Bitter Spirits by Jenn Bennett

Author:Jenn Bennett
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-01-07T05:00:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

AIDA LAY IN A DAZE, UNABLE TO MOVE, EVEN AS WINTER TRAILED three slow kisses between her breasts and shifted to her side. He nestled a leg between hers, and she felt his arousal, firm and hot against her thigh. Something was going to have to be done about that . . . in a second, when she could actually lift her head. When her limbs didn’t feel like they weighed a thousand pounds and the center of her wasn’t melting into the mattress.

How in God’s name had he learned to do that? Intellectually, she knew people did do that, of course—the ancient Romans, probably. The French, definitely. The women who posed for pornographic photographs that graced the postcards in Winter’s study certainly seemed fond of providing the service to men. No woman she’d ever known had mentioned anyone doing it.

Perhaps she was just lucky. Very, very lucky. She certainly felt that way, with Winter’s face hovering over hers. A mussed lock of hair rakishly fell in a dark slash over one eye. “Still with me?” he asked.

She squeezed his leg between her knees.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes,” she croaked. “I’m just . . .”

“Yes?”

“My God.”

He smiled down at her, clearly pleased with himself. “You,” he said between kisses, “are a joy”—she tasted sex on his lips—“to satisfy.”

“And I am satisfied. Was. Am. Utterly. I . . . loved it.”

“I could tell. You are vocal.”

“I couldn’t help it.”

“I know.”

“Oh, God,” she murmured. “You think anyone heard?”

“I certainly hope so. Makes me look good.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”

“Aren’t you glad?”

“Delighted,” she admitted.

He started to kiss her again but held still, listening to something. She heard it, too, out in the hallway. Loud knocks on nearby doors. People shouting. Next to the bed, the telephone rang, startling both of them.

“What the hell?” Winter mumbled, pushing himself up to reach the nightstand. He growled an agitated, “What?” into the mouthpiece. Every muscle in his face tightened as he listened for several moments. He hung up without responding. A stream of curses spilled from his mouth—half of them in what she could only assume was Swedish—while he gripped the massive bulge in his pants as if he were trying to will it away.

“What is it?” she asked.

Aida got her answer from a shouted word that shot through the hallway outside their door.

Raid.

Winter pulled her up and said, “Get dressed. Feds have already secured the restaurant and the ballroom.”

“Can’t we just wait it out up here?”

“They’re sending agents up to search the rooms.” He snatched his shirt off the floor. She watched him slip it on over his undershirt as she pushed her dress down and struggled to tie her gown’s golden cords over a shoulder. “The hotel sends booze up to rooms when guests call the front desk and ask for a ‘birthday treat,’ or some other such nonsense code.”

“But we didn’t.”

He stopped dressing for a moment and gave her a hard stare. “No, but I’m the one who supplied it to the hotel.

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