Amanda looked around. Kes’s room was very similar to hers—recently refurbished and cozy though smallish. Her gaze fell on the bed. You couldn’t miss it if you tried, considering it occupied the lion’s share of the room. She grew a little panicky.

Calm and composed, Kes stood next to her, letting her find her bearings. He didn’t touch or kiss her. Was this normal behavior? Was this how men handled the preliminaries of casual sex, letting women take the initiative?

Her panic level went up a notch.

How did a woman tell a stranger she was about to have sex with that she was out of practice? Had Amanda been more drunk, she might have been able to go with the flow—or she might have barfed and passed out. Had she been less drunk, she wouldn’t have been here in the first place.

But as it was, she had drunk just the right amount to get herself into a delicate situation without thinking of an exit strategy. For all she knew, her gorgeous gambler would turn out to be a serial killer. Or a big-toe worshipper.

Hmm. Something told her he was neither. If the way he’d played blackjack and helped her earlier tonight was any indication, he’d be a good lover—skilled and generous.

Amanda lowered her gaze and silently thanked her Guide to Perfection for ensuring she wore silk lingerie.

Kes switched off the harsh ceiling fixture and lit the bedside lamp.

Good.

He stepped behind her and put his arms around her waist. The gesture was more friendly than passionate, and Amanda was glad for it. She wasn’t feeling very passionate right now. Her body was so tense it needed a good massage more than sex. Could Kes sense that?

He kissed the side of her neck. “I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.”

She said nothing, her muscles tensing up a little more.

He pushed her blonde strands to the side and pressed soft kisses to the back of her neck. It was pleasant, but she couldn’t relax enough to savor his ministrations. He pushed the right strap of her dress down and kissed her shoulder, sliding his hands up and down her arms. She enjoyed it, but her brain kept churning. What would he do next? He’d probably push her dress farther down to reveal her breasts.

She stiffened.

He released her from his embrace and stepped in front of her.

Still avoiding his gaze, she waited for his next move. When none came, she finally looked into his eyes.

He smiled. “How about I take everything off and you keep your clothes on for as long as you’d like?”

Really?

That sounded like a great idea. She looked him over—the delicious, tall, broad-shouldered whole of him—and licked her lips.

“Would you like that?” he asked with a crooked smile on his face.

“Now you’re talking,” she said, recovering her aplomb.

He shrugged off his fine linen jacket. One by one, he undid the buttons on the front of his shirt and removed the cufflinks. Then he pulled the shirt off. His torso was a work of art—a broad chest tapering to a six-pack stomach and narrow hips. Amanda held her breath as he unzipped his pants. With a tiny smile, he pushed them down together with his boxers, and then took off his shoes and socks in a quick, fluid movement.

And she watched.

He reminded her of Michelangelo’s David. His body was hard everywhere—yes, including there—and yet he was uncannily graceful and comfortable in his nudity.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Oh yes.”

Something feral flickered in his eyes, and a second later he was invading her space and pulling her into him. He fondled her in a delightfully indecent way. She let out a ragged sigh and gripped his strong neck. His mouth descended on hers: hungry, unapologetic.

Covering her lips with his, he ran his tongue over them. It felt wonderful. He pulled her lower lip between his teeth and bit it lightly. She gasped and closed her eyes to savor his sensual onslaught. When his tongue pushed inside her mouth, she welcomed it with a caress of her own. All her tension was gone, replaced by molten need. It coursed through her veins and made her weak and crazed with lust.

Suddenly, he wasn’t close enough. She wanted his stomach against hers and his chest crushing her breasts. She needed his hands on her bare backside.

Skin to feverish skin.

How shocking to feel that way. How crude . . . and invigorating.

She broke the kiss and drew away just enough to run her hands over his shoulders and press them against his chest. He tugged at the other strap of her gown, which was still resting on her shoulder. It fell down, limp. He pulled both straps farther down, and she slid her arms out to help him undress her.

When the top of her dress pooled around her hips, he cupped her breasts and fondled them gently. It was pure bliss. His fingers rolled and softly pinched her hardened nipples and then slid down to stroke her between her legs through the satiny fabric.

She moaned and threw back her head. Heaven knew she wasn’t in the habit of letting strangers touch her in the most intimate way, but this was too good to deny herself.

The dress had to go. Everything that stood between his fingers and her body had to go.

Amanda pushed the dress all the way down and was about to remove her panties when he kneeled before her and pressed his lips to her abdomen. As he kissed it, he lowered her underwear a little, caressing the bared skin. His touch was soft and unhurried. When he rolled her panties down her thighs, she trembled in anticipation, her knees going so wobbly she had to grip his shoulders for support as she stepped out of them.

He put his hands on her waist and backed her to the bed. When she felt the duvet against the backs of her thighs, he nudged her and spread her knees. And then he kissed her—down there.

She moaned. No one had ever done this to her, not even the man she’d hoped to spend the rest of her life with. She knew herself to be slow on the uptake, needing at least half an hour of foreplay to reach the degree of arousal that removed the discomfort from penetration. More often than not, she failed to reach that coveted state and had to put up with the discomfort.

But now, after just a few minutes of Kes’s exquisite caresses, she was fully primed, her body burning with need. Craving him. How unusual and exhilarating to inhabit the present moment so fully, caring about nothing—absolutely nothing—except getting this man inside her.

The intensity of her desire boggled her mind.

She wanted everything he had to give.

“Now,” she said, half-conscious she was voicing her wish. “Please.”

He lifted his head to give her a scorching look. She held his gaze, feeling delightfully debauched. Without taking his eyes off hers, he crawled up and covered her body with his.

The next hour was a blurry tangle of muffled cries, writhing and thrusting, sweat, kisses, scratches and bites, unbearable tension, and body-jerking releases. When it was over, she couldn’t fathom getting dressed and taking the elevator to her room. Even crawling out of the bed seemed like a Herculean effort. Her body was completely and utterly relaxed. And it affected her mind. All she wanted now was to drift into a deep, dreamless slumber. Even with a sheet twisted around her leg and the large hand of a virtual stranger resting on her derriere.

All things considered, sleeping over wasn’t that big of a deal, was it?

Her Guide to Perfection might be her bible, but it was just a book by two Parisian style icons. It wasn’t an all-seeing god—it wouldn’t know she’d broken one of its rules.

Besides, there’d be no unpleasant complications because she’d be sure to sneak out at dawn.

On that promise, Amanda closed her eyes and instantly fell asleep.

* * *