Strapless

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The elevator doors glided open. Darcie and the sheep farmer entered the car. He punched his floor, she punched her button…so to speak…then with his hand catching hers, he nailed her up against the rail along the wall. His gold signet ring clinked against the wood. Darcie still wore his Akubra hat when his mouth lowered to her throat. His warm breath sent a thrill of lust from the roots of her hair to her too-high shoes, toes cramped like her uterus into a suddenly too-tight space.

His hands began to roam. "So you're in retail.""It's a new job," she said. "I'm not sure I'll be able to do it."He drew back to smile at her. "You're drongo. Funny, that is."Or did the slang mean idiot? Darcie's Big Night in Sydney Goes Belly Up."Funny in a good way." He moved in again, his lips trailing along the column of her neck to the first button on her white silk blouse. "You're…" A big, pathetic joke with jet lag, PMS, she thought, and no chance now of getting "close" tonight. "Sexy as hell," he finished, a reprieve.Darcie's legs went weak. She leaned her head back farther to give him access to her throat. His mouth swept across the hollow there, down to her breasts, into the slight cleft that passed for cleavage—when she wore the right bra. She wasn't.And for a moment Darcie's sensible side prevailed. Walt [her boss] was upstairs. They were here to work. In any case she shouldn't take a stranger to her room. Was she nuts? Always naïve to the core, she couldn't help asking. "You're not a serial killer? An axe murderer." A chain saw maniac.His tongue whisked along the valley of her breasts."Like I'd tell you." At the droll statement she could feel him smile against her skin. He lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. "Which floor are you on?""Uh, thirty-three." He took her mouth, sent the words inside. His husky tone. "I'm on thirty-one. Let's go there. It's closer." Her pulse soared like the rising elevator and Darcie stopped finding reasons to resist. Hell, take a chance…

In his room she had a quick impression of light wood, buttercream walls, the frosted celadon green glass door of the bathroom—like her own room two floors up. Before she breathed again, he had her plastered to the mirrored closet doors in the entryway. Still kissing, her borrowed Akubra tilting to one side, he caught her hips in his hands and bumped against her, better than Gran had said....