He groaned. “Don’t do that! God, you’re a seductress. Maybe we could start out slow and easy, but you know as well as I do that we wouldn’t end up that way. We’d both get carried away, and before you know it, we’d be slamming into each other. That’s how it is with us.”
“Yeah.” She smiled at him. “You’re right.”
“Stop smiling like that.”
“Okay.” She pressed her mouth into a thin line, but laughter danced in her green eyes.
He’d never get tired of the many moods of Giselle Landry. Whether she was laughing, or dreamy-eyed, or talking earnestly, or moaning with passion, she fascinated him. But somehow he had to keep himself from having sex with her right now, and probably this afternoon, and maybe even tonight. How depressing was that?
He walked around to his chair and pulled it out. “I’m going to sit right here and eat this huge omelet and all these potatoes. After that, I’ll be too full to have sex.”
“I would imagine that’s true. After you’ve eaten everything, I would expect you to explode like an overloaded Hefty bag.”
“I’m a man of action, a man who lives large. I need fuel for my many activities.” He put his napkin in his lap and picked up his fork. About that time, he heard Giselle moan with pleasure. He didn’t have to look to know why. She’d taken a bite of her strawberry waffle loaded with whipped cream.
He kept his eyes on his plate and cut into his omelet. He didn’t need to watch her eating that thing. Bad enough that he had to listen to her over there sighing in orgasmic delight.
Under different circumstances, he might not have thought that waffle presentation was especially erotic, but after his night with Giselle, everything seemed erotic. The baked waffle smelled like good sex, and the raspberries reminded him of her aroused nipples. He wanted to set that strawberry rose in her navel, or maybe lower than that, and nibble for a while. Then there was the whipped cream. . . . He could do a whole riff on the erotic possibilities of whipped cream.
“You said you wanted to know about some of my brother’s practical jokes.”
He risked looking at her, and sure enough, she had whipped cream on her upper lip. “You have some whipped cream on your mouth.” He pointed to his own upper lip to show her where.
“Thanks.” Her tongue darted out, and she licked it away.
He stared at her full mouth and remembered all the ways she’d used it to drive him insane.
“Do you still?”
“Still what?” Want her? With the heat of a thousand suns. Somehow he didn’t think that’s what she’d asked, but he’d lost track of the conversation.
“Want me to tell you about my brother’s tricks?”
“Oh. Yeah, sure. That’s a good idea. He’ll probably booby-trap the cabin somehow.” He dug into his omelet again. “Something to do with water.”
“Once he set up an elaborate scheme with a bouquet of flowers and a sensor that would cause water to shoot out of the vase if someone leaned down to smell them. But that’s not targeted to a specific person, so I don’t think he’d bother to set that up in the cabin. He’s not going to repeat his bucket over the front door, so I honestly don’t know what to expect. He was never really into explosives.”
Luke stared at her. “What do you mean by ‘never really into’? Did he ever blow anything up?”
“Not much. Mostly baked goods. When he blew up a triple-layer Black Forest cake, he had to pay for the cleaning crew out of his allowance. I think that ended the explosion phase. After that, it was mostly water pranks.”
Luke chewed and swallowed. “Then I guess we’ll just have to drive up there and find out what sort of surprise he’s concocted. I got directions from Owen.”
“Want to take my motorcycle?”
“We’d better go in my car. We’ve had some snow in the mountains, and we might hit an icy patch of road. Plus it will be chilly up there.”
She shrugged. “Okay. The car it is. Probably a better idea until I recover anyway. Is your omelet good?”
He’d barely tasted it. All he cared about was getting through the meal and out of the penthouse without grabbing her. “Yep. Delicious.”
“Do you normally eat with such concentration?”
He put down his fork and looked at her. “No, but normally I’m not fighting the urge to have my dining companion stretched out under me in the middle of the table.”
Her breath caught. “Do you have any idea how exciting it is to hear something like that?”
“Do you have any idea how close I am to becoming an inconsiderate jerk who takes you regardless of whether I’ll hurt you in the process?”
Her lips parted and her cheeks grew pink. “I wouldn’t care.”
“I would.” Shoving back his chair, he tossed his napkin on the table. “I’ll move your suitcase back into the guest room. You can get ready in there.”
“You’re throwing me out of your bedroom?”
“Yes. For my sanity and your protection.”
“You’re very gallant, Luke.”
“Don’t say that yet. Wait until we’re both heading down in the elevator. No, not even then. I could stop the elevator and take you before we get to the bottom. Congratulate me when we’re in the car headed up into the mountains. I can’t very well do you and drive a mountain road at the same time.”
“I suppose not. In any case, thank you for making me feel so desired.”
“If you were any more desired, I’d be in flames.” He stalked into the bedroom and grabbed her suitcase. He had to carry it open because that was the way she’d left it and he didn’t want to take the extra time to zip it up. That meant he had to breathe in the light but exotic scent of Giselle. She didn’t wear perfume, so it had to be her natural scent. He loved it.
“Thank you!” she called out to him as he deposited the open suitcase in the guest bedroom and made a beeline for the master.
“I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.” He shut and locked the door.
“Me, too!” she shouted from her seat at the table.
He stood on the other side of his bedroom door, literally panting from the effort of separating himself from temptation. She’d become such a vital part of his existence so quickly that it scared the shit out of him. If this wasn’t soul mate territory, what was?
She liked knowing that she affected him this way. He could see it in her eyes. And she craved their lovemaking as much as he did. That hot kiss at the table had told him so. If he hadn’t called a halt, they would have been doing it—in the chair, up against the table, on the floor. And whipped cream would have ended up all over everything.
But he wouldn’t have liked himself very much afterward. The woman had announced that she was sore, and unless he had become some sort of brutish cad, that should matter to him. Hell, he was sore, too. Anyone would be who’d had the sex marathon they’d been through.
Sadly, he didn’t care about that. He would take a little twinge for the reward of having her again. He wasn’t about to make that decision for her, though. When they made love again, and he hoped it would be fairly soon, he needed to know that he was giving her pleasure and not pain.
Therefore, he’d lock himself in the bedroom, take his shower, and get dressed while she performed the same chores in the guest bathroom. He would not think of her stepping into the shower and letting the water slide over her lithe body. He would not think of her lathering up, which would require touching all those intimate places he craved.
Right. He wouldn’t think of it at all. Except every damn minute. Stripping down, he walked into the master bath and turned on the jets in the shower they’d shared only hours before. He could do this.
As he stepped into the spray, he was swamped by the erotic memories of Giselle turning to wash all the chocolate from her creamy skin, and of him leading her, with her eyes closed, to the jet that was perfectly positioned to give her a climax. After that . . . He groaned as the potent image of Giselle offering herself turned his cock into an unforgiving steel rod.