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I could’ve let her stay glued to me like this forever. Problem was, we were center stage to the beasts also known as our members. I couldn’t let them witness my swelling cock.
To get to me, they would hurt her the first chance they got.
“Calm down,” I whispered. “I’m not a guest.”
We had to get out of here and to the conference room. Into a closed space where I could put the vases aside and touch her. Her slender neck. Her inviting lips. I’d eat up the intoxicating jasmine scent on her skin. Sink my teeth into her flesh.
“Let’s go.” The command in my voice shut down her arguments. “Conference room. Where those belong. I’ll come back for the rest, so stop fretting over it before I lick the blush off your pretty cheeks. Now, what’s your real name?”
Despite my kinky threat, her blush remained. Persistent little thing. Just like her.
The girl dipped her chin and gazed up at me beneath her eyelashes.
Fuck. Me.
“Amara Carmichael.” Sex flowed from her pores and threatened to choke me. I would’ve died a happy man. “You’re not Reece. Not a guest. So, who are you?”
Telling her I was one of the two hotel owners would’ve had her mouth rounding again. I wanted to see that. But it would’ve had to be for my eyes only. Mine and no one else’s.
Meaning that would have to wait for when the two of us are alone.
I took a step back from the adorable clingy temptation—Amara—and started stalking forward. Her heeled boots clinked as she caught up with me.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Carter Steele,” I said when we turned into a dimly lit hallway, away from prying eyes. Her bouncy buns appeared at my side. “One of the hotel owners.”
I trained my eyes on her lips. Waiting.
Amara Carmichael, the woman of my dreams, screeched in her tracks at the conference room’s doorway. Lips parting, just as I predicted. Just as I wished.
“Oh, no. I’m sorry,” she repeated the unnecessary apology. “So sorry.”
This time, I didn’t stop her. I placed the vases in the center of the oval table and turned to her.
My silent reply was answered by her rushing into the room and closing the door behind her.
Clink, clink, clink, her sexy heels went.
“You shouldn’t have been carrying these.” She outstretched her arms between me and the vase, flailing them around. Amara was the definition of hysterical and adorable. “It’s my job. Jesus. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. Please, don’t fire me. I’ll do better. I swear.”
Her jasmine scent once more invaded my senses, getting me hard. Driving me insane in the best sort of way.
“Relax.” I grabbed her shoulders and turned her to me.
The fabric of her dress felt smooth under my hands. We were inches apart.
What if I kept her for life?
I’d probably end up choking her so she wouldn’t breathe anything other than my exhales.
This woman.
The only thing similar to this level of attraction was what I’d felt for Killian.
These feelings. The need to shove my hand into his sweatpants. To have my lips on his.
Like I wanted to kiss Amara. She wasn’t second best, though. I couldn’t make sense of that thought at the time. The two of them snagged the same place in my head. Coexisted in the space where possessiveness met another sentiment. Lust. Had to be lust.
