God, I want him in my bed.
I’m not usually like this. I mean, I held out for five years for one guy. Since I gave up my V card my sophomore year at a drunken frat party, there’s only been two others, including my one night with Jonathan. I can’t remember ever lusting this hard for anyone.
I turn my back to him and swing my hips, my ass “accidentally” brushing against the bulge in his jeans.
“Jesus, Sam,” he groans, his voice thick and a little strangled. The raw need in it is such a total turn-on. “Are you sure I can’t touch you?”
He’s just inches from me, and the feel of his breath in my hair sends goose bumps skittering over my scalp. The urge to spin and press my body against his is unbearable. I turn my head so I can see him out of the corner of my eye. And, God, he smells good—earthy with a musky undertone of sex.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He leans in, his lips nearly touching my ear. The heat of his mouth, so close to me, ripples every muscle south of my waist. “Yes, I can touch you?” he purrs. “Or yes, you’re sure I can’t.”
“I’m sure you can’t.” My voice comes out rough, and he groans at the sex in it.
His lips brush my ear as he leans closer. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop myself.”
I can’t breathe. The air is suddenly too thick. Too charged.
“Sam?” he growls, shifting so he’s against me. “Please say I can.”
I lean my back into his front, and I can’t stop the satisfied moan. My moan turns into a low “Ahh,” more of a gasp than a word, when his strong hands close over my hips and pull me tighter against the evidence of exactly what his body wants from mine. I tip my head back into his shoulder, and his nose skims down the side of my neck. We roll our hips together to the music, and the heat of his body and his breath on my neck sets my blood on fire. And the epicenter of everything I’m feeling is at the sweet spot between my legs, where I ache so hard for him.
He knows what I want without me having to say it. He grinds himself against me from behind as his hand glides around my bare midriff, setting off fireworks under my skin. Every nerve ending buzzes, alive with the electricity between us. And when his hand glides lower, his fingertips slipping under my waistband, I moan deep in my chest, sure I’m about to explode.
His other hand brushes up the front of my top and his fingertips play over the tuxedo collar for a second before plunging beneath the fabric and cupping my breast in his sure, firm palm. I gasp and try to pull away. This is so against the rules. But when he holds me tight against him, every inch of his hot, hard body pressed against my back, I melt into him and moan.
I can’t resist him. Anything he wants is his.
I rock my hips, encouraging his fingertips lower, and feel the blazing trail they leave behind on my skin as they slip under the waistband of my thong. But just as I’m about to totally lose myself in him, a loud noise in the hall wrenches me back to reality.
Shit. I can’t do this.
My body wants so badly to override my mind that it continues to grind without my consent, working his fingers lower under my shorts.
This is the moment of truth. I have to decide right here, right now, what kind of person I am. If I don’t get out of this room in the next ten seconds, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop. Nora will find me right here on the floor, Harrison inside me to the root, when she sticks her head in the door to tell me time is up.
Is that who I am, or am I more than that? Harrison might make me feel like pure sex, but despite how much I want him, can I do this and maintain any shred of self-respect? Not to mention my job?
My will wins the battle over my desire and I rip myself out of his grasp and bolt for the door without looking back. It’s not until I’m in the hall and the door slams behind me that I can even think.
I’ve never wanted anything in my life as intensely as I want Harrison, and it scares me how I let that base need cloud my judgment. It’s only as I stand here with my back against the door, breathing hard and throbbing where I shouldn’t be, that my head starts to clear. I need this job. I can’t risk it for a guy from L.A. who I’m never going to see again.
Ben’s voice rings up the hall as his office door cracks open. “. . . and get Devin in here!”
I jump and look up, sure I’m caught.
Marcus steps through the door into the hall, wiping grease off his hands with a towel. When he sees me, he tosses it in the corner. “You okay?” he asks, heading toward me.
“Yeah, thanks.”
He grasps me by the shoulders and looks me over like an overprotective parent, his brow creasing with concern. “You don’t look okay.”
I back out of his grasp, toward the dressing room, and fake a smile. “I’m fine. Really. It’s all good.” But as I push through the dressing room door, I start to shake all over with adrenaline.
Izzy is there, just pulling a white sweater over her flawless black skin. “Hey. You okay?”
“If too-stupid-to-live is your definition of okay, then, yeah.” I breathe a shaky breath. He’s going home to L.A., to an ex-fiancée who he obviously still loves. It’s not like anything could have ever come of this, even without the rules. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it to. I’m such an idiot.
“What happened?” Izzy asks.
I shake my head. “Just a guy in the VIP room sort of shook me up.”
She rolls her eyes. “Pete and Nora lay down the rules when they book privates, but the guys still think they’re going to get some. It happens all the time.”
I’m not going to tell her it was me who thought I might get some. “Yeah. Thanks.” I move to the sofa and sit, unlacing my boots.
“You going to be okay?” she asks. “I could stay.”
I look up at her. “No. I’m fine. Really. Just embarrassed.”
She tips her head at me and gives me a sympathetic squint. “Don’t take anything that happens here too personally.”
Including clients. It’s my fault for thinking it could get personal. “That’s good advice.”
She pulls open the door. “Make sure Marcus walks you to your car.”
“I teach self-defense at the women’s shelter in Fremont. I’ll be fine.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?”
I nod. “I have a brown belt in karate.”
“I’ll have to get in on some of that action,” she says, eyes bright in her dark face.
I pull off my boots and stand. “The classes are open to anyone, so you could definitely come if you wanted.”
“Yeah, definitely.” She steps into the doorway. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
My shaking has slowed and I can breathe again. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks.”
“ ’Kay. See you tomorrow.” She slips out and I just stand here for a really long time, staring after her.
Harrison is a mistake I’m going to learn from. After tonight, I can forget about him, but I’m not going to let myself forget this happened. If I ever feel myself lusting after a client, I’m going to remember the humiliation of this moment. I’m not going to feel like this ever again.
Chapter Eight
“YOU HAVE TO remember that most guys are going to be stronger, and they’re going to outweigh you,” I tell the small group of women in the multipurpose room at the women’s shelter. The room is cold and smells like wet cardboard and something sour, but most of the women here have a reason to want to learn to defend themselves, so they don’t seem to mind. “You need to use every advantage you can find. When you’re defending yourself against an attack, anything is fair. There’s no such thing as ‘fighting dirty.’ My job is to teach you an attacker’s weaknesses and how to use them to your fullest advantage.”