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“Chari?”
I’ve totally been caught.
“Sorry.” Enzo and Marc are already standing. I do the same. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” I say to Marc.
“Same to you,” he says. “If you ever find yourself in Northern Virginia”—he directs the comment to me—“I’d be thrilled to host you”—finally he looks at Enzo—“both.”
There’s that tic again in Enzo’s jaw, the one that tells me he’s about to crack. I’ve only seen this side of him once before, in Switzerland, and I’m still not sure what to make of a jealous Enzo. Mostly, I kinda like it.
“Thank you.” I stick out my hand. “Have a safe trip back, and give our regrets to your team.”
He shakes my hand, letting it linger just a tad too long.
Marc shakes Enzo’s hand next. Is that a wince? Apparently Enzo’s grip isn’t very light. Time to redirect that strength to something more useful.
Enzo doesn’t say a word as Marc walks off. Also, he doesn’t move.
“Are we going?” I ask, confused.
He glances at the entrance to the restaurant.
“In a sec.”
We stand next to the table for a moment, unmoving. This, despite the fact that the bill has been paid.
“Enzo?”
He finally starts moving, as if coming back to life, but he’s still going oh so slowly. What’s up with him all of a sudden?
“I had no desire to ride the elevator with that bozo.”
Elevator?
Enzo guides me past the door leading outside, leading me into the connected hotel instead. We go past the front desk and straight to the elevator bank he mentioned. Pressing the up button, he turns to me.
“If you think I’m waiting until we’re back at my place . . .”
The elevator dings. Enzo looks me up and down, clearly liking what he sees. I’ll have to buy Lisa a drink. I thought the red was too much—it basically screamstake me!—but she wisely said, “And that’s a problem why?”
This is where he went earlier. He got us a room.
The elevator door hasn’t even closed behind us yet when Enzo pins me to the back wall, holding my hands above my head in the same tight grip Marc winced over. I can’t move. But I don’t want to.
As Enzo’s entire length presses against me, his mouth blessedly demanding, all of the white noise drifts away. My worry about what Lusanne said earlier. The loneliness I’ve felt at night, craving his touch. The disappointment of him cancelling his visit last weekend.
His tongue sweeps inside my mouth as Enzo’s free hand completes the mission it started over dinner. Under the table, it only traveled so far. Now, as the floors ding past us, it continues to ride up my thigh, his fingers reaching for . . .
I break contact to state the obvious.
“Not here. Someone could get on . . . oh!”
He doesn’t listen very well. Enzo’s lips part as he plunges two fingers into me, watching my expression. I gasp, the rule-follower in me terrified the elevator might stop at any moment. And also excited. I’ve told him how much I enjoy being touched this way, and on this, he most certainly listened.
“Enzo,” I breathe as he relentlessly works me. This man is an expert with his fingers, among other things.
“I’ve missed you.”
He’s watching me, and from his smart suit coat to his crisp white shirt, he looks exactly like the kind of man wealthy enough to book a room in a five-star hotel because he doesn’t want to wait a half hour. But those eyes, they’re the same ones I’ve known most of my life.
