Unlike last night's fast and frenzied joining, he'd taken her slowly and lazily, nuzzling her neck, threading his fingers gently through her hair, and arching into her so that his pubic bone rubbed her just the right way. He'd lifted his head, their gazes locking as he watched her expression as he stoked the fire between them. The buildup of her orgasm had been gradual, a tingling, sublime sensation that crested through her in undulating waves of bliss. He came with her on a long, low groan that rumbled his chest against hers.
It had been a lovely way to wake up.
She remembered stroking her fingers down his back and over the muscled slope of his firm butt and recalled the sleepy, instinctive words she'd spoken: "I should go."
"It's already five in the morning. Go back to sleep for a while." His lips drifted affectionately across her cheek, and he withdrew from her soft, satiated body. "I'll take you back to your apartment later."
She'd been unable to resist his sweet, caring suggestion to rest a bit longer, and snuggled back beneath the warm blanket and comforter. She heard him get up and take a shower, but she was too tired and replete to wake up fully and join him, despite how much the thought tempted her. Instead, she'd fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep. And now, as she glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, she realized it was a quarter past eight, when she was normally up by six A.M. to start her day.
She wasn't worried about The Daily Grind. Her morning shift could handle the early Monday rush without her. But she did have an appointment with Antonio today, a meeting she wasn't about to be late for or to miss, considering all that was at stake.
Tossing off the covers, she reluctantly sat up on the edge of the mattress and shivered as the cool morning air hit her bare skin. She found a men's long-sleeved shirt draped over the end of the bed and assumed that it was for her to wear, since Steve had shredded her blouse last night. She slipped into the soft cotton and cuffed up the sleeves a few times since they hung past her fingertips. She had no idea where her panties were, so she went sans underwear, grateful that the hem reached mid-thigh.
She padded into the bathroom, finally seeing his bedroom in the light of day, and took care of business. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she grimaced. Her hair was a tousled mess, and her eye makeup was smudged-a morning-after look she'd been able to spare Steve until today. She used his brush to untangle her hair and restore some semblance of order to the unruly strands, then scrubbed her face clean.
She spotted a packaged, unused toothbrush on the vanity and studied it for a moment, her mind conjuring up all the reasons why Steve might have an extra stash of toiletries on hand. She chastised herself for making a big deal out of the fact that he was prepared for overnight guests, and tried to ignore the stab of jealousy that hit her squarely in the chest, before snatching up the toothbrush, ripping off the wrapper, and using it to scrub her teeth.
But that persistent ache remained, right in the vicinity of her heart-a tenderness and yearning that seemed to grow with each encounter with Steve. It was as if she gave a little part of herself to him each time they were together, each time they had sex.
Last night they'd definitely had hot, uninhibited sex. But this morning… dear God, this morning it had felt like they'd made love in its purest, most intimate sense. Stunned and shaken by the realization, and feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable, she pressed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, struggling to contain the emotions rioting within her. Emotions she was helpless to deny.
But how she felt about Steve didn't change anything-not their arrangement, their business deal, or their temporary relationship.
With that reminder fresh in her mind, she gathered her composure and headed downstairs to face Steve.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Steve flipped through the Monday morning paper, reading the features and articles but not really processing them. His thoughts were on other things… like the woman he'd left sleeping in his bed upstairs. The first woman he'd wanted to wake up to in the morning since his divorce.
He knew he could have easily taken her back to her apartment after their tryst last night, but he'd been completely satisfied to keep her snuggled so trustingly in his arms, her warm, silky body entwined with his. And when the gray shades of dawn had roused him from slumber and he'd opened his eyes to find Liz sleeping beside him, he hadn't panicked or freaked out. Instead, he'd reached out and gently caressed a hand over her hip, and her automatic response to his touch had fired his blood all over again.
Having her in his bed all night long had felt amazingly, perfectly right.
Standing, he went to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot he'd just percolated. He'd been content to live the life of a carefree bachelor the past six years, dating when the urge struck him, without commitments or promises. Keeping his emotions out of the equation had been easy, but this morning he was struck with the realization that it was a matter of finding the right woman who evoked those needs. There was something to be said for a monogamous relationship and having one special woman in his life.
And for him, that woman was Liz.
Their short time together was no longer just about great sex and how compatible they were in bed. Yes, she was his perfect match sexually, open for anything that gave them pleasure, just like last night's erotic fantasy. But it was becoming increasingly obvious to him, with each day that passed, that being her temporary lover wasn't going to do it for him. He wanted-needed-more than a short-term affair with her.
He'd already broken one of his own personal rules by bringing her home with him and letting her stay the entire night in his bed. That had been a huge, unspoken gesture for him, one he hoped would show Liz that he wanted her in his life beyond the brief affair they'd originally agreed upon, and longer than it took to locate her wayward cousin.
"Umm, do I smell coffee?"
Steve turned at the sound of Liz's sleep-husky voice, and his body stirred at the sexy way she filled out his shirt, along with the adorable blush on her cheeks. Oh, yeah, he could get used to having her at his place on a regular basis.
"I just brewed a fresh pot," he said, smiling. "Would you like some?"
"I'd love a cup." She came up to the counter beside him and pushed her fingers through her softly disheveled hair, appearing self-conscious and wary. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spend the night."
Her tone was reserved, as was her expression, which Steve found too ironic since that should have been his reaction to their intimate morning-after situation.
Bringing down a mug from the cupboard, he filled it with steaming coffee and tried to put her at ease. "I wanted you to stay, and I liked waking up to you. No harm, no foul," he teased.
And just in case she didn't believe him, he slipped his arm around her waist, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her with heat and a passion that seemed to grow stronger every time he touched her. Her hands came to rest on his naked chest, and his mouth seduced hers until she finally gave him what he wanted from her-a soft, surrendering sigh, and the tension in her limbs replaced with the lush, feminine press of her curves against his.
Before he gave in to the urge to find out what, if anything at all, she was wearing beneath his shirt, he pulled back and skimmed his thumb along her damp lower lip. "Mmm, you taste minty fresh."
She laughed lightly and moved smoothly out of his embrace, seemingly a bit skittish with all this morning-after intimacy. "Thanks to you." She spooned sugar into her coffee and slanted him a speculative look. "Do you always keep a stash of toothbrushes on hand for overnight guests?"