That Wild Night. Aimee Carson

grabbed the condom he’d tossed up by the pillow and tore open the foil.

      “I can’t wait,” she panted, her hands trembling as she began rolling the latex down his more than ready shaft.

      “No more waiting,” he agreed, positioning himself between her legs so he was notched at her slick opening.

      Their eyes met, and he pushed inside her with the first shallow thrust. It nearly killed him to pull back, but he wasn’t a small man and Darcy—heaven help him, she was so very tight. So he went slowly, carefully, penetrating by degrees until sweat beaded over his brow and his jaw clenched and finally he took her the way he needed to. Completely.

      And then he was sliding full-length in and out of Darcy’s tight, wet heat, letting her soft moans and broken breath lead him down the decadent path to her pleasure, answering the needy clutch of her body when he touched her just right, reveling in the helpless surrender of her eyes when he held her at the brink—

      “Tell me what you want.”

      “Please, Jeff,” she gasped, her heels digging at the back of his thigh as she urged him toward the contact he wouldn’t give her until she gave him what he wanted first.

      “Say it. Tell me and I’ll give you anything.”

      Looking into his eyes, she gave up her fight for control, let her knees slide farther up his ribs and whispered, “Make me come.”

      And then firmly he pushed her into oblivion…making sure not to follow himself. He wasn’t close to done with this woman.

      * * *

      Breathless. Boneless. Stunned and sated, Darcy lay within the damp sheets blinking at the ceiling as her body and mind worked in frantic concert to pull all the shattered bits of her back into some semblance of their previous working order. This wasn’t the way she was supposed to feel. Like something monumental had occurred. Like there’d been a sudden unexpected shift in her life. Like she’d had her first taste of incredible and from that point forward, nothing again would compare.

      Because this was a one-night stand.

      A date gone past midnight with a man who most definitely wasn’t her Prince Charming.

      It was a one-off.

      A last fling, because Jeff might be gorgeous, fun and devastating in bed…but he wasn’t offering her more than a good time.

      They’d spent hours laughing and talking and working up to this last brash act, and for all the chemistry between them, for each glint in his eye that told her he was having as much fun as she was, there was another opportunity left untaken when he might have suggested the possibility of more. Asked about another date. Implied he was even considering something beyond a single night of simply killing time together.

      The man was smooth. Slick. And just because he had the ability to make her act out of character didn’t mean tonight was anything out of the norm for him. For all she knew, Jeff hit a new bar each week, making his Friday night special the most hard-to-get girl in the place.

      “Darcy, Darcy, Darcy.” Her name, rumbling against her neck like pebbled kisses, pushed all thoughts from her mind but one. It didn’t matter what Jeff did every other Friday night. This one he’d shared with her had been perfect.

      Jeff lifted his head, pushing up on his arms to ease the weight of his body over hers—a weight she hadn’t been ready to give up and felt the immediate loss of as cool air slipped between the growing space between them.

      Backing off the bed, he got sidetracked by her breast, which he stopped to kiss once at the side, then again on her nipple before casting her a wicked grin as he finished his retreat. “Give me a minute, sweetheart. Don’t go anywhere.”

      She watched him walk to the bathroom and close the door behind him. Heard the muffled sound of the running tap and waited as the seconds ticked past.

      Alone in the bed, she glanced around at the suite, noting the luxurious accommodations for the first time. It seemed extravagant. Frivolous.

      Sure it wasn’t like he had sixteen rooms, but a suite, for one man through two nights?

      The moments stretched by. The water was still running.

      Beginning to feel somewhat self-conscious she reached for the sheet at the side of the bed, but came back with a handful of blouse instead.

       Don’t go anywhere…

      She looked at the sliver of light breaking beneath the door and then at the shirt in her grasp.

       Don’t go anywhere…

      Five minutes ago she wouldn’t even have considered it. She would have flopped back on the bed relishing the full-body fatigue that was the result of Jeff’s thorough attention.

      Obviously, she wouldn’t have planned to stay forever. But she wouldn’t have considered up and leaving while he was in the other room, either.

      Except then he’d gone and said it, and a thousand and one thoughts started pushing into her mind. They’d had sex. It was over. And though Jeff might not want her to run off that second, it was obvious from his words he expected her to go shortly. Which made perfect sense, this being what it was. A little meaningless fun.

      But as she sat in the middle of his big bed, the heat of their intimacy dissipated into the air around her, what had happened between them still fresh and tender in her mind—so good—she wanted to protect the memory of it. This night had been a gift to herself. And she didn’t want to risk the simple perfection of it being lessened by Jeff’s inevitable dismissal.

      Chances were, he’d be as adept at a goodbye as he’d been with everything else. And yet rather than wait, she found herself pulling on her shirt. Dragging the sheet off the bed with her as she sifted through the blast radius of discarded clothing, darting glances at the bathroom door as the water continued to run.

      She didn’t want to be the one clinging to their last minute together. The one waiting to be excused.

      She’d known what she was getting with Jeff from the start. A few hours of fun. He’d made sure she understood back at the bar.

      Another look at the clock.

      It’s why he’d chosen her in the first place. Because he’d recognized she had the sense not to get ideas where they didn’t belong.

      * * *

      Jeff gripped the marble countertop, staring at his reflection as he tried to pull himself together and figure out what to say.

      Damn it, he always knew what to say. But he’d been off his game since about minute one with Darcy. Closing his mouth around a tongue inexplicably tied up over a girl he couldn’t quite figure out. And hadn’t had nearly enough of.

      That’s where his head had been when he dragged himself out of bed, walked into the bathroom with the intent to clean up and then come back with an offer of…something.

      Something more than the cursory “thanks for the great time, have a nice life” that generally came as standard with the kind of night they’d just indulged in.

      He liked her. Liked the way she made him laugh and her unique perspective on—well, hell—everything. Sure she lived in Vegas, and this wasn’t exactly a typical stopover for him. But if she was receptive, he’d been thinking about making it one. Or better yet, swinging by to pick her up and bring her down to L.A. once in a while. For an overnight or maybe even a weekend.

      That’s where his head had been until he looked down to discover the condom he’d been using had failed in a no-maybe-about-it kind of way.

      Now? He was trying to figure out how to break the news to Darcy, rolling through the scenarios, imagining what he was going to see on her face when he told her. Accusation, fear, dread.

      The idea he would cause her any of those things was like a blow to the gut. He wasn’t that