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closer. He must
have sensed it in her. He pressed their bodies together. He kissed her
again, his hands coming up
to frame her face as his mouth reclaimed hers.

He sucked at her lower lip, before teasing her mouth open, allowing him
in to taste her more intimately. She didn't realize she had moaned
until the sound rumbled in her ears. She felt small and cherished,
even beautiful. Her hair was wild, but the way he held her made her
feel as if he could hold her forever and he'd be lucky.

His hands slid down her neck to her shoulders. The heels of his hands
grazed the tops of her breasts, but not lower this time. The tips of
his fingers brushed back and forth over her collarbones as he kissed
her. She thought she would cry out in frustration before he finally
cupped her breasts in his palms.

He pressed them high, his fingers teasing the peaks, circling. She felt
his breath against her ear when he ran his tongue along the delicate
shell. Then his thumb and forefinger closed with gentle insistence over
her nipple. Pulsing once, twice, his tongue dancing the same rhythm in
her mouth. She felt everything
in the core between her legs. Hot and needy.

When she groaned, he secured her spread-eagle against the wall, his
hands touching her, worshipping her... wanting her. Cupping her hips,
he pulled her to his hardness, again and again, ever so slightly, in
that rhythm prescribed by his tongue.

She trembled, stunned by the strength of her need. His breath on her
nape was like wind to a fire.

He cupped her jaw, tilting her face to him. "I want you," he whispered.
His voice was laced with the sound of raw hunger.

"I want you, too," she answered.

And when he started to undo his belt, she reached down to help, their
fingers tangling together.

Frantic, they tugged at the buckle and leather, and the sound of the
door banging against the lock didn't reach her at first. Her world
consisted of this stranger and his hands on her bare skin. But
something
must have registered with him because he cursed and tore away from her.

With a sudden flash, she realized people must be gathered just outside
the door. She could hear them talking, some woman complaining that the
hotel shouldn't lock the only bathroom they had in the main lobby. Then
someone else who told them to step back, followed by a jangle of keys
against the lock.

"Oh, my gosh!" she gasped.

Thankfully her stranger wasn't paralyzed. He immediately whipped up her
shimmery dress, whirled her around, and had her zipped back up with the
proficiency of a dresser at a Broadway play. Just as the
keys turned in the lock, he had his own clothes back in place.

"Let me handle this," he stated, stepping in front of her to block her
from view.

He stood like a warrior, his stance wide, his features dark, his frame
massive and forbidding. If anyone could protect her from embarrassment,
this man could.

But Chloe was hardly paying attention. With her heart in her throat,
she lowered her head, tucking in
her chin. Her heart beat like a drum, pulsing through her, and the
second the door opened, she flew into action. She wheeled out from
behind him, startling the small crowd who had gathered, and dashed for
the door.

She felt badly for leaving the stranger to deal with the mess, though
not badly enough to stay. Not even the realization that she had left
her tiny purse made her hesitate. But just when she got through the
crowd, for one quick second, she looked back. He was looking at her,
his hard-chiseled face quickly shifting from surprise to anger when he
understood what she had done. A shiver of regret raced through her. He
didn't look like the type of man any sane person should anger. She
prayed she never saw him again.

She flew out of the hotel, into the wind that hadn't died down. She
felt as if she was falling farther into a kaleidoscope of scenes in her
head. Of him. Of her. Blending together in passion, then separating.
Distinct, but different. Changed.

Anxious to get away, she found her