Playing With Her Heart (Caught Up In Love #4)(27)
Author: Lauren Blakely

“You did?”

“Couple of days after I found out my parents died.”

He says it in the most offhand way, but my heart leaps to my throat and I want to comfort him. To wrap my arms around him, tell him how unfair it is when people you love die too soon. I reach out and lay a hand on his arm. His eyes jerk to mine, but then he quickly looks away and I remove my hand, because I shouldn’t be touching Davis for so many reasons. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says in a low voice, sounding wounded for the first time. Letting down his guard.

I’m about to ask what happened to them, but that feels too personal, too much, too soon.

The car stops at the lobby and the doors crank open. We step out into the cold, biting night, the sounds of New York traffic hitting my ears. It’s the familiar soundtrack to my days and nights in this city.

We walk down the steps to the sidewalk. A cold wind whooshes by and I pull my coat tighter. He moves closer to me and for a second I think he may drape an arm over my shoulder, pull me in close and keep me warm. But he doesn’t. Instead, he points to a town car waiting at the curb.

“For you,” he says.

“Me? You got me a car service?” I shouldn’t be excited over a car, but I am. I’ve only acted in a few off-Broadway shows and a couple of commercials, and I didn’t even warrant a cab in my contracts for those. I was subway, all the way.

“If I’m making you work late, it’s the least I can do,” he says, as he opens the door for me, and I slide inside.

He leans into the car, reaches for the seat belt, and pulls it across my chest, buckling me in. He’s inches from me, and he smells cold like the night air. But he also smells the way a man should at the end of the day: a little bit of sweat, a lot of work, and all raw power. He brings one hand behind my head and unclips my hair, letting it fall over his fingers. I tremble from his touch as a shiver runs down my spine. “I like your hair up and I like your hair down,” he whispers to me, breaking down all my resistance in an instant.

I can see this playing out if I do nothing—I’ll spend it rewinding this moment and putting it on repeat all night long. But I don’t want to go home with only a memory to feed my body, and I can’t stand the thought of this night ending too soon.

I make my choice. There’s only one choice. “Do you want to share?” I ask, praying he lives in the same direction.

“You’re downtown, right?”

I nod.

“Me too.”

Then he closes my door, and I don’t see him as he walks behind the car so I swivel around, watching through the tinted window as he reaches the other side quickly and opens the door, his dark eyes pinning me and sending a rush of heat down my chest and straight to my very core. He never takes his eyes from me as he closes the door, and hits a button on the console that starts to close the tinted privacy partition, telling the driver “Just drive.”

Like it’s a command.

Then he turns and looks at me, and for a long beat we are still, the air between us crackling with the anticipation of what’s next. But I am overcome with want and I can’t hold back, nor can he. As the engine starts, I unbuckle myself just as his hands are on my face, and he sucks in a breath at the first touch. Then, a low growl escapes his throat as his lips find mine with a hungry kiss that ignites something in me.

I grab his shirt, loving the feel of his strong, firm chest. My fingers fist the fabric as I pull him closer, but he doesn’t need any direction from me. Within seconds, his hands are in my hair, and his lips are consuming me, his tongue tangling with mine, and I’m about to burst from all this sensation—from the way he smells so masculine and strong, to the delicious scratch of his stubble, to the calloused fingers that tug on my hair.

He tastes so f**king good that I don’t want to stop. Instead, I want to be devoured by him. I want him—no, I need him, I desperately need him—to do something about this onslaught of desire he’s started in my body that’s become a delicious and needy ache between my legs.

“I want to be under you,” I say, and I’m not even sure how I’m forming words, let alone coherent thoughts, but all I know is what my body is demanding. I need the weight of him on me. I need to feel him pressed hard against me. I take off my jacket quickly, tossing it to the floor of the car, and he does the same. Then I slide down on the leather so I’m lying flat, and he moves with me, hovering over me, braced on his strong arms.

“Who needs jackets anyway?” he says with a wry smile, then returns his lips to my neck, trailing kisses across my skin that make me hot and wet and hungry.

“Jill,” he says, and he’s no longer playful. He’s intense and demanding, as he puts a hand on my chin and makes me look at him. “Tell me you think about me.”

I don’t answer. I just breathe out hard.

“Tell me I get you off when you’re all alone.”

I bite my lip, and my ni**les harden from the way he’s speaking to me. I want his hands all over me. I want his hands between my legs. I wriggle under him, arching my h*ps against him. He moves away, so I can’t feel his erection against me, even though I’m dying to.

“Tell me you picture me doing all sorts of things to you.” His hands roam down my chest, and he cups my br**sts through my sweater. I nearly cry out, it feels so good, sparks of sheer pleasure rippling through my entire being. “You do, don’t you?”

“Why are you asking me?” I say in a tortured voice, because he’s tormenting me with his fantastic hands, pinching my nipple between his thumb and index finger and it’s rough, but it makes me feel alive. It makes this moment feel real. I want to feel every single thing right now. Every real feeling.

“Because. I don’t want you thinking of someone else when I make you come tonight.”

“Oh God,” I gasp, and with a quickness that surprises him, I grab his ass and pull him down to me so I can feel what I’ve done to him, so I can know I’m not the only one tumbling towards the edge.

He gives me a daring look, as if he’s impressed that I snagged the upper hand for one delirious moment, but then I don’t care about this battle of wills because he’s so hard and it’s all because of me, and I can’t get enough of the friction. I tug him closer, so I can feel the steel length of him against my thigh.

Before I know it, his hands are up my shirt, and he’s unhooking my bra. He squeezes my br**sts, and I swear it’s like wildfire racing through me from his slightest touch. I buck my h*ps against him. “Please,” I say.