Falling For Her Fake Fiancé (The Beaumont Heirs 5) by Sarah M. Anderson Page A

her.
    She leaned into his touch, her gorgeous red curls brushing against his shoulder. “Did you ever play football?” she asked, running her hands up and down his forearms. “Or were you just born this way?”
    There was something he was supposed to be remembering, something that was important about Frances. But he couldn’t think about anything but the way she’d looked in that green dress yesterday and the way she looked right now. The way he felt when she touched him.
    He flexed under her hands and was rewarded with a little gasp from her. “I played. I got a scholarship to play in college, but I blew out my knee.”
    They were walking down the long hallway that separated the restaurant from the hotel. Then it’d be a quick turn to the left and into the elevators. A man could get into a lot of trouble in an elevator.
    But they didn’t even make it to the elevator. The moment they got to the middle of the lobby, Frances reached across his chest and slid her hand under his coat. Just like it had in the office yesterday, her touch burned him.
    “Oh, that sounds awful,” she breathed, curling her fingers around his shirt and pulling him toward her.
    The noise of the lobby faded away until there was only the touch of her hand and the beating of his heart.
    He turned into her, lowering his head. “Terrible,” he agreed, but he no longer knew what they were talking about. All he knew was that he was going to kiss her.
    Their lips met. The kiss was tentative at first as he tested her and she tested him. But then her mouth opened for him, and his control—the control he’d maintained for years and years, the control that made him a savvy businessman with millions in the bank—shattered on him.
    He tangled his hands into her hair and roughly pulled her up to his mouth so he could taste her better—taste all of her. Dimly, somewhere in the back of his mind where at least three brain cells were doing their best to think about something beyond Frances’s touch, Frances’s taste—dimly, he realized they were standing in the middle of a crowd, although he’d forgotten exactly where they were.
    There was a wolf whistle. And a second one—this one accompanied by laughter.
    Frances pulled away, her impressive chest heaving and her eyes glazed with lust. “Your suite,” she whispered, and then her tongue darted out, tracing a path on her lips that he needed to follow.
    “Yeah. Sure.” She could have suggested jumping out of an airplane at thirty thousand feet and he would have done it. Just so long as she went down with him.
    Somehow, despite the tangle of arms and jackets, they made it to the elevators and then onto one. Other people were waiting, but no one joined them on the otherwise-empty lift. “Sorry,” Frances said to the waiting guests as she curled up against his chest. “We’ll send it back down,” she added as the doors closed and shut them away from the rest of the world.
    Then they were alone. Ethan slid his hands down her bare back before he cupped her bottom. “Where were we?”
    “Here,” she murmured, pressing her lips against his neck, right above his collar. “And here.” Her teeth scraped over his skin as she pressed the full length of her body against his. “And...here.”
    She didn’t touch him through his pants, not with her hands—but with her body? She shifted against him, and the pressure drove those last three rational brain cells out of his mind. “God, yes,” he groaned, fisting his hands into her curls and tilting her head back. “How could I forget?”
    He didn’t give her time to reply. He crushed his mouth against hers. There wasn’t any more time for testing kisses—all that existed in the safe space of this little moving room was his need for her and, given the way she was kissing him back, her need for him.
    He liked sex—he always had. He prided himself on being good at it. But had he ever been this excited? This consumed with need? He couldn’t remember. He