Wendy Etherington - What Happened in Vegas...

“Yourself?” She gave him a confident, half smile. “Especially since you’ve never lied before.”

He bowed his head. No escaping that one. “I was a jerk before. I should have told you the truth. I apologize again. I didn’t put any faith in you. Or in us. It’s no wonder you didn’t want to go away with me.”

“When would you have told me?”

Laying his hands on the table, he linked his fingers. He felt ashamed and unsure, two emotions he rarely experienced. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“I don’t think either of us thought beyond the moment that weekend.”

“A big part of the problem.”

She nodded. “We jumped over several steps in the dating game.”

He slid closer, then drew his finger down her thigh. “True. But fast isn’t always bad.” He grinned. “Not that I’m opposed to slow and easy.”

Her eyes widened, then she smiled. “I remember.”

“And I recall developing a taste for champagne that I hadn’t had before.”

“You licked it off nearly every inch of my body. I assumed you loved the stuff.”

He slid his hand over her knee, then drew it up, along her thigh and under her skirt. “I loved the taste of it on your skin.”

Her breathing hitched. She set her wineglass on the table.

His heart hammering, he leaned closer. His forehead brushed her hair as he spoke softly into her ear. “You have the softest skin.”

“You think so?” she asked, her voice high and strained.

His pulse jumped. The wild attraction he still felt was reciprocated. He wasn’t the only one veering way off his professional path and reliving their sensual history.

He glided his fingers up and down her thigh. Her skin heated beneath his touch. Her breathing quickened. He remembered those long, lean legs wrapped around his hips. He remembered them glistening with sweat, twitching in sensual need.

Drawing his hand higher on her leg, he moved closer to the juncture between her thighs. With the tip of his finger, he teased the edge of her panties. “I could make you forget your stress at work, even the conflict between us.” He slid his finger into her warmth, finding the button that would send her soaring easily and quickly.

She gripped the edge of the table. “Gideon…”

“Is that a warning or encouragement?” He stroked his finger up, then down. He moved so slowly he hoped her eyes were crossed. He couldn’t tell, of course, because she’d closed her lids.

To shut him out, or to better concentrate on the pleasure he was giving her?

The heat spilling off her body, pulsing against his fingers, had him holding his breath, anticipating her next sigh.

They were in a busy restaurant, staff and other customers just feet away, but that all fell away. There was only her. The woman he couldn’t seem to forget. The woman he, again, couldn’t resist.

“I think we should pick up where we left off,” he said quietly in her ear.

She gasped, her thighs clenching around his hand. “Wh—where was that?”

“Naked and horizontal.”

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