She tossed back her head and bared her teeth, looking almost feral. "What if I was? Wouldn't be the first time. If the song hadn't ended, I would have come."
"You're my fiancee," he bit out. "Stay away from Zen."
"Satisfy me, and I won't go near the man."
"We had sex before the dance."
"Boring sex," she tossed back, a little too loudly. "Missionary position is for preachers and small pricks."
Aaron heard several people clear their throats, several more chuckle. Then came the whispers. "Sixty seconds, and the entire town will know I fail you as a lover."
"You do."
He snapped, so angry his blood flowed hot. Grabbing her by the arm, he jerked Natalie behind the black velvet curtain, away from those taking in their every word. The room it curtained off was empty except for the buffet table, which stretched its full length. Arranged with sliced fruit and raw vegetables, dips and salsa, and other late-night delicacies, the table was set, ready to serve the hungry dancers.
Releasing Natalie, Aaron glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes and the curtain would be drawn. He needed to wrap up their discussion. Quickly. "What do you want from me?" he asked, desperation leaving him less a man.
She came to him, flushed and aroused, her hands dipping beneath the waistband of his slacks and tugging him closer still. He sucked air as she pulled down the zipper on his dress pants, reached into his boxers, and freed him. One stroke of her nail, and all the blood in his body drew south.
"I want sex on the buffet table," she told him, leading him across the room. And not by the hand.
Aaron's gaze swept the room, darting and apprehensive. "A server could come to check on the food."
"Then you'd better eat fast."
She shoved a sterling platter of raw vegetables against a glass bowl of fruit salad making enough room to settle herself onto the table. She shifted, hiked her dress up to her hips, and spread her legs slightly. She wore no panties.
Aaron hit the floor on both knees. Natalie made him crazy. She forced him into situations that stole his sanity. Scared him beyond reason.
They could be discovered at any moment.
He did everything he could to make her climax. She clutched his head, her nails scoring his scalp as she panted and moaned, yet she did not come. Time ticked in his head. Ten minutes and the curtain would be thrown back. The townspeople would find Natalie perched on the edge of the table, her legs over his shoulders, his face buried in her crotch.
Maybe what his tongue and lips lacked in talent, he could make up for with his hips. Rising shakily, he unbuckled his belt, then undid the button on his pants. His zipper was already down.
Knowing Natalie's penchant for anytime, anywhere sex, he'd packed a pocketful of condoms. He sheathed himself. Cupping her bottom, he entered her with the force of his fear. Of being caught. Of going soft. Of being humiliated.
He pumped, and her body pulsed.
She wiggled on the starched white table cloth, causing it to scrunch and wrinkle.
Her right hand knocked over the salsa dip. Her left a three-bean salad. Her gyrating hips sent a chafing dish filled with hot wings to the floor.
Water flew from a crystal vase of yellow roses.
A dolphin ice sculpture tilted precariously.
Thank God the sterno hadn't been lit, or Natalie would have set the buffet on fire.
He tried to contain her. Unsuccessfully.
She bit his ear. His neck. Tore at his tie.
He gritted his teeth. Picked up his rhythm.
Her release came from deep inside, an elemental trembling that broke on one hell of a loud scream.
His mouth covered hers, taking her scream deep into his lungs. A scream that echoed down his throat. It could have shattered glass.
Aaron finally pulled back. His breathing remained rapid, his gaze now wide at the picture he and Natalie made should someone walk in on them.
Her dress had worked upward until the hem hung over one exposed breast. Salsa was smeared on her right thigh. A sweet potato slice had been flattened at the small of her back. Perspiration glazed her flushed skin; her expression was pure screwed-on-the-buffet.
He appeared in worse shape. His pants were pooled around his ankles, wrinkled beyond wear. Sweat dampened the front of his shirt, and the top two buttons were now missing. His red silk tie was askew. Reflected in a metal chafing dish, his hair stood on end, as much from fright as from Natalie pulling at it in passion.
Noise behind the kitchen door had him scrambling for his pants. Panic made him clumsy. It took two tries to button his dress slacks. Three tries to fit his belt through the loops. "Pull down your dress," he hissed at Natalie. "Get off the table."
She did a slow snaky slide off the buffet, then snagged a linen napkin and wiped at the salsa stain on her thigh. She smoothed her hands down her dress until it hung properly. She was patting down her hair when the first server entered the room.
The young man's eyes went wide at the sight before him. Aaron saw what he saw: two people mussed from buffet sex, food overturned and squished on the floor. "I was told to light the sterno," he said.
"By all means do," Natalie said. "Get someone to clean up this mess. While checking out the buffet, I accidentally bumped the table and knocked over several dishes."
Natalie's excuse was lame. The server looked at Aaron. Aaron knew if he didn't act quickly, word of their sexual escapade would be all over the country club. Slipping two fifties from his money clip, he slapped them on the young man's palm. "Your discretion would be appreciated."
The server nodded. "I will give you a few minutes before I return." He hesitated, then added, "You, sir, are either bleeding or have salsa on your neck. The lady has pasta salad on her left calf."
Aaron nodded, his facial muscles tight, as disgusted with himself as he was with Natalie. "This can't happen again," he stated flatly after the server had left. "We nearly got caught in the act."
Natalie patted his cheek. "Nearly, but not quite." She looked him dead in the eye. "The day you can't rise on request is the day we part ways. Understood?"
Aaron hated her ultimatum. Yet he knew she meant every word. He knew of her past with Zen Driscoll. Knew how Zen had chosen sanity over public sex.
Natalie Llewellyn caught the conflicting emotion in Aaron's eyes. He was as dazed as he was sated, and at that moment, he hated her as much as he loved her.