Caroline Anderson - Escape for Valentine's - Beauty and the Billionaire / Her One and Only Valentine / The Girl Next Door

Then he proved his knowledge, finding secrets and hollows, making her purr and moan.

She reached for him in return, running her fingertips over his chest and abdomen. He sucked in a breath as she brushed his erection. He let her test the length and texture, before trapping her wrist and calling a halt.

He pushed her arms over her head, where they had to behave. Then he kissed her mouth, and her neck, and her breasts. He released her hands, as his lips roamed free, testing and suckling. She tangled his hair, moaning his name, everything inside her tightening and heightening.

But he kissed his way back. And merged with her mouth. He moved atop her, linking his fingertips with hers, pressing them down against the softness of the comforter. Her knees moved apart, and their bodies met, slick and hot and impossibly sweet.

He eased inside her, slower than she could bear. She thrashed her head and squeezed his hands, her kisses growing deeper and more frantic. Then she instintively flexed her hips, and he pushed the final inch to paradise.

He set a rhythm, speeding up and slowing down. She felt the fire of passion build within her. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her focus contracted to the spot where their bodies met.

The world turned to heat, and sensation and scent. She felt his muscles clench, and his desire take over. He sped up and stayed there, his thrusts intent and solid. A moan started low in her throat. It grew louder and more frantic, until she cried out his name, and the world fell apart, and his body pulsed within her.

They breathed in sync for long minutes after.

“You okay?” His voice seemed to come from a long way off. His body was a delicious weight on top of her, and she couldn’t move a muscle, including her eyelids.

“Sinclair?” he pressed, sounding worried.

“I think we’ve cured the tension,” she mumbled.

There was a chuckle low in his throat, and he eased his weight to the side, gathering her in his arms. “I do believe you’re right.”

Sinclair caught sight of her new haircut in the mirror at Club Seventy-Five. She’d second-guessed herself about getting it so short, but she had to admit, she loved it. Textured to spiky wisps around her ears and neck, it was light on top, and her new bangs swooped across her forehead, while the foil, blond highlights brought out the color in her cheeks.

Of course, the color could have come from the tote bag full of Luscious Lavender cosmetics that she’d had applied this afternoon. The beautician had painstakingly shown Sinclair how to apply the makeup herself, but she wasn’t so sure she’d be successful—at least not without a lot of practice.

But, for tonight, she felt gorgeous.

She was wearing one of the jazzier dresses they’d bought at La Petite Fleur. A Diana Kamshak, it was a mint-green satin party dress. The short, full skirt sported blue horizontal stripes, and it was accented by a blue and silver border at the mid-thigh hem.

Above the wide silver belt, the top was tight and strapless, with a princess neckline that drew attention to her breasts. She wouldn’t normally be comfortable in something so revealing. But every time she looked into Hunter’s eyes, she felt beautiful.

She’d had dozens of covetous looks at her sapphire-and-diamond choker. Or perhaps it was because she was also wearing the Diana Kamshak dress. Or perhaps it was because she was with Hunter.

She’d decided on the teardrop diamond earrings, and she liked the way their weight bounced on her ears. She still hadn’t taken off the goldfish bracelet, and it made a kicky addition to the outfit. She liked it. She liked it all.

The lights and the music pounded lifeblood through her bones. Or maybe it was Hunter that pounded through her bones. They were out on the floor, amidst the crowd, alternating between touching, smiling, and just moving independently to the beat.

He slipped an arm around her waist, tugging her close, spinning her to the rhythm of the house band. Sinclair smiled, then laughed out loud, she couldn’t help it. The musicians launched into another lively and compelling tune.

“You thirsty?” he called in her ear as the song finished with a metallic flourish.

She nodded.

He put at hand at the small of her back, guiding her off the dance floor. “Water? Wine? Champagne?”

Sinclair did a little shimmy next to their table. “Champagne.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “My kind of girl.”

Then he helped her into the high bar chair and disappeared into the crowd.

Sinclair liked being Hunter’s kind of girl.

She liked the fashions. She liked the limos. She loved the sex. And she loved the way they arrived at a club and got escorted immediately through the side entrance. No waiting around on the curb for Hunter Osland.

But putting all that aside, what she liked most of all was Hunter—the person. Period.

Okay, the one thing she didn’t like was the high shoes. She supposed she’d get used to them at some point, but right now, they just made one of her baby toes burn and both calves ache.

She slipped the heels off under the table.

Hunter returned with the drinks as the band announced a break. She sipped at the bubbles and grinned.

“Good?” asked Hunter, picking up his own glass.

“Great,” said Sinclair.

Two men slid into the other chairs at the table. “Hey, Osland,” one greeted.

“Bobby,” said Hunter. “Nice to see you.” Then he nodded to the other man. “Scooter.”

Scooter nodded back.

Then both men smiled appreciatively at Sinclair.

“Sinclair Mahoney,” Hunter introduced. “This is Bobby Bonnista and Scooter Hinze from Blast On Black.”

“Sorry,” said Sinclair, leaning into Hunter’s shoulder. “I should have recognized you right away but I guess I was focused on Hunter.”

Hunter’s chest puffed out, and he put an arm around her. “What can I say?”

Both men guffawed at his posturing, but smiled at Sinclair and held out their hands.

She shook. “Loved the music.”

“Thanks,” Bobby nodded. “We’re trying out some new stuff tonight. It’s always a challenge.”

“Well, it’s great,” she said sincerely.

“Got time for a drink?” asked Hunter.

Bobby shook his head. “We’re on in ten minutes.”

A server stopped at the table and topped up Sinclair’s glass of champagne.

The two musicians rose from their chairs. “Coming to the party?” asked Bobby. “Suite 1202 at the Ivy.”

“Not sure,” said Hunter.

The men glanced at Sinclair with a sly, knowing grin. But, surprisingly, Sinclair found she didn’t mind.

“Sorry about that,” said Hunter after they’d left.

She shrugged. “Were they wrong?”

He leaned very close to her ear. “That,” he rumbled, “is entirely up to you.”

Blast On Black took the stage once more.

Sinclair wriggled her feet back into the strappy sandals. “Want to dance?”

Sinclair’s shoes dangled from her fingertips as they made their way down the hotel hallway.

“Tired?” asked Hunter, slipping the key card into her room lock.

“A little tipsy,” she admitted, crossing the threshold and tossing her shoes in the corner. The bed had been turned down and the adjoining door left open.

“Champagne in France will do that to you.”

“It was delicious.” She took a deep breath and blinked away the buzzing in her head.

Hunter locked the door, then reached into his pocket to retrieve his cell phone. He pressed the on button and sighed.

“Messages?” she asked, digging into her purse to check her own phone.

“Thirty-five,” he said, hitting the scroll button with his thumb.

“I have six,” she frowned. “Boy, do I feel unpopular.” Two of them were from Kristy, the rest from the office. She’d been keeping in touch with Amber via e-mail, making sure the ball plans were under control, despite Chantal’s meddling.