Caitlyn covered her mouth and stifled a yawn. Owen wondered if they'd put some sort of sleeping powder in the cheesecake. Or maybe she wasn’t used to being up so late.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Don’t think I’m going to let you sleep when we get to my room.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep me awake,” she said with a smile.

He loved her smile. It made her inquisitive brown eyes crinkle at the corners.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

When the elevator stopped, Owen placed a hand on Caitlyn's lower back and directed her toward his room. He remembered a time when all five members of the band had to share one seedy hotel room. It had been years ago, but they'd been closer then somehow. Of course it was hard not to be close when five guys shared one bathroom, one bottle of whiskey, and a few groupies between them.

Owen opened the door and Caitlyn entered his hotel room without hesitation. She was already comfortable in his presence, trusted him. He wondered how far he could take her tonight. Wondered if she'd stick around after the concert the next night and get to know him even better.

Standing behind her, Owen wrapped his arms around her and unbuttoned the three leather-covered buttons of her tweed jacket. He pulled the garment free and tossed it onto the sofa in the seating area just inside the door.

“Do you always wear suit jackets in the summer?” he asked before planting a gentle kiss on the side of her neck.

“I’m usually indoors, so yeah. Otherwise, I freeze in the AC.”

He didn’t plan on letting her freeze tonight.

She dropped her head to the side, allowing him to explore the silky flesh of her throat with his lips.

“Owen?” His name was like a soft caress on her lips.

“Yes?”

“I feel like I've known you for a long time. Has it really only been a few hours?”

“I know what you mean.” He worked at the knot of fabric at her throat, wanting to sample more of her flesh. “Tell me about your business.”

She hesitated and then lifted her hands to help him untie the bow at her neck. “Now? But what I do isn’t sexy. I want to feel sexy when I’m with you.”

He kissed her ear and lowered his hands to cup her breasts. He squeezed gently. “I always think you're sexy,” he promised. “Especially when you’re telling me about yourself.”

“Like I said, we work on alternative forms of energy. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m sort of a geek.” She giggled.

“Are you sharing something you thought I didn’t already know?”

She slapped his thigh. “You think I'm a geek?”

“I know you're a geek. I think it's sexy.”

She shook her head. “You're a weird guy, Owen Mitchell.”

“Are you complaining that I think you're sexy?” He reached for the top button of her blouse and unfastened it.

“No. I'm not sure I believe you. What can possibly be sexy about a woman who is more interested in the flow of electrons than she is in her hair?”

“I love your hair.” Thick, black, and lustrously wavy.

“That's because I actually combed it today.”

“And I had a great time messing it up.”

He unfastened another button on her blouse and then another. She seemed content to fall silent as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt and tugged it free of her jeans. He tossed it aside on the sofa as well. His hands moved to cup both breasts, and he kissed the side of her neck until some of the tension left her body. He rubbed his thickening cock against her sweet ass in case she didn't trust his words. He'd been with a lot of women, but this one pushed every one of his buttons, and he was ready to launch into orbit.

“Cute bra,” he said, watching over her shoulder as his finger traced the lace that bordered a plaid pattern.

“It doesn't match my panties,” she said. “I figured I should warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“That it doesn't match.”

He chuckled. “Why would I care if your bra matches your panties?”

“That’s not sexy either. I didn't think about dressing appropriately for outside the club. I didn't bring a little black dress on the trip, or anything to wear but my business attire, because I don’t own anything but what I wear to work. I simply don't remember how to be sexy for a man.” She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows furled in a most adorable way. “Or maybe I never knew how.” She ducked her head, and he understood how she was feeling. He never felt confident in his sex appeal either. He was good at pretending, because women responded to a man with self-confidence, even if it was the biggest load of bullshit anyone ever laid on them.

“Caitlyn.”

When she kept her eyes downcast, he circled her body to stand before her. After a moment, he tucked a finger under her chin to force her to look him in the eye. She flushed when their eyes met, but held his gaze.

“What's truly sexy about a woman isn't what she wears. It isn't how much time and attention she spends on her hair. It's not that her bra matches her panties. It's the way she thinks, moves, speaks. That's what's sexy about a woman.”

He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't buying his lines.

“And why did you pick me at the club?” she asked. “It wasn't because you knew I could think, you had seen how I move, and I hadn't spoken yet.”

“Damn, woman, I'm not used to talking to women as smart as you are. You're supposed to be happy that I want you for more than your fantastic body.”

“But I don't think you're being sincere.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “I don't know.”

“What do I have to do to prove that I'm sincere? As soon as you stepped out of the dressing room at the club wearing that horrible jacket—”

“See, my jacket is horrible.”

“Let me finish. When I saw you wearing it, I was instantly hard again. I insist that you wear that horrible jacket as much as possible.”

She glanced at the discarded garment on the sofa. “Should I put it back on?”

He chuckled. “No. I like when you wear it in public, not when you’re alone with me. What's so hot about it is that it completely conceals what's beneath. Yet I know what's there. Those guys looking for a woman in a short skirt and tight sweater, they're not giving you a second glance because they're too blind to see how smoking hot you are. I mean look at yourself, Caitlyn. You're a ten.” His gaze traveled down her body, and he made a sound of desperation. “An eleven.”

“Takes one to know one.” She chuckled. “Though I think you're overstating your interest.”

He shook his head at her. Words didn't seem to work with the woman—she'd apparently been lied to one too many times—so maybe actions would do the trick. She squeaked in surprise when he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up over his shoulder. He took several long strides toward the bed and tossed her on the mattress.

“Show me that you want me,” she said, her eyes riveted to his crotch.

“If I let it loose, I'm going to have to fuck you with it.” He ran his hand over the hard ridge in his pants and sucked a pained breath through his teeth. “And I haven't tasted you yet.”

He reached for the button of her jeans and unfastened it. He couldn't wait to see her naked again. To smell her. Taste her. Touch her. He unzipped her pants and then tugged them down her legs. Her sensible loafers caught in her pant legs and joined her pants on the floor.

He stopped to check her out. When she'd said her panties didn't match her bra, she hadn't been joking. Her bra was black with plaid sections at the bottom of each cup. Her panties were a lurid fuchsia and decorated with a fluffy sheep. He smiled, but didn't laugh. He doubted a man had ever seen her wear that sheep, and maybe she didn't believe the privilege of being with her turned him on, but his twitching cock demanded to be pressed against those sweet panties.

“Owen?”