by Jaci Burton
Was he thinking the same thing? Combining their DNA into making babies?
Her body heated at the thought.
“Why don’t you show me the rest of your house?” she asked, hoping to defuse the sudden flare of desire and thoughts of a future with him in this house with children and . . . what on earth was wrong with her?
“Sure. Grab your glass.”
She did, following him down that hallway where . . . someone’s future kids would be running around.
“Half bath on the left here.”
She smiled politely. Even the half bath was perfect.
“There are five bedrooms. Four for the future kids, with two bathrooms for them to share, and then the master. Or maybe three bedrooms for the kids and one office, depending on what my future wife wants.”
She looked over at him. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
He shrugged. “I like to advance plan. I’m dug in here. I don’t want to have to do this again.”
“Smart.”
She peeked into the bedrooms, trying not to imagine two bunk beds for the rambunctious boys, with dinosaurs or train décor, and bedrooms painted in shades of pink and purple for the girls. Or maybe animal print for the girls. Or maybe trains and dinosaurs for the girls and pink and purple for the boys, because traditional gender roles were so passé. Her future kids could be or do anything they wanted.
Get out of fantasyland, Alice.
She would get married someday. And she would have all those kids. And a great house with all the awesome things she wanted in it.
It just wouldn’t be this house. Or this guy. And that tightening in her stomach could just go the hell away.
He opened a door at the end of the hall. “And here’s the master bedroom.”
She stepped into a huge room with a high ceiling, tons of space, and the biggest king-sized bed she’d ever seen. Clay’s bed had one of those nicely upholstered headboards so you could sit up in bed reading. The bed was covered in a beautiful thick quilt that looked handmade, a storage bench rested at its foot, and two silver nightstands stood on either side. It was all modern and so unlike anything she’d expect a man to have in his bedroom.
“This is very . . . modern.”
“I like nice things. Except the quilt. My grandmother made that.”
“It’s stunning.”
He smiled. “Thanks.”
She wandered in and saw an amazing bathroom that she could spend hours in. A huge soaker tub, a shower big enough for six people, with all kinds of sprays, and a lovely white quartz counter with tons of cabinetry and double sinks.
There were double doors leading outside. She flipped on the light and saw there was a patio and covering and lots of trees to provide tons of shade in the summer.
Clay came up to stand behind her. “I want to put in a pool and probably some kid stuff at some point.”
She could see that. He certainly had the space to do whatever he wanted back there.
She turned around to look at him. “You probably need to have said kids first.”
“Probably.”
Being this close to him made her feel things . . . think things . . .
Want things.
She took a deep breath. “We should get started on finding you a woman to make those babies with.”
He grazed his knuckles down her cheek. “Yeah, we should, shouldn’t we?”
If she took a step forward, he’d kiss her. Right there in his bedroom. Which would lead to sex.
Did she want that? She thought about it.
You know you do. You’ve wanted it since the moment you met him. Instead of finding happiness for everyone else, grab it for yourself, Alice.
That was an abrupt change of heart from Inner Voice. She didn’t know what to make of it. Now she was more confused than ever.
She took a step back. “So . . . should we go back to the kitchen and get started?”
Clay seemed to take her rejection in stride. “How about we have dinner first?”
Relieved that the tension had dissolved between them, she nodded. “That sounds good.”
They went down the hall and into the kitchen. Clay rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. “I hope you like what I’m going to make for dinner.”
“I’m still trying to deal with the fact you’re cooking dinner.”
He shot her a look over his shoulder. “Why? Surely you know men who cook.”
“Of course I do. I guess I just didn’t expect you to be one of those men.”
He grabbed a towel and dried his hands, then pivoted to look at her. “You expected . . . what, exactly? That I’d sit at the table and demand a woman to fix me a steak? Or maybe that I’d toss some hot dogs on the grill and offer up a can of beans for a side dish?”
She glared at him. “That would be pigeonholing you into a traditional framework of ‘cowboy on the ranch,’ wouldn’t it? And no, I didn’t think of you like that. I guess I just didn’t see you in the role of chef.”
“I’m not exactly a chef. I just cook for myself now and then. No reason not to learn how to cook when I have this place to myself, is there?”
“Not at all.”
He started to take things out of the refrigerator, so Alice went over to the sink to wash her hands.
“What are you doing?”
“You don’t think I’m going to just sit there while you do all the work, do you?”
“That’s exactly what I think. I invited you over so I could prepare a meal for you. Get your laptop out and ask your questions. I’m fixing you dinner.”
He grasped her by the shoulders, led her over to the bar stool, picked her up and set her on one and leaned down. “Stay there. Drink your wine.” He pointed to the laptop. “Do your . . . whatever.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “My whatever?”
“Yeah. Make magic happen for me, Alice.”
She’d like to make magic happen for him. With her. While naked.
Are you ever going to give that up, woman?
Probably not. He was on her mind, and she couldn’t get him off.
She’d like to get him off. Over and over again.
Oh, for God’s sake.
“I don’t hear any questions over there.”
She jerked her head up to find that he had put rice in a cooker and was now doing something with brussels sprouts. And salmon. And whatever it was he was fixing was right up her alley.
She took a sip of wine.
“How do you feel about teachers?”
He lifted his head and frowned. “Teachers?”
“Yes. Women who teach.”
“I think women who teach are just fine. Why?”
“I have a woman I’d like you to meet.”
He paused while stirring. “What?”
“A very nice woman who lives just outside town. She’s single, never been married, and teaches middle school in Oklahoma City. She loves horses and was raised on a farm, so your cows and stuff wouldn’t bother her. She’s looking to settle down and have a houseful of kids. And since she teaches, she obviously loves children.”
“Huh.” He resumed his stirring.
Alice waited, frowning while watching Clay.
“That’s it?”
“That’s what?” He put the brussels sprouts into the oven.
“What do you think about the woman I’d like to set you up with?”
“I’ll . . . think about it over dinner.”
“I thought you’d be more enthusiastic.”
“Did you? Are you that anxious to be rid of me?”
She gaped at him. “I don’t understand the question.”
He wiped his hands on the towel, came over to her and swiveled the bar stool around. Her body faced his and her knee
s brushed his thighs. He leaned over and laid his palm on the island, bringing his face in line with hers.
“I’d really like to kiss you right now, Alice. But you have to ask me to.”
Her entire body flamed so hot she knew if she walked outside right now she could melt all the snow in Oklahoma.
Kiss him, you idiot.
Inner Voice was getting on her last nerve.
“I . . . I . . . Yes. Kiss me, Clay.”
He slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her off the chair. With his other hand, he cupped the side of her neck, tilted her head back and fitted his lips to hers.
It felt like rockets going off inside of her. Delicious, Fourth of July celebration rockets. She moaned against his mouth and sank against him, digging her fingers into the front of his shirt to hold on for dear life, because, God, was this ever a kiss. The kind of kiss a woman craved from a man. Deep and searching with tongue and meaning and passion. The kind of kiss that made her toes curl and her hair stand on end.
This was the kiss to end all kisses. And she never wanted it to stop.
Except a timer went off, and Alice never wanted to curse at a timer more in her life.
Clay slowed down the kiss, regretfully pulling away from her. “Don’t go away.”
She reached for the kitchen island for support. Her knees had gone weak, her senses haywire, her common sense had obviously fled, because what was she doing kissing a man she was trying to match with someone else?
She grabbed a few deep breaths while Clay dealt with the rice and the vegetables.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
He glanced over at her and smiled. “Okay.”
She dashed into the half bath and closed and locked the door, then turned the cold water on to run it over her wrists, hoping to cool down her raging-hot libido.
It wasn’t working. She turned the water off and dried her hands, then stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were bright pink, her lips were kiss swollen. She lifted a shaky hand to her mouth. She could still feel Clay’s lips on hers, could still taste him on her. She rolled her tongue over her lips to imbibe his flavor because she wanted more. Her heartbeat ran wild with desire, and she knew if she didn’t get naked in his bed tonight she’d regret it for the rest of her life.
But what did that mean for her work? Did she have to fix Clay up with someone? Or could she have a fling and be maid of honor at Lainie’s wedding, and then just go back to LA and resume her job?
Sure. She could do that. She deserved some fun, didn’t she? Why did she have to keep denying herself something—someone—she so desperately desired?
What would it hurt? Who would it hurt?
No one. She wasn’t taking Clay away from anyone. He hadn’t asked her to match him with someone. This had all been her idea, and he hadn’t exactly been enthusiastic about the whole thing.
So . . .
She put her hand on the doorknob, hesitating for a fraction of a second.
Make the choice, Alice. It’s not a life-altering decision. It’s just one night.
Nothing in your life will change if you do this.
She nodded and then opened the door.
Chapter Eleven
Focus on the salmon, Clay, he reminded himself. Don’t push Alice too hard.
But damn if he could forget how it felt to have her in his arms, to taste her, to feel her body against his.
He wanted her. But if she didn’t want him, he’d have to back off.
They could have dinner. They’d talk. And then he’d tell her how much he appreciated her matchmaking efforts, but he just wasn’t into being matched with anyone else.
Because he was only interested in her.
She came out of the bathroom and walked back into the kitchen, her expression unreadable.
She picked up her glass of wine and polished off the contents in two long swallows.
Okay, maybe she was upset about the kiss. He’d asked permission. She’d said yes. He should probably apologize for it.
Screw that. He wasn’t going to apologize for wanting her so damn badly she was all he could think about. But if she was unhappy he’d take her back to the Bellinis’.
He laid the salmon on the counter. “Look. Alice. About that kiss.”
“Will it keep?”
He frowned. “Will what keep?”
She looked over at the island. “All this food. If we don’t eat it right away.”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I want to go back to your bedroom. Finish what we were about to start before the timer went off.”
His hand stilled on the rice he was stirring. “You sure that’s what you want?”
She nodded. “Positive.”
He scooped the rice into a bowl, foiled the salmon and poured the brussels sprouts into a container and snapped on the lid, then tossed everything in the fridge. He washed and dried his hands, tossed the towel on the counter and was on her faster than a cat after prey.
He gently backed her against the wall and kissed her. She tasted like wine and everything he’d ever wanted. And when she moaned against his mouth and arched her body against his, he swept his hand up under her sweater so he could get to her skin. It was soft, warm, pliant under his hand, and he wanted to take this slow, but damn if she was going to let him, because she was undoing his belt buckle and he’d gone rock hard, his cock pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans. And then she laid her hand on his shaft, rubbing it through his jeans.
He might explode right there in her hand.
He took a breath and laid his forehead against hers. “Alice.”
She looked up at him with a passion-soaked gaze. “Now, Clay. Need you now.”
What he needed right now was a condom, and he didn’t have one. But what he did want was her, up against the wall, just like she was right now.
Shit.
“Don’t go away.”
She leaned her head against the wall, giving him a dreamy-eyed stare.
Bedroom or wallet?
Wallet was closer, tucked into his coat pocket, and he needed a condom damn fast. He dashed over to his wallet and pulled the condom out, tore it open and had his pants unzipped by the time he turned around.
Alice had pulled off her boots and jeans in record time and was back to leaning against the wall, wearing only that sexy sweater and her socks. He’d never seen anyone hotter.
She shrugged. “Thought this would make it easier.”
His heart pumped fast and hard and, God, he hoped he didn’t hyperventilate and pass out. That would be embarrassing as hell.
He palmed the wall next to her head. “You are by far the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
She arched a brow. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”
“Then you’ve dated stupid men.” He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers, determined to slow things down, licking gently against her tongue and easing his mouth along the seam of her lips.
But Alice wasn’t having any of the slow-down moves. She sucked on his tongue and rocked her body against him.
He’d tried, but he had the condom open and Alice was shoving his jeans down his hips and dammit, he couldn’t wait. He pulled the condom out of the wrapper, put it on and lifted her. She held on to his shoulders and slid herself onto his cock, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.
She was hot and wet, and her body tightened around him in sweet agonizing perfection. He paused, allowing them both to just . . . feel.
“Oh, this is so good,” she said. “You feel so good. So . . . hard. I need you so badly, Clay.”
If she kept talking like that this wasn’t going to last long. He rested his head against her forehead, and inhaled a breath, hoping for some staying power. Because Alice was right.
This felt s
o good. She felt like . . . his.
He held her butt with one hand and slid the other up into her shirt, pushing her bra out of the way so he could rub his fingers against her nipples.
She gasped and began to move against him.
The feel of her surrounding him, of her body rocking, tore through him. He drove into her hard, slamming her into the wall with repeated thrusts. She dug her nails into his shoulders and found his mouth while she met him thrust for thrust, her breaths coming faster and faster.
He’d lost sense of time, only aware of how it felt to be inside of Alice, of being balls deep and slamming into her until he felt the viselike hold of her sex gripping and releasing his cock over and over again. Her cries of orgasm matched the clenching of her pussy around his shaft. He pulled her closer so he could grind against her with his own earth-shattering release, which made him groan and his legs shake until he was so weak he thought he might drop them both to the floor.
But he held firmly to her until he was sure he was steady enough to take them both into his bedroom. He laid her gently on his bed and disappeared into the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He came out to find her lying on her stomach, her head on her arms, her eyes closed.
“Did I kill you?”
She kept her eyes closed, but she smiled. “If you did, it was an incredible death.”
She had a great ass. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to one of the globes, then straightened and took off all his clothes. Alice had rolled over to watch, while he smiled down at her.
“Magnificent,” she said after he climbed on the bed.
“What is?”
She tipped a nail across his thigh. “You. Naked.”
His lips curved. “Thanks.”
He pulled her sweater up and she dragged it over her head. Then he undid the clasp of her bra and she rolled the straps down her arms. He tossed her clothes into the nearby chair.
He swept his fingers over her breasts, watching as her nipples hardened under his touch.
“You’re beautiful, Alice.”
She smiled at him, and she looked like an angel, her hair spread out on his pillow making him want to take a picture of her, just like this, so he could remember her forever. Her body had marks—his marks. Dark and pink where he’d gripped her, touched her.
