One Night, White Lies. Jessica Lemmon

together it makes sense to savor it.”

      He thought of this as “the talk.” He didn’t want to spoil the evening with overexplaining, but he wouldn’t go forward before setting the expectation. Where Reid was concerned, there was no possibility for a relationship. He had no desire to go down that road.

      “Believe me, Reid,” she said on a throaty laugh. “I didn’t expect things to get this far.” She touched the dip in his chin and wiggled her finger. “Tonight will have to be enough for both of us.”

      A ribbon of unease curled in his chest. Already he wanted more than tonight, and he hadn’t even had her yet.

      “Unless we change our minds,” he heard himself say.

      “Why would we do that?” She narrowed one eye, her mouth a tempting purse.

      “Are you staying for the entire conference?”

      “I am.”

      “What if you find yourself bored while you’re here and crave my company?” He threw in a shrug like he wasn’t anticipating her answer.

      “Hmm. We’ll see.” With that noncommittal response, she put her palm on his chest and shoved him toward the couch. He was content to let her do as she pleased.

      A side table lamp and the bathroom light glowed, but other than that the suite was dark. Even in shadow, Christina was inviting.

      Despite the added height of her shoes, she had to stretch to kiss him. He held the flute out of reach and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her soft, supple curves against him and erasing every bit of his memory. He’d promised to do...something. With the berries, or was it the champagne...? She’d entranced him.

      “We aren’t rushing.” That much he’d remembered.

      “No. We’re not.” She stole the flute, drained the remainder of the champagne and set it aside. Then she pushed him onto the couch. “But we’re not delaying, either.”

      She clicked off the lamp and straddled him, her breasts between them. He cupped his hands over her bra, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples until the hard nubs beaded beneath the fabric.

      She gasped one word. “Yes.”

      “Does it hurt good, love?”

      “So good,” she agreed.

      He unclasped the bra, freeing those bountiful orbs to the trusted homes of his palms. He took one nipple on his tongue and sucked hard, and she cried out—a sharp, high shout of pleasure.

      When she wiggled her ass on his lap, his hips arched to find her—his cock eager to reach her warm, wet heat, his promises not to rush be damned.