Entangled Desires

"Fuck, which room is it?" Blair inquired, her impatience gnawing at her.

"Two, zero, one."

She tottered alongside the hottie she'd picked up at Earl's Bar, gripping his arm. She was hot. She had an itch that needed to be scratched. And Alec-or was it Anders?-had given every indication that he'd be up for it.

He was more than willing, and he was also pretty sexy.

She examined a numbered plate before motioning left at the end of the corridor. "That way...Alec."

"It's Anders," he said, almost growling. "My name is Anders."

"Of course, sure. Let's go to the minibar, Anders."

As they rounded the corner, he placed his strong arm around her waist, virtually lifting her off the ground. "We've had enough to drink, there's more important cravings to satisfy, don't you think?"

She laughed, relishing the sensation of being pressed against his hot, firm body. She could feel the contour of his torso through his black cotton shirt, and gosh, she was going to be astonished when she saw it.

"Do you visit London frequently?" she inquired. Maybe they could meet up again if he was a decent shag.

"Occasionally." His tone was stern.

"So when are you next in town?"

They came to a standstill before room twenty-one. He took a key card from his black leather wallet. "Not for a while."

"Why? "Are you going on vacation?"

"Work." He pushed open the door with the flat of his palm. His brow was furrowed, and his black eyes were narrowed. He motioned for her to enter.

"What is it you do again?" He'd been evasive when she'd inquired before.

"I told you, security."

"Ah yes." She walked in, and the door shut with a thunderous click the instant she passed him.

She was locked up against him the next thing she knew. His mouth collided with hers, and he gasped, clearly relieved to be giving in to his wants.

Blair pressed in. He could taste the peaty whisky he'd just drank, as well as a hot, eager man. Her stomach clenched and her panties were dampened by a thrill-her barista job at Grind 'n' Go had long forgotten.

"Fuck, you're a sexy bitch," he muttered as he kissed her cheek and clasped her right breast over her top.

She was out of breath and her heart was pounding, so she kicked off her stilettos and went for his shirt, tugging it from the waistline of his black jeans with quick, frenzied movements.

"If you want to call a halt..." he blurted out, "say so now 'cause I'm nearly at the point of no return."

She yanked up his shirt.

"I don't want to call a halt, and if you stop, I'll kill you."

"Huh, you can try." He took a step back, removed his shirt, and tossed it into the velvety shadows. He dragged his belt through the buckle, shattering it.

Fuck! Her eyes were drawn down to his physique. He was in great shape. She'd struck gold. His shoulders and chest were broad, his biceps bulged, and his abs were as thick as a brick wall. On his right pec, he had a dark tattoo of a dagger with a snake coiled around the blade.

"Strip," he grumbled, shoving his trousers down his legs. His Calvin Klein boxers were black as well. "Unless you want your clothes ripped to shreds."

Blair didn't need to be reminded twice. She pulled her electric-blue silk shirt off and shoved at her leather trousers. When they took longer to remove than she had planned, she felt a feeling of frustration wash over her.

But he was there, hunched over and pulled on them, yanking them over her toes.