His tongue sweeps into my mouth. He tastes of wine, tomato sauce, and the man I’ve come to crave. His hands go to the hem of my skirt and ride up. “Wait.” I push him back. “Cameras.” “Fred knows better than to look. I tip. Big. And the camera can’t see you, only the back of me.” His hands find my hot button, and I whimper, moan. Should have known he’d try something like this. Right in an elevator. “Steele.” I intend the word to come out as a warning, but instead it emerges as a purr. In the ambient light, his eyes flash with heat. I love it when his eyes turn that molten shade of gray. They’re like liquid silver. Before he can do much more, the door slides open. His hand slips away, allowing my skirt to drop back to my knees. On wobbly legs, I stumble out and try to fashion a logical thought. “It opens right into your apartment.” “Condo.
