Off Limits (17 page)

I
have butterflies
. Yes, I know that’s so fucking cliché. I haven’t had them since I was sixteen and going to my first prom.

But I’ve got a bad case now, and no amount of checking and re-checking myself in the mirror is helping. I went with a simple outfit—slip dress, clingy but not too tight—revealing, but not too, paired with drop earrings and a simple pendant necklace. And, of course, my usual heels, though a slightly more glittery pair for tonight than I’d wear to the office.

Now, five minutes before Max is due to pick me up outside, I’m worrying I went
too
simple. He didn’t exactly tell me what the plan is tonight, after all. What if he picked somewhere fancy? What if I should be wearing a longer dress, or something more flowy? Or what if it’s not fancy at all, what if I should’ve just gone with dressy jeans and a cute top?

Oh god. I reach for my bedroom door, debating a change, when the door buzzer sounds.

Too late.

“You’re fine,” I tell my reflection. She frowns back at me. “Hell no. You’re more than fine. You’re
damn
fine.”

I don’t actually believe myself, but it’s nice to hear me say it sometimes.

I grab the clutch that goes with my dress, and take the stairs down to the front door slowly, sedately. It gives me a little bit more time to breathe deeply and try to clear the butterflies dancing around my stomach.

But the moment I pull the door wide open, they’re back in full force, fluttering around my insides, their wings tickling my belly so bad it almost feels like nervous indigestion.

Because
wow,
Max looks amazing. He pulled out all the stops in a sport coat and tie, though I notice the pattern on his tie is dozens of tiny moustaches.

He grins at me. “Can’t exactly wear this one in the office,” he says with a shrug.

I reach out to tug on it gently, before I smile up at him. “I love it. You look great.”

His hands run up my bare arms to rest on my shoulders, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my skin in his wake. “Not as great as you.” He drops both hands to my waist to pull me against him. “I could eat you up,” he murmurs, and thrill rockets up my spine.

“You know, we don’t have to go out.” I run my hands around his waist, gripping his ass, and squeeze. “We could always just stay here. Enjoy the quiet.” I grin. “Eat in.”

His hands drop lower, cupping my ass in turn to draw my body closer to his and immediately, his cock swells against me. “As tempting as that is . . .” He leans down to press his lips to the spot just below my ear, sucking gently, and my knees threaten to buckle beneath me. “I have plans for us,” he whispers, breath hot on my skin.

Then, without warning, he slaps my ass and walks away from me, out the door.

I laugh as I catch my breath and trail after him. Looks like he held onto his rental car from the weekend, the same little sporty convertible is parked out front. “Are you planning on buying this?” I tease him as I slide into the front seat.

“Just making sure we get our money’s worth.” He winks as he positions himself in the driver’s seat.

As we drive, he refuses to answer any of my questions. "You won't even give me a hint about where we're going?" I try on my best pout.

Max remains unmoved. "That would spoil it."

I squint out the window instead. "Hmm. Looks like it's downtown, maybe?"

"You'll see," he replies with a smirk.

"You're enjoying torturing me, aren't you?" I roll my eyes.

"I definitely enjoyed torturing you last night." His grin widens. "You didn't seem to be complaining either."

"I . . . maybe," I admit, then stick my tongue out at him when he glances my direction. "But I'll never admit it in court."

"Hmm, we'll just have to see about that when you’re back in the hot seat later tonight." His dimples deepen with a devilish smile.

Not gonna lie, just the mention of later tonight has me squirming in my seat. Or it might be the fact that he looks completely delicious in that suit. I want to eat him up right here and now. I slide my hand across the seats, brush my fingertips over his wrist on the gear shift, and then let my hand trail along his thigh, higher and higher until I reach the beginning of an impressive erection. "Why wait, when we could have dessert first?"

His eyes flash to mine, hungry. But he pauses at a stop light to tap the back of my hand gently. "It wouldn't be torture if I gave you everything you wanted right away, now would it?"

"What about everything
you
want?" I ask, moving my hand to cup the bulge straining behind the zipper of his dress pants.

“Everything I want is right here beside me.” His eyes find mine, hold them for a long, breathless second. My stupid heart has started to pound again, and I can’t seem to look away from him, or to stop the dangerously sharp feeling rising in my chest.

Does he really mean that?

Do I?

And why does it feel so good to hear him say it?

“Cheesy,” I finally murmur, when I remember to breathe.

He turns back to the road with a shrug. “That’s me. Better get used to it. I’m a closet romantic at heart.”

The banter does a good job of distracting me. Not to mention, it’s gratifying to watch him subtly shift in his seat, adjusting to compensate for the erection I caused. I’m enjoying the sight of my handiwork so much that I hardly realize where we are until he turns into a short turnaround and shuts off the car. Before either of us can move, valets swoop in to open the doors for each of us, one of the valets extending his hand to accept Max's keys.

I recognize the hotel we're parked outside of, one of the most expensive in the city. Paul's higher-caliber clients stay here when they fly in for meetings, though none of my cases so far have warranted quite this high an expense report.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, but Max is already slipping my hand into his and gently leading me across the sidewalk, up the steps, down a long, grandly carpeted hallway inside. I rack my brain trying to remember what I know about this hotel, but it's not much. "If your grand date idea is to rent a hotel room in which you plan to seduce me," I warn him, speaking slowly and seriously enough that he glances over his shoulder to catch my eye. Only then do I let myself grin. "I've got to say, I'm fine with that."

He smirks, and tugs my hand to draw me alongside him, where he then loops his arm around my waist and squeezes my hip. "Much as I'd enjoy demolishing a strange hotel room with you, Chlo, that will have to wait for another night."

"Then why on earth—” I start to say, but I break off as we round a corner in the corridor, and face what lies at the end of it. Now I can't help but laugh. "A tiki bar? That's your idea of a romantic good time?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

He unwraps his arm from around my waist as we reach the entrance, and holds the door for me. "First of all, don't knock it until you try it. Second of all, trust me, you're gonna love this place.”

The moment we step into the room, I blink in surprise. This place really took the theme to the next level: a vast ship floats in the middle of the room atop a dimly lit blue pool, bobbing slightly on its moorings. A few tables are dotted across the deck of the ship, while others surround the pool on a wooden dock-style floor. Every table has a thatched roof over it, making each one look like a little hut on some sort of beach oasis. The room is dimly lit in blues and greens, but there's enough light for me to see a band setting up on a small stage above the ship's deck, and the illuminated fountain splashing away happily in the pool beside the ship.

"I figured this place would make a great follow-up to our first date, the mad mushroom house," he murmurs in my ear, and I have to stifle a completely unladylike snort as the hostess arrives.

"Mr. Davis.” She flashes him a smile. "Right this way."

She leads us up a gangplank onto the ship itself, to one of the tables that line the edge of the small deck. From here, we have a clear view of the band, the pool, and the other tiki tables down on the main deck.

"Next storm starts in a minute," she says, "So you might want to keep your purse on the inside of the deck," she adds to me.

She leaves us with the menus and heads back down the plank before I can respond, so I lift both eyebrows in Max's direction instead. "I'm sorry, the next
what
?"

"Ah, yes, well, that's the best part." He grins as he flips open the menu. "What will you be having, Chlo?”

"Hang on, what storm did she mean?" I interrupt. "Is that the band?"

He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to, as it turns out. The moment I ask, a flash of lightning bolts across the ceiling, followed by a low rumble of thunder, not loud enough to be frightening, but enough to let you know what's about to happen.

"Are you serious?" I half laugh, half roll my eyes, as it begins to rain. Inside.

Water pours from sprinklers in the ceiling, raining down in great gusts into the pool below. A faint mist brushes my shoulder closest to the pool, and I lean further under the thatched roof instinctively. But Max is laughing and reaching out to catch the rain, so after a moment, I extend my arm as well, grinning as cool droplets splash on my palm.

"This is so cheesy," I call to him over the sound of the thunderstorm above.

"I did warn you that I'm cheesy," he responds with a knowing grin, which sets off those damn dimples to perfection. "Admit it, you like the cheddar."

Laughing, I twist my hand through the rain, collect a handful of water to flick in his direction. "It's not bad." I grin. "I do love thunderstorms."

"I miss them." He sighs, softly, and I tilt my head, watching him. "We don't get them here like we did back home."

"Where was home?"

"Oh, tiny town in Virginia. We moved when I was twelve, and thank god, because I might've gone crazy growing up in that place. But I'll always miss the storms rolling in at night." He's watching the ceiling with an almost wistful look, and I follow his gaze as another flash of lightning bursts over the room.

We're so lost in the rain that we both startle when our waitress appears for our drink orders. Max asks for another minute as we both force our attentions back to the menu.

"Want to split one?" I ask him as I scan the multi-person cocktails available. "There's some kind of punch that comes inside a coconut, made with four different types of rum."

His leg catches mine under the table, his foot brushing along my calf. "You know you don't have to get me drunk to sleep with you, right, Chlo? I’m a sure thing where you’re concerned.”

I tangle my leg around his. "No, but it's a nice bonus."

"Alas, you’re on your own, Little Miss Tipsy, since I'm driving,” he teases. Our waitress reappears at his elbow, and Max taps on the menu. "Do you have a single-person version of this coconut death trap? Great, the lady will be having that, and I'll have a ginger beer."

We order food too, and I let him do the choosing. Normally I'm picky about what I like, but he orders us half the menu, so I won't be starved for options.

"You really think we can eat all that?" I ask when he's finished listing most of the appetizers.

"Well not with an attitude like that we won't!"

For a kitschy tiki bar, this place actually has fabulous food. We sample our way through half their seafood offerings, along with a few Hawaiian specialties that I’ve never tried before, like taro root dumplings and coconut tuna poke. By the time the waitress comes back to collect our appetizer plates, he’s right, and we’ve managed to clear most of them.

Also, the coconut death trap drink has begun to kick in, lending the whole room a pleasant buzz. The buzz intensifies when Max leans forward, the tips of his fingers brushing my knee. I freeze, fixing my eyes on him and lifting one eyebrow slightly in response.

He grins, his fingers trailing farther up my leg, along my bare skin.

I reach out with one foot to run my heel up the back of his calf, and he uses the lift of my leg to his advantage, sliding his hand under my thigh, past the hem of my dress now.

My eyes go wide, and I glance around the restaurant. The table is fairly secluded, but there’s only the thin railing of the ship to separate us from the rest of the room. If someone looked up from the dockside tables below, they could definitely see his hand up my dress.

Max doesn’t seem to care. He scoots his chair around the table until he’s beside me, his hand trailing higher still. His fingertips brush the tops of my calves now, and I shiver, leaning toward him, unable to help the rush of desire that overcomes my senses.

He bends his lips close to my ear, almost but not quite touching me, barely a breath away. “I’ve spent all day thinking of the filthy things I plan to do to you,” he murmurs, and my lips part as I catch my breath.

My eyes snag on his. In the dim light of the restaurant, they’re the same color green as the jungle painted on the walls. Maybe that’s where his wildness comes from. “Thinking dirty thoughts at work?” I pretend to tsk, shaking my head a little, though keeping my gaze on his through the frames of my glasses. “You’re a bad man.”

He traces the crook of my leg with one fingertip, the tip of his finger dangerously close to the edge of my panties. Which, naturally, are already growing wet from his ministrations. “Very bad.” He grins. “And you belong to me tonight.”

With that, he spreads his hand flat against my me, over my panties. His thumb brushes the hard little nub of my clit, and his fingers spread across my lips. I tilt my hips up so he can touch all of me, take every inch of me he wants. Fuck whoever’s watching us—I want him right here, right now.

He circles his thumb over my clit, pressing just hard enough to send little sparks of sensation running up my body at every pass.

Then, without warning, he pulls his hand from my dress, smooths it back down, and swings his chair back around the table.

Meanwhile, I’m still breathless, my heart going a mile a minute, glaring at him over the tabletop now.

Before I can say something, the waitress reappears to collect my now-empty drink. God, my cheeks must be bright red right now.