A NEW YORK MINUTE by Ember Leigh
Filming on location in Hawaii would be Paige’s dream, if only it didn’t involve hosting alongside her professional arch nemesis—Josh Lambert, the sexiest man she’s ever sworn to hate.
“I…I wanted to see you. That was it.” Josh picked at something on the comforter, eyes darting between her face and the bed.
“Cute.” Something in the air shifted between them. Electricity snapped. This was no business ploy.
Suddenly their lips were together, though she didn’t know who moved in first. Josh pinned her to the bed, one kiss melting into a hundred more. His mouth devoured her. The scent of him descended upon her, a mixture of cologne and the outdoors and man she hadn’t expected would be so pleasing. He clutched at her desperately—her hips, her waist, the small of her back, like he was afraid she would disappear beneath him. His hard-on nudged her low hip, and her pussy clenched in response.
“Josh.” The feel of his body made her both dizzy and delirious with satisfaction. Excitement roiled beneath the surface of her skin. Dear God, you wanted this so much, Paige.
“I’ve wanted this to happen since the day I met you,” he whispered in her ear, sending shivers up and down her spine.
“So have I,” she admitted, too quickly for her own taste. He laughed, deep and gravelly. His green eyes sparkled—the mask of his professional façade had completely fallen away. She loved this real Josh above her. He was so boyish yet mature, hard-bodied yet gentle.
“But Paige, I thought you hated me.”
“What makes you think I still don’t?” She placed tiny kisses up and down the sides of his neck. Kissing him removed the veneer of his professional side, allowed her to peer behind the curtain to the soft core inside. A regular guy with power, a west coast boy with dreams. Wiping away the Hollywood lacquer revealed something even more attractive beneath.
“Well, this certainly doesn’t look like you hate me,” he whispered, fingertips trailing down the side of her face, over the dip in her neck, making swirls in the area between her breasts.
“I’m a good actress.” She could barely control her breathing to keep her voice even. This man affected her in ways she hadn’t felt in far too long. “If I couldn’t convince you, I wouldn’t be a professional.”
He quieted her stubbornness with a kiss so tender yet passionate that a new round of shivers erupted within her. Holy crap, I’m in trouble.
“So I won’t wake up tomorrow and think this was a dream, then.” His fingertips crept beneath the fabric of her bathing suit top, so slowly she could scream. He was going slow for a reason—teasing her, maybe, but also to make sure she really wanted it.
This was the only thing she wanted right now.
The warmth of his palm grazed her breast. Their eyes met, his gaze glinting with both tenderness and something animalistic. It was something she could imagine in her own eyes, a certain brand of pleasure from having finally given into something deeply pleasurable and forbidden.
His fingertips rolled back and forth across her nipple and he caught her mouth on a gasp. Their tongues met tenderly. The feel of his body pressed against hers, his hands all over her, drove her crazier than any man had ever done before. And he hadn’t even taken off his shirt.
The heat between her legs ached for release.
“I could spend all day in here with you.” His other hand snaked around the small of her back and yanked her toward him, eliciting a gasp and a giggle. “All week, all month.”
“And what would we do in here for a full month?” Her voice wavered as his hand made a slow crawl up her thigh. “We wouldn’t have enough food to last us a week.”
His fingers tiptoed toward her bathing suit bottoms. “That’s why there’s room service.”