He sipped his beer, frowning to himself. Did he really want to share a fantasy with a fictional version of a real flesh and blood woman? They were adults, and could do as they pleased, as long as they both were on the same page.

  Wes felt himself growing hard at the mere thought of running his fingers through Ana's thick hair, raining kisses across her belly, taking her ass in his palms and joining their two bodies into one beautiful mass of sweaty ecstasy.

  He took a big gulp of his beer, willing the cool liquid to tame his wildly spinning desires. He had no idea if she ever thought of him, much less thought of him like that.

  But still, he couldn't stop thinking about her. And anyway, now he knew that he did have what it took to be his own man. He wondered if, now that he was following his passions, meeting Ana was here mere accident — or more of a cosmic kismet, their stars aligning now that he was truly ready for it.

  Sure, she hadn't seemed super thrilled to see him earlier. But working in law had taught Wes how complex people could be, and that looks were often deceiving. Besides, anyone who'd known him in high school could hardly have predicted where he'd be today.

  A dark-haired woman sidled up to him. She was dressed as what seemed to be a pornographic version of Bumblebee, more skin bared than covered by her scant yellow armor.

  "Hey," she said, voice gravelly with desire and scented with booze. "Aren't you a sexy hitman." It was not a question. Her gaze scraped down his chest and unabashedly toward his crotch, a finger toying with his lapel.

  "I'm no hitman," he said, not missing the reference to the Hitman game series.

  "Then what are you, besides sexy?" She leaned close and breathed the words into his ear.

  Wes shivered, and not in a good way. He stepped back, shaking his head. "I'm not interested."

  She pouted. "Why not?"

  He hesitated, searching for words that were honest but gentle. He knew the uncensored truth of I want the real deal and you're not it would be too harsh.

  "That's . . . not what I'm here for," he said at last, offering a small smile. "Sorry."

  The pout deepened. "Then what are you looking for?"

  He opened his mouth to answer, then froze as he glanced over the woman's shoulder and saw Ana. She was leaning with her elbows propped on the bar behind her, surveying the crowd. His fingers unconsciously clutched his plastic cup tighter, denting it.

  "Um," he croaked, forcing himself to tear his gaze from Ana and meet the Transformer's eyes, "I'm beginning to get a good idea of just that. You'll have to excuse me -- enjoy the party."

  With that, Wes nodded politely at the Bumblebee and strode toward the bar -- toward Ana. He had no idea what he would do or say when he got to her, only that he couldn't stop himself from being drawn in, his blood pumping hot in his veins.

  6

  Ana

  Ana was aware of his presence drawing near before she turned her eyes to meet his blue ones, blazing with heat and -- she swallowed hard -- desire.

  "Hi," she said as Wes stepped up to her side, her voice breathy in her own ears. "You enjoying the party?"

  "I am now."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Slutty Bumblebee not your type?"

  "No," he said, his voice a little breathless now too, "definitely not."

  Ana turned to face him head on, resisting the urge to run her eyes over the smooth skin and tuft of curls visible below his loosened tie and unbuttoned collar. "So what is your type?"

  He reached toward her and brushed his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind an ear. She shivered, wanting to lean her cheek into his palm. "You are, Ana. I think you've been my type for a long time, only I was too scared to admit it."

  She couldn't ignore the irony -- he spoke of fear, while his words made her suddenly afraid -- but the feeling was different from her earlier encounter with the lowest common denominator of attendees. This sensation, with Wes, was strangely enjoyable. Instead of making her want to run, it attracted her to him. "Scared? What about me scares you?"

  Wes shook his head. "Nothing. I was afraid of everyone else, of what they might think if I dated this girl who was amazing, but not who they expected me to be with."

  "And what makes you so sure that I'm your type?" She folded her arms across her chest. "You don't even know me."

  "I want to know you."

  "A lot of guys at these things want to know me," she challenged, hoping he'd rise to it, show her what he was made of. "What makes you any different?"

  "Most guys are assholes. Here, and everywhere." He shrugged. "I'm not."

  Ana couldn't fight the smirk that twisted her lips. "Are you sure about that? Most guys don't think they're assholes."

  He wrinkled his nose. "Not completely sure, I suppose. I only know that I strive to not be a dick." He cocked his head at her, eyes teasing. "Do you think I'm an asshole?"

  Something about his words made her soften, insides warming. "No," she said so softly that he had to lean in to hear her over the music. "I don't think that. Even in high school you were always kind, to everyone."

  Now it was his turn to smirk. "So you did notice me back then."

  She snorted. "Of course I noticed you, you were the fucking golden boy of our year. And I had a crush on you."

  He stepped so close that his chest brushed against hers, and all she wanted to do was press into his solid heat and let him hold her, touch her, take her in any and every way he wished. But a jagged edge of fear of how he might respond, or not, ripped through her desire, making her hold back.

  "Aren't teenagers so silly," he murmured, his breath hot on the curls of her ear. "We both wanted each other, but never told each other. Good thing we're adults and know how to say what we mean and to ask for what we want."

  "Yeah," she managed, fingers curled into fists to stop her from taking him by the neck and pulling him into a kiss right then and there.

  "So I have to ask, Ana, what do you want?"

  A dozen smartass answers dashed through her mind -- quips about wanting to nationalize her store, about Bandwidth's stocks going through the roof, and so many more -- but instead she found herself breathing the word, "You," both shocked and delighted to feel the truth of it in her gut.

  She didn't really know what kind of man Wes had grown into, and while she wanted to find out, she also wanted him. Now. She'd longed for so many years to be wooed even the slightest bit, and now here was her teenage crush doing just that.

  Ana uncurled her fists and, taking one of Wes's large and muscular hands, twined her fingers through his. "And you, Wes, what do you want to do -- with me?" she murmured, meeting his gaze through eyes lidded with craving. Her heart stumbled within her chest as he hesitated, and that shard of fear was back, slicing through her belly as she waited for his answer.

  7

  Wes

  "And you, Wes, what do you want to do -- with me?" Her words were heavy with a bold and unabashed hunger. And yet they held a barely perceptible tremble of vulnerability that made Wes want to cradle her body close. Not to blend their flesh into one -- although he certainly wanted that, too -- but to protect this woman whose brisk exterior only served to shield the sensitive soul it housed.

  Some ancient instinct deep within him rose, wanting to be not only her lover but also her defender. He wondered if she would allow him to be either, or if she only wanted him for the night.

  He thought about how, over the course of his life to this point, he'd struck out on love even while he'd done so well in nearly every other endeavor he put his hand to. But for some reason, he seemed to attract women that only wanted what they saw without attending to his heart. They wanted his body, but for one night or two.

  Wes wanted more. He wanted a woman who would let him pursue her, romance her, win her hand. He wanted a woman who would fall back in love with him, with his heart and mind, over and over. A woman to share life with.

  His parents had raised him to wait for marriage. To keep himself pure. Somehow, even though he’d shed the religious beliefs that had come with that, he hadn’t been able to shake off the ideal of wanting to share himself with just one woman — the just right woman.

  Wes didn’t give a fuck about keep himself “pure.” He didn’t believe in that.

  But waiting to be intimate with a woman that made sex feel like more than an empty ritual? To hold out for a physical connection that was paired with a heart and mind connection? That was something he was willing to defer his physical desires for.

  He knew what he wanted, and what most women offered him was the exact the opposite of the coupling he ached for — and he never said yes to that which was not right for him.

  So he'd retained his principles -- and also his virginity.

  Wes swallowed hard. He wondered if he, inexperienced as he was, could give Ana what her dark eyes asked him for. And at the same time, everything in him longed to try.

  He didn't know if she wanted him for this night or a string of nights or for forever. She probably didn't know herself.

  But for some reason, with her, he didn't care. Unlike every other woman who'd wanted him, he didn't give a shit about how long Ana wanted him for. He would take anything and everything she was willing to give him.

  Because this electric force between them, this pull to each other that they both clearly felt -- and had been feeling for a long time? He couldn't walk away from it. Not anymore. He wouldn't.

  He looked at their fingers twisting together, and then at Ana's eyes, where need and doubt swirled.

  "I want to be as close to you as you'll allow," he said, voice husky with his own hunger. "I'll sit on a bench outside and hold your hand and watch the moon rise and set. Or I'll take you back to my hotel room and make love to you all night. I'll do anything for you, and with you, Ana. What do you want?"

  The worry washed from her eyes, and her full lips turned up at the corners. "I want you to kiss me. Now."

  Wes returned her smile. "I was hoping you might say that."

  He slid his hands around her waist, fingertips digging into those delicious curves, pulling her to him so that their hips pressed together. She reached up to Wes, clutching his collar and tugging his head down to hers. He hesitated a moment, teasing, lips a breath away, exhalations hot against each other's faces. And then he tasted her, plying her mouth with his own.

  The kiss was soft and hard at the same time, and she tasted like sweet fire and cinnamon. Wes pulled back to press his lips at the corners of her mouth, then crushed back into her full on. She gave a little sigh and yanked on his collar, opening her mouth and teasing his tongue with hers.

  He could feel himself growing hard, ready, and he ground his pelvis against hers. She must have felt his arousal, because she grabbed a handful of his ass, drawing his hips into her even more.

  Without warning she released him and stepped back, leaving Wes gasping and blinking in shock. The sudden space between them felt cold, drafty, and he longed to return to the heat of their embrace.

  "Is everything okay?" he managed, struggling to get his body under control.

  A flirting smile flickered across her face. Ana reached out a single hand without stepping closer, taking his.

  "More than okay." Tossing him a last searing glance over her shoulder, she headed for the door of the con bar, leading him by the hand. He followed, eager and willing to submit to her control.

  Wes let her lead him through the venue's foyer and to the main entrance. Here she paused, winding herself around him. She flicked her tongue over his lips before diving in for a bottomless kiss that practically made him see stars.

  It felt like the kiss lasted a moment, or forever. When she pulled away, she said, voice guttural. "I want you, Wes. Tonight. Take me to your hotel."

  He closed the space between them, cupping her face in his palms and planting blossoming kisses across her cheeks.

  And then it was his turn to lead her, fingers entwined, his low belly pulsing with primal desire, ready to let Ana make him hers.

  8

  Ana

  She couldn't believe she was doing this -- hooking up with a a guy she'd met at a con, something she would have sworn she'd never, ever do. And she was sober, no less.

  But she couldn't shake the sense that Wes wasn't like all the rest. And not just because he said he was different -- she could feel that he was different, as if the very marrow of her bones couldn't resist his pull.

  Wes groped briefly at the key slot on his hotel room door, then pushed it open and pulled her in after him.

  As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, he was on her, mouth hard on hers, hands burying themselves in her hair, traveling her arms, sliding under her shirt and across the smooth contour of her belly.

  She fumbled with his loosened tie, sliding the knot down and slipping the loop over his head, tossing it to the ground. Her fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt. She gasped with pleasure as Wes buried his face in her neck, nipping and nuzzling the sensitive flesh.

  Pushing his shirt off, Ana stepped back to allow him to peel off his white undershirt, eyes roaming the muscled expanse of his chest. She sucked in a breath -- she hadn't realized how ripped his physique was. Trembling only a little, she moved closer, running twin palms over his delicately furred pectorals, sliding down to his abs, and under the waist of his pants.

  Wes shuddered as her hand wrapped around him, finding him ready, as she'd felt back in the bar. She smiled at the signs of his pleasure, twisting her hand around his girth before drawing back to his belt buckle.

  "Wait," he rasped, his hands on hers. She stopped, peering up into those brilliant blue eyes. "I want to see you," he said.

  Ana nodded. She watched, then felt, him step close and then around behind her. His heat at her back was solid and hard, and she ground her ass back into his groin. His hands played over her belly, then dipped beneath her shirt to cup her breasts through her bra. His grip was just right, firm but not enough to hurt, and she let her head fall back against his shoulder, eyes closing to take in the sensation of his touch.

  His tongue traced the line of her jaw and it was her turn to shudder and moan. And then, in a swift, graceful motion, he slipped his hands from her breasts and pulled her shirt over her head, throwing it to the ground. The hotel room's air was cool against her heated flesh, and she relished the contrast.

  Hands light on her shoulders, he turned her around to face him. He reached behind to smoothly unhook her bra, freeing her breasts to melt into their natural bell shapes.

  "Mmm," he said, dipping his head to kiss one breast, then the other, making her shiver. "You are gorgeous." His eyes, glinting with humor, met hers. "No surprise there."

  Ana smiled in spite of the flush that spread across her face. She normally didn't take to compliments about her physical appearance, but for some reason she welcomed them coming from Wes.

  "Can I see more of you?" he asked, fingers playing at the waist of her jeans. "Can I see all of you?"

  "Yes," she breathed. "I want you to see me. All of me."

  He grinned and opened her jeans, shoving them to the ground and then offering a hand to her while she stepped out of them.

  Wes trailed a single finger from behind her ear, along her jugular, past the swell of one heaving breast, over the blossoming of her hips to, excruciatingly, exquisitely the line of her black panties. He stroked the tuft of her mound through the fabric, then holding her against him with his other arm, slipped a finger beneath the garment and into her most intimate place.

  She leaned her forehead into him, knees threatening to give out at his touch. Her arms twined around his waist to keep her steady as he teased and massaged at her clit, swirling and caressing before diving into her slit.

  "You're so wet," he murmured, dipping into her juices with one finger, then more.

  Ana bit her lip. "Am I?" she gasped. It was so rare for a man to excite her -- to really turn her on -- that she never felt quite lubricated on her own.

  Arching a brow, Wes sank to his knees. He peeled her panties down to her ankles, helping her step out of them, then pushed her back onto the waiting bed, spreading her legs wide. He flashed a wicked grin, then dove into her, devouring everything she had to offer. His gentle licks of her insides contrasted with his mischievous nibbles on her labia.

  He raised his head. "Yes," he said, that grin back. "I'm quite sure that you are."

  "Oh," she breathed, feeling her core tighten up, knees rising toward the ceiling and ankles dragging over his shoulders, climax approaching. "It must be you."

  "Or," he spoke the words directly into her most tender place, sending vibrations reverberating into her flesh, "it's us."

  Ana didn't know if it was the words or his ministrations, and she didn't fucking care -- she was teetering on the edge of pleasure, then shattering over the edge, cascading into shuddering waves of ecstasy, her own cries distant in her ears.

  9

  Wes

  Every cell ignited with sensation he watched Ana fall to pieces and then, slowly, back into wholeness with each panting breath. The sight of her body crashing into the undulating current of release and feeling her pulse beneath his touch was almost enough to make him explode too.

  As her shudders subsided, Wes tended to her freshly drenched thatch with dove-like kisses that made her gasp. Then in a strong, deft motion he slid her up higher on the bed so that her whole body was supported. He draped his body next to hers, tangling his fingers in her sorrel mane. Quietly, waiting for the heaving of her chest to steady, he left kisses light as air on the tender flesh beneath her ear.

  "That was --" Ana groped for words, hazel eyes roving his face. "I hate to say 'amazing' because that's so cliche . . . but it really was amazing." She grinned. "Not how I thought this con would go."

 

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