were rushing up around her neck and the currents were threatening to pull her under. She wanted to blurt her name out to the entire bar—Nora Pierce or Prudence Trueheart, what did it matter? This little charade had to end!

But something held her back, a curiosity that needed to be satisfied, an undeniable magnetism that made all common sense vanish. Why not just see where the evening might lead, alter the experiment just a bit? She wasn’t doing too badly. Except for her impromptu grammar lesson, she’d managed to hold her own in conversation without sounding too uptight.

And it felt so good to stand in someone else’s four-inch spike heels, to become the kind of woman she’d never been—sexy, provocative, irresistible. It wasn’t that hard to step outside herself. Besides, she could walk away at any time, couldn’t she? Nora stifled a long sigh. Perhaps that was easier said than done.

It wasn’t the mental aspect of her charade that was so difficult, but the physical reactions she was having to endure. The shock of Pete Beckett turning up beside her had temporarily stolen the breath from her lungs. And then he’d touched her, and her heart had begun to somersault in her chest, beating a crazy rhythm. Every thought in her head became fixed on the mesmerizing way his fingers skimmed over her skin and warmed her blood. At once afraid and exhilarated, she had tried to keep one foot in reality, but she kept slipping into a realm that until now had been pure fantasy.

Why hadn’t he recognized her? Could her disguise be that good? Earlier in the day they’d spoken, come face to face in her office. Surely she couldn’t be that forgettable, could she? Nora brushed aside the notion. He’d had a few too many beers, that was it. Or maybe he hadn’t yet noticed the faint bruise below her eye, barely concealed by her makeup. Or perhaps the thought of Prudence Trueheart hanging out in a sports bar, wearing a black wig and “seduce me” shoes, was inconceivable.

Whatever the cause, she didn’t want these wonderful and alarming sensations to end. A secret thrill shot through her, and she grew more determined to take her pleasure where she could find it—in the suggestive way he looked at her, in her shameless reaction.

“Well?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to tell me? Or do you want me to guess?”

Nora knew the proper etiquette for introductions at any occasion—except when trying to preserve one’s anonymity beneath a sexy disguise while drinking champagne with a handsome co-worker at a bar. A shiver ran up her arm and a moan slipped from her throat. A handsome co-worker who was intent on sucking her fingertips! That one would surely befuddle even Emily Post.

One bit of advice did come to mind. When a lady finds herself in an uncomfortable situation, said lady can always make a polite retreat to the ladies’ room to regroup. She reached for her purse, reluctantly tugging her trembling fingers away and forcing a smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Beckett. But I should go. My friend is probably waiting.”

“Your friend can wait. Why don’t you want to tell me your name?” he asked, his smile seductive, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “Are you married?”

Nora gasped and brushed his hand away. How dare he believe she’d engage in an extramarital flirtation. She’d been brought up better than that! “Of course not,” she said, keeping anger from her voice.

His brow arched teasingly. “Engaged?”

She shook her head.

“Involved?”

Here was her opening, a way to extricate herself from this situation without making fools of them both. She cleared her throat and straightened. “If I said yes, would you leave me alone?”

Pete thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess I wouldn’t have any choice, would I?”

Nora opened her mouth, ready to lie to him. But the words wouldn’t come. She didn’t want him to walk away. She wanted him to stay right where he was, to touch her and tease her until she’d had her fill of him. “No,” she murmured. “I’m not involved with anyone.”

He leaned closer, until his lips were just inches from hers. “Neither am I,” he said. “So I guess we’re both free to…”

Her gaze fixed on his mouth. “Free to…”

His breath was warm on her lips, taunting her with the promise of one stirring, pulse-pounding kiss. “Free to finish our champagne,” he said.

He drew away, leaving her breathless and teetering on the edge of anticipation. A silence grew between them, and her brain scrambled for a topic of conversation to cover her embarrassment. But all she really wanted to discuss was the possibility of his lips meeting hers in the very near future. She grabbed up her champagne glass and gulped down the remaining bubbly. “So, what do you do for a living?” she asked, holding out her glass for a refill. The question was cliché and shallow. Besides that, she already knew the answer. But she wasn’t adept at clever conversation, and with him staring into her face, she couldn’t think straight.

“You have incredible eyes,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, the same way he’d done that morning. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes quite so blue.”

Nora swallowed hard, trying to still the slamming of her heart. How quickly the man forgets, she mused, a trace of anger accompanying the thought. “Oh, I’m sure you have,” she said coyly.

He slowly shook his head. “I would have remembered.” His fingers wandered to her lips, and he ran his thumb along the corner of her mouth. “So, do you like games?”

“Wha-what?” Her voice cracked slightly at the sudden shift in the conversation. Oh, Lord, he was toying with her. All this time, he knew exactly who she was and what she was about, and he was stringing her along! Indignation surged inside her, and she wanted to slap the smirk right off his face.

“Games,” he repeated. He glanced up at the television behind the bar. “Sports. This is a sports bar. People who come here, come here for the games. Are you a baseball fan or do you prefer football?”

Nora coughed to cover her uneasiness. “Oh, no,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m not a big sports fan.”

“Maybe I could teach you,” he said, sliding his hands around her waist. “If you’re really interested.” Gently, he pressed his palm into the small of her back, drawing her closer. “In most games, there’s an offense and a defense.” His voice was barely a whisper, his gaze skimming her face. “And the offense does everything it can to break down the defense and…score.”

Suddenly, their conversation had taken on a different tone, an undeniable sexual challenge pulsing beneath innocent words. With a trembling hand, Nora reached out and ran her fingers through the hair at his nape, startled by her own boldness. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, and she stared at him, watching the pleasure suffuse his expression. Her touch had the power to stir his senses, a man so experienced and so worldly. “Nice play,” he murmured, watching her through hooded eyes. “I see you understand the concept of offense.”