Barbara Dunlop - The Twin Switch

“That doesn’t mean you should get stuck with the bill. I didn’t mean to cut out on you.”

“You saw her, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “But then I lost her.”

“Did you check the Triple Palm?”

“She’s not there. And she doesn’t seem to be here.” I glanced around. “Unless she’s found a secret corner to hide.”

“You did say she was with a guy.”

I shook my head. “I know what you’re thinking.” I refused to let myself think that. “She’s not like that.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking. And not like what?”

“She’s not having sex in a public garden, that’s what.”

He grinned in a way that said I was amusing him.

“There are other things for men and women to do in a quiet corner of the garden than have sex.”

“I know that.”

He shifted a little bit closer to me. “This is a very romantic garden.”

Lighted mesquite trees towered above us. Small cactuses lined the path, with pink and yellow flowers adding color. The air was sultry sweet along the smooth, winding red-toned path, heavy with moisture and soft on my skin.

“That’s not really what I want to hear,” I said.

“Why not?”

His gaze captured mine. It was as sultry as the air, dark and deep.

I forgot what I was saying. “What?”

He shifted closer still. “You know, you are incredibly beautiful.”

I couldn’t help it—my heart warmed at the compliment. It beat more deeply, slowly, thudding inside my chest and echoing in my ears.

I told myself to hang on to reality. But myself didn’t want to do that right now.

Max touched my arm. The touch was simple. It was light. His thumb brushed slowly across my skin, and I lit up like one of the mesquite trees. Logic and reason flew into the night.

“Max,” I whispered.

“Layla,” he whispered back.

The breezed cocooned us as he stepped in. One hand slid to my bare shoulder. His other touched the small of my back.

I put my palms on his chest, thinking to stop him, thinking they’d be a barrier between us that would pull me out of this spell.

But it didn’t work out that way.

I touched the crisp fabric of his shirt. I could feel his heat beneath it. His chest was firm, his pecs defined.

I’m not shallow. I know there’s more to a man than the shape of his body. But the particular shape of this particular man’s body was doing very strange things to my brain waves.

I lowered my hands, feeling the ridges of his abs. A sudden vision of him naked bloomed in my mind, my fingertips trailing across his glorious frame.

I wanted that. I wanted it more than I’d wanted anything in a very long time.

He enfolded me in an embrace, the solid, strong, definitive hug of a man who’d decided exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was me. I was torn between amazement and arousal.

I tipped my chin, and his lips touched mine, and my amazement fled. There was no room for anything inside of me except arousal.

His lips were hot, firm, moist, with the perfect amount of pressure.

He tasted like fine wine and smoky dreams.

My lips softened, they parted. I invited him in and his tongue swept mine in an encompassing kiss that sent waves of pleasure all the way to my toes.

My hands started to move. They unbuttoned his shirt. They touched his skin, and he gave a guttural groan.

“This way,” he said.

I didn’t know what he meant. I didn’t care what he meant, just so long as his kisses didn’t stop and he let me keep feeling my way to his shoulders.

I figured out what he meant, and it was a good thing.

I couldn’t believe his room was this close. But there we were, down a narrow pathway, across a patio and through some French doors.

You really couldn’t call it a room.

It was a suite—a presidential suite or a royal suite, or something with its very own name. I could feel how big it was even in the dim light.

Then Max pulled off his jacket and ripped his way out of his dress shirt. And everything around me disappeared. He was hot with a capital H .

Before I could look my fill, he pushed down the strap of my dress. He kissed his way across my bared shoulder. Every brush of his lips sent new tingles deep into my skin.

I breathed deeply—such a fresh crisp scent. My fingertips traced their way from his abs, to his pecs, up the breadth of his shoulders that went on and on. My lips followed suit, and I felt his warm breath on my hair.

I knew I should stop. My left brain told me I couldn’t careen off on a wave of feeling. I had things to do. I had Brooklyn to find.

Finally , my right brain told me. Finally, after so very many disappointments today, an indulgence was mine for the taking.

The debate was very short.

Indulgence won with a capital I .

I didn’t want to make Max guess, so I stripped off the little dress. I stood there in my panties, making myself perfectly clear.

I was in his arms in a flash, his embrace warm and engulfing. My breasts pressed against his bare chest, sending my arousal to new heights.

Then he lifted me like I weighed nothing. He started walking.

“Bedroom,” he said.

My right brain cheered. It was probably the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me.

He carried me through a door to a second big room. Light filtered through an opaque blind, and I could make out a king-size bed, a padded headboard and a huge mound of pillows.

We collapsed together onto the soft bed, Max on top, propping himself with his elbows.

The quilt was smooth silk against my body. It was cool. A fan stirred the air overhead.

His hands clasped mine, and he moved in slow motion to kiss my lips.

I simultaneously moaned and sighed, melting against his mouth, then his thighs, then his chest as we pressed closer and tighter together.

His weight felt good. It felt sexy. It pushed me deep into the soft mattress.

His kisses were long and thorough, expertly sending messages to my breasts and inner thighs, making them tighten and buzz with desire.

His lips were magic. His hands did nothing but caress my palms, yet I was writhing and stretching and lifting my hips.

My panties were thin. So were his boxers. My thighs spread apart, and our touch through the whisper of fabric was a prelude to lovemaking.

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