She relaxed in his arms. “I work for a nonprofit group providing microloans to single mothers in third-world countries.”
“I’ve heard of those organizations,” he said, trying to recall the details. “I actually talked to someone about that recently. Can’t remember who.”
Her throat worked visibly as she swallowed, and he felt her tension rise again “Well, it’s a great cause,” she said quietly. “But surely not as exciting as what you do.”
“It’s not about the excitement. Someone needs to hold these liars and fraudsters accountable. Just because they have power, or money or a ‘good reason’ doesn’t excuse the damage they do.”
She blanched and he realized he’d gone too far. “Sorry, I get a little wound up. I’ve been told I have ‘trust issues.’”
“I can understand that, after what happened to your friend. Maybe we shouldn’t talk shop.”
“Okay, no work stuff. So, are you ready to give me your name?”
“Let’s say I prefer to be a woman of mystery tonight.”
He frowned.
“Is that a deal-breaker?”
He considered it, already suspecting one night with her wouldn’t be enough. He’d definitely want to know how to reach her later. But the night was young, and if it ended up where he hoped it would, she’d still be in his arms in the morning. There would be time for details, he had no doubt. For now, the pulsating music, the eroticism of her sultry voice, the lights shining on her red hair, the blood-red remnants of her drink on her lips, the innate hunger...they were enough. Most definitely.
“No. Not a deal-breaker. I doubt you could say anything that would be.”
One corner of her sexy mouth curved up in a tiny smile, and she gave a throaty chuckle. “Never say never.”
Something came to mind. “You’re not married, right?”
“Completely unattached.”
He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Good.”
“You?” she asked.
“Nope. I’ve been told I’m not marriage material.”
She sneered. “Told by some woman who wanted you to commit before you were ready?”
“That’s pretty perceptive.”
“It’s in the female phrasebook.”
“I need to get one of those.”
“That’ll cost you more than a nickel. State secrets and all.”
“I should already have one, considering I had a bunch of girls around growing up.”
She stiffened slightly in his arms.
“Is family a touchy subject we are supposed to avoid, like witches and going back to my place for a drink?”
“No. I’m just picturing you as a kid.”
“Don’t bother. I was a born loser.”
“I don’t believe that,” she said, suddenly vehement.
“If the word ‘geek’ is in that handbook of yours, my picture’s beside it.”
“Well, I bet the girls you grew up with feel pretty stupid now,” she whispered.
“I doubt it,” he replied, remembering his gawkiest years, when he’d been a skinny, uncoordinated sad-sack. “They wouldn’t recognize me if they fell over me today.”
She mumbled something that he couldn’t catch—something like I know what you mean—which was interesting. Because he had a hard time picturing her ever being anything but gorgeous, and she was unforgettable. He would never forget that smile.
“It’s all right,” he told her. “Believe me, I’m not carrying around any angst from my childhood. Though, I do avoid going back to my small hometown as much as possible.”
She cleared her throat. “You never go home to see your family because of the way other kids treated you?”
“Nah. I go once in a while, not for a few years, though. I’m busy traveling. My parents meet up with me sometimes—last year they came to Berlin when I was on assignment. And I should see my kid sister more now since she just started grad school here in D.C. this semester.”
“Your sister is in the city?” She nibbled her lip. “Where does she go to school?”
“Sarah goes to American University.”
She stopped dancing. “So does La...um, so does somebody I know. Small world.”
“Yeah,” he said, meaning it. He’d traveled enough of it to know. “Can we be done talking about our childhoods and our families now?”
“Oh, yes, please!”
“Good. Let’s get back to discussing how red your lips are.”
“Were we discussing that?”
“If we weren’t, we should have been.”
Her tongue flicked out and moistened those sensual lips, and he had to clench his teeth as the temperature went up another ten degrees.
“I wasn’t lying. I am going to have to kiss you soon.”
Her throat visibly worked as she swallowed. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Does it matter?”
He didn’t give her a chance to answer; he couldn’t wait anymore. Those red lips were driving him crazy, and he had to taste her or go completely mental right here on the dance floor. So without warning, he bent and caught her mouth with his. Her lips parted right away, warm, hungry and welcoming, and he kissed her deeply, tasting cherry, whiskey and woman.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight, tilting her head and pressing even closer. Her tongue swept against his, thrusting, demanding, and he answered every thrust, each demand. She was sweet and hot, and every cell in his body came to attention, all electricity, fire and need.
Their heartbeats matched, racing, and the kiss went deeper, hotter, wetter. He sunk his hands into her thick, curling hair, and she grabbed his hips, tugging him hard against her, until his hardening cock was nestled low against her belly. They were surrounded in the club, but he didn’t give a damn. He felt as though he needed her mouth to provide the very air in his lungs. Kissing her was like diving head first into a deep well filled with nothing but pleasure and excitement, and he had to forcibly pull his mouth away when he realized they were soon going to reach the point where it would be too agonizing to stop.
When it finally ended, they remained close, his forehead pressed against hers, both of them panting. He was rock-hard against her and she ground against him instinctively, as if her body had already made the decision she hadn’t yet voiced.
“You ready to go get that drink at my place?” he asked, hearing the hoarse need in his own voice.
If she said no, he might just have to go into the bathroom and jerk off. If she said yes, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it across the room and out the door without putting a bag over his crotch.
“I don’t usually do this,” she said, as if worried he might think less of her. But how could he, when he was barely capable of thought at all?
“Honestly? Neither do I.”
“So we’re both feeling reckless tonight?”
He scraped his knuckles against her jaw, brushing his thumb over her well-kissed lips. “Maybe it’s because there’s just magic and madness in the air.”
“You