He fell into step, the heat from his body seeming to swirl out to touch her.

“Eight-nineteen,” he told her, extracting his key card, slowing to a stop.

“Eight-twenty,” she responded, stopping beside him.

He glanced down.

She looked up.

Her heart pounded hard against the inside of her chest. A roaring sound filled her ears. And her lungs labored as she moistened her dry lips.

He cocked his head ever so slightly toward his hotel-room door. “I’m thinking there’ll be a bottle of wine in my minibar.”

Abigail tried to make her head shake no, but somehow the message got scrambled. “Red or white?” she rasped instead.

“Either. Both. Whatever you want.”

She knew she should say good-night and leave. This was her last chance. If she walked into that hotel room, she would throw herself into Lucky’s arms, damn the consequences.

She couldn’t tell him no. But she couldn’t bring herself to say yes either.

He slipped the key into the lock, and the indicator light turned green. He pushed down on the handle, released the latch and yawned the door wide open.

Abigail took one step then another into his room, her shoes whispering against the thick carpet. The door whooshed shut behind them, clicking with finality.

From behind, Lucky gently touched her shoulder. He turned her, backed her slowly against the closed door, one hand tunneling into her hair, the other coming around her waist, pressing their bodies together while his lips came down on hers. They were firm, hot, moist and tender.

She gave in to the sensation, immediately kissing him back, grasping his arms, steadying herself against the steel of his biceps. She opened wide, welcoming his tongue, marveling at his sweet taste, his masculine scent and the feel of his thighs hard against her own.

He broke the kiss, speaking huskily against her lips. “I’ve been dying to do that all night long.”