Her Perfect Stranger. Jill Shalvis

when it came to women.

      But the truth was, much of that bad-boy rep was hype, at least in the past few years, when he’d been far too busy to live up to it.

      Through the dark, he glanced at her over his shoulder and found her watching him. He squeezed her hand and smiled.

      She returned both the squeeze and the smile, and his body actually twitched with excitement. With any luck at all, his fantasy and reality were going to commingle tonight.

      They crossed the large, noisy lobby carefully, winding their way through the unsettled crowd.

      “Are all these people stranded?” she wondered aloud.

      Mike didn’t stop, but squeezed her hand again. “Looks like it.”

      “This is terrible.”

      It was, and he felt badly, too, but not enough to invite more up to share his room. In the midst of work, work, work, he’d somehow found a little something for himself. Frivolous. Dangerous even, considering the day and age and all the problems associated with recreational sex, but there was something about this woman that told him she was different.

      A soft glow from various lanterns and candles lit the way to the elevators, which of course weren’t working. There were people there, too, staring with dismay at the closed doors.

      Mike’s room was on the sixth floor.

      It could have been worse, far worse. “We have to take the stairs,” he said regretfully, pulling her up beside him. He felt bad, though not for himself. Given the physical demands of his job, not to mention the rigorous training he was constantly put through, he could take the stairs in two minutes without breaking a sweat.

      But she wouldn’t find it so easy. Her wet skirt, while not skimpy by any means, had to be confining, and those heels…well, they showed off her mouthwatering legs, but they couldn’t be comfortable. In the dim light, her damp hair shone. Her skin did, too, along with her eyes, which were filled with deep, dark mysteries. “Six flights of stairs,” he added apologetically.

      She murmured noncommittally.

      “We’ll take it slow,” he assured her, and could have sworn she laughed. But when he peered through the dark at her face, she was smiling slightly.

      “Ready when you are,” she said.

      When he opened the door to the stairwell, an inky blackness greeted them. To reassure the woman next to him, he once again took her hand. “Don’t worry,” he said, pulling from his pocket a pen that was also a flashlight. When he flicked it on, she looked at him in surprise.

      “You actually carry a flashlight? In your pocket?”

      Yes, he carried a flashlight. And a hand-held electronic organizer. And a state-of-the-art cell phone that could download from the net and retrieve his e-mail. He was a techno-geek and couldn’t help himself, but in his defense, he’d spent years and years in Russia, far from his home country. His toys somehow made him feel closer.

      “You must be an engineer,” she decided.

      “I am not.”

      Her lips were curved, her eyes lit with humor, and she was so beautiful she took his breath away.

      “Are you sure?” She was still teasing. “Now that I think about it, you look like one.”

      “Do you really want to know?” he asked softly, suddenly wanting to tell her about himself, wanting to hear all about her in return. It was silly, dangerous even, because with that additional emotional connection, he knew whatever they shared this night was bound to be the most powerful affair he’d ever had.

      She stared at him, searched deep in his eyes for God knew what. And then, finally, she shook her head. “It’s tempting,” she whispered regretfully, lifting her hand to gently touch his mouth. “But no. I don’t want to know.”

      For a long moment he didn’t move, hoping, wishing she’d change her mind, but then the moment passed and he forced a smile. “I like to be prepared,” he said, directing the flashlight ahead of them. And please, God, let me be “prepared” with a condom in my shaving kit.

      “Prepared.” She let out a little laugh, again a slightly rusty sound, as if she didn’t do it often, and he smiled back.

      Make that a box of condoms, he thought.

      They started up the stairs. At the top of the first flight, Mike paused. “Need a rest?”

      “After one flight of stairs?” She shook her head. “Tell me I don’t look that fragile to you.”

      She was petite but not frail, not with all those wonderful curves and a face so full of life. “You don’t look fragile to me,” he said after a good long look that stirred his body.

      “Smart answer.”

      They climbed another flight, and when Mike again paused at the top, she lifted a brow. “Do you need to rest?”

      He smiled and they started on the next flight, but at a burst of wild laughter ahead of them, he once again slowed to a stop. Sprawled across the stairs, two men were sharing a flask of what had to be pretty potent stuff, given their wide, slack, idiotic grins.

      “Looksy there,” one said, slurring his words as he nudged the man next to him. “Now that’s the way to pass the time, matey.” The drunk leered at Mike and gave an exaggerated wink. “Don’t need to tell you to keep warm, huh? You’ve got your heating blankie right there with you.”

      Both men laughed uproariously, and as they did, slipped down a few stairs, to fall together in a heap. It made them laugh even harder.

      “Feeling no pain, I see.” Mike stepped over them and helped her do the same.

      The next flight of stairs began the same way, but then they heard a strange, heated moaning, then rapid panting. Mike didn’t know what he expected to find. A fight, maybe. Someone stabbed or shot, someone in labor…he couldn’t tell from the frightening sounds. He was prepared for anything, though, and tried to keep the woman behind him to protect her.

      But she refused to be kept there, even for her own good. She evaded his hands and stayed stubbornly by his side.

      The sounds came from a couple, and it wasn’t a fight or severe wounds, as he’d feared, but a wild mating. Clothes were half torn off both of them. They were writhing together against the wall, and given the scream of pleasure that tore from the woman’s lips, they were also deep in the throes of orgasm.

      Mike looked at “Lola,” but she didn’t close her eyes or seem embarrassed. She just stared at the couple in front of them, as if mesmerized.

      They had a perfect view. The woman was wedged up against the wall; the man could touch and grab at will, which he was doing. Her breasts were bare, and bouncing wildly in the man’s face, which elicited plenty of encouraging groans from both of them. His hands snaked up her skirt, where he held her hips so that he could thrust into her, time and time again.

      “Now! Now!” she shrieked. “Oh, Billy, now!”

      “Yeah,” said Billy as he pounded into her. “Yeah, baby.”

      “Ohh.” Breasts jiggled. Her bottom bounced. Skin slapped against skin. “Oh, Billy, I’m going to come again!”

      “Yeah, baby. Me, too.”

      Together they let out more shrieks and cries, and then moaning gutturally, they slumped together.

      The woman standing next to Mike let out a strangled sound of her own. “Can we get past them, do you think?”

      She sounded…breathless, and her palm in his had gotten warm. Almost sweaty.

      Mike knew the feeling. He had never considered himself voyeuristic, but witnessing this couple, with Lola beside him, his desire kicked up a degree. He was so hot, so hard and so unbelievably ready he could hardly nod. “Come