About That Night by Beth Andrews

unsteady.
    He couldn’t look away as she rose onto her knees and kissed him. He wound that magnificent hair around his hands, held on as she lowered herself and took him into her body.
    Her lips parted on a sound of wonder, and he clenched his fingers, tugging her head back. She was hot and tight and wet for him. She began to move, rocking slowly against him, her hands on his chest, her fingers curled as if seeking purchase. He let her set the pace until he couldn’t stand it any longer.
    Gripping her waist, he thrust into her, again and again, going harder, faster, deeper. Their bodies grew slick with sweat, and she made low, throaty moans that drove him crazy. She rode him, her hips pumping until she tightened around him, her back arched, her eyes closed as she came.
    While Ivy was still in the throes of climax, he wrapped his arm around her and flipped her onto her back.
    “Look at me,” he demanded, moving inside her.
    Her eyes opened and he held her gaze as he quickened his pace. His body tensed and, with a low shout, he emptied himself in her.
    * * *
    H E WASN’T A man to overindulge.
    Hell, he wasn’t a man to indulge, period.
    C.J. snorted at that thought as he woke up hours later, his eyes still closed. Many would disagree, seeing as how he owned a penthouse apartment in Houston, a ranch he rarely got to outside Denver, more cars than one man needed in a lifetime and various other toys, including a boat he’d been on once and his own small airplane.
    Which he fully intended to learn how to fly one day.
    So, yes, one could say he indulged in material things, but he didn’t indulge in risks. Couldn’t afford to when he had so many people to look out for. When he had so much to lose.
    But he’d indulged last night. Had given in to desire and had taken Ivy to bed.
    He couldn’t even regret it. Not when it had been everything he’d imagined and more.
    He picked up his phone from the bedside table and glanced at the time. Not even five. He heard her moving around in the bathroom, told himself he needed to get up, get showered and shaved. He could order room service, work on the proposal sitting on the desk, make a few phone calls before his ten o’clock flight back to Houston.
    But he could hardly kick Ivy out. He didn’t have a lot of experience with one-night stands, but he knew better than to try to get rid of a woman before she was ready to leave. Still, he needed her gone.
    If only because he wanted her to stay.
    Ivy stepped out of the bathroom, the light illuminating her shape before she shut the door, enclosing the room in darkness again. He waited, hearing her move carefully, and realized she wasn’t coming back to bed.
    She was leaving.
    He sat up and turned on the lamp. She whirled around, her shoes in her hand, and he saw a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. But then she blinked, and he wondered if he’d imagined the whole thing.
    “Sorry,” she said, her voice still sleep roughened. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
    “Obviously,” he said, wondering why he was so pissed that she’d been ready to sneak out like a thief in the night. “Not going to say goodbye?”
    She studied him. She should have looked haggard—neither of them had gotten a lot of sleep last night. After they’d had sex the first time, they’d both dozed, but he’d woken up hard for her not two hours later. Still, there were no dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was a shiny mass waving softly around her shoulders, her face clean of makeup.
    His groin tightened. Hell, would he ever get enough of her?
    “I’m not big on goodbyes,” she finally said. “And like I said, I didn’t want to wake you.”
    “I’m up now.” In more ways than one, har har. He patted the bed. “Come here.”
    She tipped her head. “I don’t think so.”
    He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. Then again, she’d been right when she’d told the teenage waitress he wasn’t used to being turned down. “Excuse me?”
    Balancing