Falling For Her Fake Fiancé (The Beaumont Heirs 5) by Sarah M. Anderson Page B
Authors: Sarah M. Anderson
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couldn’t think, not with Frances moaning into his mouth and arching her back, pushing her breasts into his body.
He reached up and started to undo the tie at the back of her neck, but she grabbed his hand and held it at waist height. “We’re almost there,” she murmured in a coy tone. “Can you wait just a little longer?”
No.
“Yes.”
Love and sex and, yes, marriage—that was all about waiting. There’d never been any instant gratification in it for him. He’d waited until he’d been eighteen before losing his virginity because it was a test of sorts. Everyone else was going as fast as they could, but Ethan was different. Better. He could resist the fire. He would not get burned.
Frances shifted against him again, and he groaned in the most delicious agony that had ever consumed him. Her touch—even through his clothing—seared him. For the first time in his life, he wanted to dance with the flames.
One flame—one flame-haired woman—in particular. Oh, how they would dance.
The elevator dinged. “Is this us?” Frances asked in a shaky whisper.
“This way.” He grabbed her hand and strode out of the elevator. It was perhaps not the most gentlemanly way of going about it—essentially dragging her in her impossible shoes along behind him—but he couldn’t help himself. If she couldn’t walk, he’d carry her.
His suite was at the end of a long, quiet hall. The only noise that punctuated the silence was the sound of his blood pounding in his temples, pushing him faster until he was all but running, pulling Frances in his wake. Each step was pain and pleasure wrapped in one, his erection straining to do anything but walk. Or run.
After what felt like an hour of never-ending journeying, he reached his door. Torturous seconds passed as he tried to get the key card to work. Then the door swung open and he was pulling her inside, slamming the door shut behind them and pinning her against it. Her hands curled into his shirt, holding him close.
He must have had one lone remaining brain cell functioning, because instead of ripping that dress off her body so he could feast himself upon it, he paused to say, “Tell me what you want.”
Because whatever she wanted was what he wanted.
Or maybe she wasn’t holding him close. The thought occurred to him belatedly, just about the time her mouth curved up into what was a decidedly nonseductive smile. She pushed on his chest, and he had no choice but to let her. “Anything I want?”
She’d pushed him away, but her voice was still colored with craving, with a need he could feel more than hear. Maybe she wanted him to tie her up. Maybe she wanted to tie him up instead. Whatever it was, he was game.
“Yeah.” He tried to lean back down to kiss her again, but she was strong for a woman her size. She held him back.
“I wonder what’s on TV?”
* * *
It took every ounce of her willpower to push Ethan back, to push herself away from the door, but she did it anyway. She forced herself to stroll casually over to the dresser that held the flat-screen television and grab the remote. Then, without daring to look at Ethan, she flopped down on the bed. It was only after she’d propped herself up on her elbows and turned on the television that she hazarded a look at him.
He was leaning against the door. His jacket was half off; his shirt was a rumpled mess. He looked as though she’d mauled him. She was a little hazy on the details, but, as best she could recall, she had.
She turned her attention back to the television, randomly clicking without actually seeing what was on-screen. She’d only meant to put on a little show for the crowd. If they were going to do this sham marriage thing in two weeks, they needed to start their scandalous activities right now. Kissing in a lobby, getting into the elevator together? She was unmistakable with her red hair. And Ethan—he wasn’t that hard to look up. People would make the connection. And people, being
He reached up and started to undo the tie at the back of her neck, but she grabbed his hand and held it at waist height. “We’re almost there,” she murmured in a coy tone. “Can you wait just a little longer?”
No.
“Yes.”
Love and sex and, yes, marriage—that was all about waiting. There’d never been any instant gratification in it for him. He’d waited until he’d been eighteen before losing his virginity because it was a test of sorts. Everyone else was going as fast as they could, but Ethan was different. Better. He could resist the fire. He would not get burned.
Frances shifted against him again, and he groaned in the most delicious agony that had ever consumed him. Her touch—even through his clothing—seared him. For the first time in his life, he wanted to dance with the flames.
One flame—one flame-haired woman—in particular. Oh, how they would dance.
The elevator dinged. “Is this us?” Frances asked in a shaky whisper.
“This way.” He grabbed her hand and strode out of the elevator. It was perhaps not the most gentlemanly way of going about it—essentially dragging her in her impossible shoes along behind him—but he couldn’t help himself. If she couldn’t walk, he’d carry her.
His suite was at the end of a long, quiet hall. The only noise that punctuated the silence was the sound of his blood pounding in his temples, pushing him faster until he was all but running, pulling Frances in his wake. Each step was pain and pleasure wrapped in one, his erection straining to do anything but walk. Or run.
After what felt like an hour of never-ending journeying, he reached his door. Torturous seconds passed as he tried to get the key card to work. Then the door swung open and he was pulling her inside, slamming the door shut behind them and pinning her against it. Her hands curled into his shirt, holding him close.
He must have had one lone remaining brain cell functioning, because instead of ripping that dress off her body so he could feast himself upon it, he paused to say, “Tell me what you want.”
Because whatever she wanted was what he wanted.
Or maybe she wasn’t holding him close. The thought occurred to him belatedly, just about the time her mouth curved up into what was a decidedly nonseductive smile. She pushed on his chest, and he had no choice but to let her. “Anything I want?”
She’d pushed him away, but her voice was still colored with craving, with a need he could feel more than hear. Maybe she wanted him to tie her up. Maybe she wanted to tie him up instead. Whatever it was, he was game.
“Yeah.” He tried to lean back down to kiss her again, but she was strong for a woman her size. She held him back.
“I wonder what’s on TV?”
* * *
It took every ounce of her willpower to push Ethan back, to push herself away from the door, but she did it anyway. She forced herself to stroll casually over to the dresser that held the flat-screen television and grab the remote. Then, without daring to look at Ethan, she flopped down on the bed. It was only after she’d propped herself up on her elbows and turned on the television that she hazarded a look at him.
He was leaning against the door. His jacket was half off; his shirt was a rumpled mess. He looked as though she’d mauled him. She was a little hazy on the details, but, as best she could recall, she had.
She turned her attention back to the television, randomly clicking without actually seeing what was on-screen. She’d only meant to put on a little show for the crowd. If they were going to do this sham marriage thing in two weeks, they needed to start their scandalous activities right now. Kissing in a lobby, getting into the elevator together? She was unmistakable with her red hair. And Ethan—he wasn’t that hard to look up. People would make the connection. And people, being
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