by G. K. Brady
Suddenly aware all his weight pressed her into the mattress, he prepared to roll off, but she held him in place and hummed, “A few more minutes.”
He obliged, sagging back on top of her, memorizing the feel of her skin against his, her body aligned with his in some wonderful kind of carnal harmony.
We’re just helping each other out started looping in his brain, followed closely by It’s just sex. His heart grew heavy.
The idiot in him wanted to ask, “How did I do?” as though he awaited some kind of ranking calculated by a panel of judges. He winced inside as he pictured how low those numbers would be and how Wolf would top him on the leader board. Fortunately, restraint was taking hold once more and saved him from opening his mouth and embarrassing himself further.
When he’d caught his breath, he planted tiny kisses along her neck and shoulder and nuzzled her hair. “I should go clean up,” he murmured, and she released him with a sigh. One look over his shoulder as he headed toward the bathroom nearly stopped him dead in his tracks because, holy fuck! She’d rolled to her stomach, knees bent and ankles crossed above her perfectly rounded ass, her stilettoed feet suspended midair. His well-used cock managed to twitch in response.
The vision was branded in his brain, and all of him hoped he’d have endless opportunities to collect more images.
“Can I take the shoes off now?” she called after him, a giggle lacing her voice.
Nuh-uh, no way! “Anything you want.”
After he’d disposed of the condom and cleaned up, it dawned on him she might want to clean up too, and he soaked a washcloth in hot water. In all the years he’d been sleeping with women, not once had this thought occurred to him.
He exited the bathroom, surprised and delighted to find Sarah hadn’t covered up. Instead, she reclined in her full naked glory, one knee up, and unabashedly tracked him as he walked toward her.
Her eyes flicked to his hand. “What’s that?”
He sank onto the mattress beside her, untwisted the cloth, and brushed it between her thighs, along her seam, over her mound.
She closed her eyes. “Oh God, that feels sooo good. Don’t stop.”
He continued his ministrations, eating up her sensual sighs. Jesus, he could get used to this. Did he have a chance?
A quick throat clear, and he blurted the unthinkable. “Did you enjoy … I mean, were you … Did I …?”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she sat up, a mischievous grin playing on her features as she pushed her fingers through his hair. “You know, you’re pretty damn cute sometimes. Like right now.”
Fuck. Now he felt like an even littler little kid—with a super-hot, naked, one-hundred-percent woman running her fingers through his hair. “You’re not answering the question I shouldn’t have asked,” he muttered and dropped the cloth on the floor.
She scanned his face as if she were assessing him, and her lips curved into a broad smile before she pulled his head to hers and planted a languid, breath-stealing kiss on him.
Rubbing her nose against his, she purred, “Let’s put it this way: I’ve been asking myself what took us so long and how soon can we do it again.”
No lie, his heartbeat went from limp to anaerobic, and his dick was hoisting itself back to full mast—which didn’t escape her attention. Her hand raked a light path up his thigh and teased his stiffening cock. “Soon, it would appear.”
He let out an involuntary moan.
“Too much, Sparky?”
He grabbed her hand, yanked her against him, and went to work devouring her sensitive neck and earlobe, gratified when her skin erupted in goose bumps. “You’re almost too much, Sunshine, but I’ll catch up. I’m a quick learner.”
Soon she couldn’t stop giggling, and he had her pinned beneath him, unable to hold his own laughter back. He rose above her and leveled his gaze at hers. The light in her eyes had shifted, transforming them into dark liquid pools that communicated more desire than mere words ever could. In that moment, he saw himself reflected in her, and he soared to ten feet tall.
In an achingly tender move, she reached up and brushed the hair from his forehead. Another smile—a secret one for only him—and his heart squeezed.
“What are you thinking?” He’d never asked a bed partner that question in his life. He’d never cared enough. But with this woman, he wanted to know her most intimate thoughts.
She played with his hair, sending pleasurable chills down his neck and spine. “I’m thinking that we still have a dinner to eat.”
His stomach silently rumbled. “Hungry?”
“Mm-hmm, but I’m not feeling very motivated to get out of bed just yet—”
“Don’t move.” He pushed her back against the pillows. “Sit back, relax. I got this.”
Sarah watched Quinn pull on his boxers and leave the bedroom. She could watch that body move every minute of every day. Lying on the bed, she stretched her limbs like a contented cat in a patch of sun. All of her still tingled from their combustible, animallike lovemaking. Oh my God, when had it ever been like that? Never. Ever.
Wow!
The tempest that had been the joining of their two bodies reminded her of makeup sex on steroids—except they hadn’t had a fight and they’d never had sex before. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and surveyed the messy piles of clothing. The scene mimicked the explosive quality of their whole encounter. Sarah had always been aware of the passion simmering below her surface, but she’d never unleashed the beast before—not completely anyway. Never had she felt safe enough. But Quinn had not only tapped it, he’d released it and matched it. And then some. He’d taken her hard and fast, and her body had climbed to new heights she’d never known existed.
You underestimate your power, Sparky.
She picked up his crumpled white shirt and slipped it on, pulling in the scent of his aftershave and him while she haphazardly fastened buttons. Her eyes caught on the cockeyed placement of her discarded sandals, and she giggled aloud at the memory of his blazing eyes when her heels were the only thing she wore. She slipped those on too and headed to the bathroom.
When she emerged, Quinn was nudging the bedroom door open. “Dinner?” In his hands was a huge tray piled with plates of mouthwatering food. Tucked between them were silverware, napkins, and wineglasses … and two lit votives.
“God, yes! I’m suddenly starving.” She scrambled toward a large table that occupied a sitting area, cleared it, and he set the tray down, which was when she noticed he wore a barbecue apron with the picture of a man’s body in a loin cloth—à la Tarzan—showing off a cartoonish muscly chest and abdomen.
“Um, what’s with the wardrobe change, Sparks?”
He yanked two wine bottles from roomy pockets and held them up with a wide grin. “Had to improvise so I could bring everything in one trip.”
“Is that … your apron?”
“Nah. Found it in one of the pantries.”
She stifled a laugh. “Well, you need to take it off. This cartoon’s got nothing on the real deal.”
Waggling his eyebrows, he put the wine down and took off the apron, then scanned her from head to high-heel-sandaled foot. His eyes lit, and his dimples deepened. “I like your look—a lot—but maybe you should take yours off too.”
With a chuckle and a head shake, she began unloading the tray. “No, I’d get too cold.”
He came up behind her and snaked his arms around her middle, pulling her close, placing a shiver-inducing kiss at the base of her neck. “I can keep you warm.” His voice was dark and sexy and flowed over her like the filling in a hot lava cake. Sinfully delicious, gooey, warm.
She melted against him. “I know you can, but we’ll never eat. Which would be a shame, by the way, because this all looks incredible.”
He released her with a butt pat. As she arranged the plates, he pointed. “I took a chance on what you’d want and ordered a few appetizers to start. That’s tuna tartar, steak tacos, shrimp cocktail—”
She barked out a laugh. “Is there an appetizer you didn’t get?”
He quirked a smile and walked her through the salads, entrees, and sides. He’d ordered enough to feed an entire team, though after witnessing him massacre plates of food for the last few months, she had no doubt he’d polish all this off too.
“White wine okay to start?” He began pouring. “I thought we’d pair different wines with the different courses.”
Wha—? Yet another surprise from the man, and she found herself entranced. “I didn’t know you were a wine connoisseur, Sparky.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. And I might have taken a crash course at the liquor store today.” After filling his own glass, he raised it to her. “To Sunshine.” He clinked his glass to hers, and they each took a sip.
“What do you think?” he asked after she’d had a nibble of shrimp cocktail. “Did my wine coach do a good job?”
“As far as I’m concerned, he gets an A plus-plus.” And so do you, you overachiever.
He paused between bites and pointed his fork at her. “Glad to hear it.”
Dinner conversation flowed easily, naturally, and she bubbled with laughter as he regaled her with stories. He talked with his hands, and she found herself fascinated with his expressions and gestures. A megaphone blared in her head: “Quinn Hadley, man of many talents: wine expert, interior decorator, storyteller, passionate lover.”
She’d quit eating a while ago, but the passionate lover was in the midst of a foodgasm over a rack of lamb. The groaning reminded her of the guttural noises he’d emitted while they’d been burning up the sheets.
An unpleasant memory meteored into her head. The man is packed, Dory had blathered in the bathroom. Yeah, Sarah had to agree, but damn it, Dory had been there first, and the realization jabbed at Sarah’s soft spots. And how many others besides the fish? How many women in his other phone was he in touch with? In a breathless instant, she was brittle and wobbly, and not from the wine.
Could she handle the cavalcade of colorful characters decorating Quinn’s past? No way would she be anyone’s substitute player. Never again.
He seemed to tune into her shift. “Anything wrong? You’re thinking so hard I’m afraid you’re gonna blow a gasket. Oh shit. I’m sitting over here eating like a pig. Mom would be appalled. Is that it?” He laid his fork down and leaned back.
“No, no. You’re fine. Keep eating.” She flapped her hand at him.
He gave her a skeptical look. “Then what just slammed into you? Something I said? Did?”
Damn. He wore a forlorn look. Might as well just throw it out there. No reason not to be honest here, especially since this probably isn’t going anywhere anyway. “Ah … I’m not sure why, but my mind detoured to your phone.”
When he gave her a quizzical look, she added, “Your hookup phone.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “It’s been off for weeks.”
“Aren’t you checking messages?” she blurted.
Confusion must have shown all over her face because he leaned forward with an indulgent smile. “No, and I’m not going to. Because I don’t give a fuck. Before I shut the damn thing off, I sent everyone a text saying I was off the market.”
Her body turned boneless and nearly slipped off her chair, though her insides were jumping for joy. “Why did you tell them that?” She tipped the wineglass to her lips to have something, anything, to do and realized too late it was empty.
Attentive host that he was, he refilled her wineglass. Then he took her free hand in his, twining their fingers. The feel of those calluses on her skin made her belly dance. “Because it’s true. I’m choosing to be unavailable.” His voice was low, earnest, and his eyes, all warm chocolate, held hers. “Though there’s one person—she’s the only exception—I’m completely available for. But even if she doesn’t want me, I’m done playing the field. That okay with you?”
Sarah downed another sip of wine, willing her short-circuiting brain to begin firing on all cylinders again. Who says you’re not good at this stuff, Sparky?
His thumb caressed the back of her hand. “You know, of course, that you’re that person. I have no idea when or how it happened, but it did.” He shrugged as if this needed no further explanation. Truth was, she wouldn’t comprehend if he did elaborate because her mind was reeling. In the midst of her twisting thoughts was the notion she had no business starting up a relationship with anyone new.
“But I just broke up with … And Gage … And …”
“Yeah, I get it. I’ve thought about it a lot. I don’t want to pressure you, so if this is too much too soon, just tell me to back off. But I plan on sticking around until you are ready. In the meantime, feel free to use my bod as much as you’d like.” He gave her a devilish, dimpled grin.
She couldn’t say anything because an inferno began raging inside her, ready to combust in her core and burn her into an ash heap.
Chapter 29
Who Invented Morning and Why?
Sarah’s eyes shifted back and forth. Had he gone too far, revealed too much? Too bad he couldn’t have taken a crash course from the fictional duke in how to say the right things in the right order. He’d have been the first to sign up because, Jesus, he didn’t want to fuck this up, but her expression told him he probably already had.
He continued stroking the back of her hand. She hadn’t told him not to, hadn’t flinched under his touch, and her skin felt too good to stop. “You okay over there?”
She straightened but didn’t pull her hand away. “Fine. Just … processing.”
An inner sigh of relief eased his shoulders. “Well, while you’re processing, I’m going to clear these dishes and get dessert.”
He rose and began stacking plates on the tray. Following suit, she stood beside him, her shimmering hazel eyes riveted on his. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
He leaned down and kissed her. “You don’t need to say anything. Except maybe, ‘What’s for dessert?’”
She wrapped her hands around his arm, rested her head against his shoulder, and laughed. This version of Sarah was not the prickly porcupine he’d been sidestepping these past few months, and he stood still, taking her in. It occurred to him she was letting down her barriers, showing him her well-guarded, well-disguised, innermost self. And damn, he loved it. He wanted more.
“I don’t think I can eat another bite right now, but tell me what’s for dessert.” Her voice held an amused lilt.
You. “Something I can’t pronounce, but it’s chocolate.”
“That’s all that matters.”
He hoisted the tray, hovering it at his midsection to hide the very obvious effect her touch, her voice, her scent had on him. His boxers did abso-fucking-lutely nothing to contain the problem, but still, he had to chuckle inside as he veered toward the kitchen. What was a first and should have been all kinds of weird—the two of them, nearly naked, eating a romantic dinner in his bedroom—hadn’t felt weird. Instead, words like comfortable, simple, and nice came to mind. He pictured the cleaned-up version of the story he and Sarah would tell their kids one day when they asked about their parents’ first date.
Whoa. Where had that come from? Quinn had never given any thought to a family before, but somehow that didn’t feel weird either—which was weird. Maybe with the right partner … What the fuck was going on with him? Lost in unraveling the answer to that particular question, he unloaded the tray and stacked the dishes in the sink.
When he returned to the bedroom, Sarah lay on her side in the middle of the bed, facing away from him with her eyes closed and the sheet tucked under her arms. Missing were the few clothes she’d had on during dinner, and her smooth back was exposed to the flare of her hips, giving him an intriguing peek at those dimples. He paused a few beats to soak in the sight, and his cock sprang to life, declaring its appreciation.
In the past, with any other woman, alarms would have been screeching in his head by now, and he’d be calcul
ating the most expedient way to escape. But Sarah belonged right where she was, and when she stirred and let out a sweet little sigh, he stripped off his underwear and slid between the sheets, his front to her back.
He gathered her in his arms, all warmth and silk, and she hummed, “You’re finally back.” She wrapped one arm around his. With the other, she reached behind and started playing with his hair, sending little shock waves racing along his spine, straight to his aching cock.
“Miss me?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yeah, I missed you.” Her voice was dozy and cute, and it touched something deep in his chest.
He kissed her shoulder. “I missed you too.” And he meant it.
She rolled over, her soft breasts squashed against his chest, and sealed his mouth with hers. With long, slow slides of their tongues, the kisses grew deeper, then messier as hands glided and explored and skin blazed against skin. His last lucid thought was of the yearning to climb inside her and never let go. He’d cut away his anchor, and the slim tether of control he’d clung to his entire adult life had gone with it. In that moment, he was lost. He might drown, washed away in a sea of Sarah, and he didn’t care.
Sarah drifted out of a sleepy fog and blinked. On her back, she scanned the dim room to get her bearings—as if the overgrown koala bear wrapped around her wouldn’t have been reminder enough. Quinn’s head was on her chest, his heavy arm and heavier leg pinning her in place. Steady breathing—and the weight of his head—told her he was asleep.
She pointed her toes—the only part she could move for being trapped—stretching, triggering soreness in parts that hadn’t been exercised for a long while. It felt wonderful.
