by Lori Foster
She forced herself to move away from him. Keeping her gait casual, she retraced her steps to the kitchen. Ian followed. “What about you? Ever found that special someone?”
“No. You?”
She laughed. “I’m not at all convinced special people exist, at least not in a one-on-one-forever kind of way.”
“So cynical.” He pulled out a stool for her. “What about Becky and Asia? They’re your friends and I know they’re happily involved. You expect them to crash and burn?”
Why did he push her? She flipped her hair back and shrugged. “I don’t know. Their relationships are too new to tell.”
“George and Cameron would be crushed.”
She grinned. “No, they’d just give me hell and harass me and tell me to mind my own business.”
“You like them?”
“Sure. They’re good to Becky and Asia.” She felt compelled to add, “So far.”
Ian studied her a moment longer before shaking his head in an indulgent manner. “You want to keep me company while I cook?”
Erica had really expected him to jump her bones the minute they were alone in his apartment. She was mildly put out that he didn’t, and yet fascinated with all he shared. Hoping he’d share even more, she opted to stay close rather than set the tone by leaving him alone.
“Sure.” She started to seat herself, but was taken by surprise when he relieved her of her tea, set it on the counter, and then hefted her up to the bar stool.
Standing far too close, his hands still at her waist, he gave her a small grin and asked, “Comfy?”
His strength constantly amazed her—and turned her on. He’d lifted her as easily as he might have lifted a child. She cleared her throat. “Yeah.”
He continued to look down at her, to hold her and smile. Then he leaned down for a kiss.
Erica knew she should tell him no, that she should deny him or at least reprimand him for not following the dictate of their agreement, which meant she was the boss and he was the slave. She should pull back right now. Or better yet, if she waited until he almost kissed her, then he’d really … Wow. He tasted so incredibly good.
Without conscious volition, her hands crept to his wide, hard shoulders. His cotton work shirt was soft, and she could feel the flex and play of muscle and bone beneath. Her fingers dug in with an effort to get him closer. She opened her mouth and felt the brief foray of his damp, velvet tongue, and …
“Damn.” He straightened over her. “I forgot, I need to shower.”
Erica blinked, trying to bring herself back around. She’d been so lost in that hot, devouring kiss. All she really wanted at the moment was more—of thatkiss, of him, of how he made her feel, and his delicious, clean-sweat scent. She reached for him, but he shook his head.
“Sorry, honey. Shower first, then we can play all you want.” He turned to the stove—turned his back on her—and set a pot full of water on to boil.
Erica went rigid.
“I’m going to go ahead and get the food started, then jump in the shower. I promise I won’t be more than five minutes. That is”—he glanced over his shoulder and caught her fuming—“unless you want me to shave?”
Erica eyed the beard shadowing on his jaw, which made him look like a dark rogue. “No.” Damn it, her voice sounded like a croak again. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “You can shave later while I watch.”
Both his brows lifted. “A voyeur, huh?” He sounded vastly amused by that. “I’m game.”
“Of course you are,” she said through her teeth, “because I’m the boss, so whatever I say is okay with you.”
“Right.”
Within seconds he had the thick chops sizzling on the range-top griddle, set on low, and he started out of the room with the admonition, “Be good—at least until I get back.”
Annoyed more with herself than him, Erica snatched up her drink and went to the glass doors. At least this time she knew how to open them, so she sauntered outside, dropped into a padded chaise, and stretched out her legs.
The blazing sun had disappeared behind gray clouds without her realizing it, and the air smelled of an impending storm. She loved storms, foundthem sexy and energizing, and at the moment, they certainly matched her turbulent mood.
How could she teach Ian a lesson when all he had to do was look at her and she got tongue-tied?
The aroma of cooking pork drifted out to her, but she wasn’t about to tend to dinner, too. That wasn’t the deal, and she had to keep at least some part of the original bargain pure. She checked her wristwatch and saw it was six thirty-six. She’d give him the requisite five minutes he’d claimed, then she was leaving. And she’d have a legitimate excuse for walking out, too, given how he’d started things out.
A humid wind blew in, tangling her hair. Not that she cared. She turned her face up, closed her eyes, and tried to relax.
Not more than three minutes after that she heard Ian whistling in the kitchen. Ha. She wouldn’t move. Let him come outside and find her. She waited, but all she got was the sounds of food being diced and dishes being rattled.
She stubbornly kept her eyes closed and maintained her feigned position of comfort. In truth, she felt as wired as a ticking bomb waiting to go off.
Then gentle fingers touched her head, smoothed her windblown hair behind her ears, and drifted down her neck. She was aware of Ian crouching beside her, fresh from his shower, big and powerful and imposing.
He leaned closer to her, brushing his mouth over her cheekbone, her ear, down her throat. Tired?” he asked, in a voice low and rough and gentle.
Erica slanted her eyes open—and found herselfface-to-naked-chest with him. Stunned, she quickly straightened and looked at the rest of his body, but he had on jeans. Just jeans. Butter soft, well worn jeans that weren’t properly buttoned, likely due to his haste in getting back to the food. His bare feet were big and lean.
God, she was lusting over his feet.
She looked back at his body, at that strong abdomen, the impressive, muscular chest lightly covered in dark hair, and she wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or disappointed that he’d grabbed the damn jeans.
No words came. Ian shirtless was a sight to enjoy. He remained balanced on the balls of his feet, his arms draped loosely over his bent knees, his eyes direct, unflinching, watchful. His brown hair was damp, brushed straight back from his forehead, and he still had those sexy whiskers on his cheeks and chin. His eyes seemed bluer than ever, and as she absorbed his presence, he again came forward to kiss her.
She again let him.
It seemed she had no willpower around this one hunk of man. Somehow, she ended up lounged back with him caging her in, his mouth eating at hers, slow and deep and oh, so thorough. His whiskers rasped her delicate skin, but gently, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.
Tentatively, she touched his chest and felt his astounding heat, the heavy beat of his heart, the taut silk of his shoulders, the crisp hair over his chest. Her hands flattened on him, her fingers spreading wide. “Ian?”
He groaned as if in pain, then levered himself away. “Damn, you are a temptation.”
He said it like an accusation, confounding her.
“My chops are burning.” His crooked grin was back, more endearing—and frustrating—than ever. “Stay put, relax while I finish dinner, okay?” With that, he touched the end of her nose, straightened with a grimace that eased once he readjusted himself, and strolled into the kitchen, again whistling.
Erica flopped back in her seat, utterly speechless. She was losing and she knew it. And even worse, he knew it. Using almost no effort at all, he had her panting after him and she couldn’t let that continue. Somehow, some way, she had to get control so that he was the one panting.
She had to turn the tables on him.
Ian tried but failed to ignore his straining boner as he diced tomatoes, sliced zucchini, and seasoned the light sauce for the linguine. Having Erica alone in his apartment
was enough to tempt a saint, and God knew he wasn’t a candidate for sainthood. She’d surprised and aroused him with her quick capitulation each and every time he touched her. Of course, he’d known they’d be great together, a fact that had driven him nuts for the past few months. But now that he had her where he wanted her, he’d expected to have to work for it.
Apparently, Erica had expected the same. Grinning, Ian peeked out the glass doors at her, saw her frown and mulish expression.
She was conniving something, he could feel it.
And his anticipation grew.
Seconds later she strode in, all saucy and in control once more.She perched on the stool while sizing him up.Or admiring him. With Erica, it was hard to tell.
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You should get more comfortable.” Pretending to be struck by his own words, he shook his head. “No, I said that wrong, didn’t I? I’m your slave for the weekend, so I should get you more comfortable.”
As he spoke, he wiped his hands off on a dishcloth.
Erica’s smile was slow and wicked, just the way he liked it “All right. What do you suggest?”
“When you get home from work, what’s the first thing you do?”
“Kick off my shoes.”
“We’ll start there, then.” Without hesitation, Ian went to one knee in front of her and lifted one slim leg. Her shoes were leather wedges that tied around her ankles. Very sexy. He propped her foot on his thigh and loosened the lace, then slipped the shoe off.
She wore stockings, and for a moment, he enjoyed the silky feel of them against his palms.
He was involved in imagining her legs around his waist when she offered him the other foot.
Ian took his time removing this shoe, while noticing that his lowered position and the way her leg bent gave him a peek at her iridescent peach panties. She knew it too, the little witch.
“It’s warm today,” he murmured, most thoroughly distracted. “Why don’t we take these stockings off too?”
Erica stood, again placed her foot on his thigh, and said, “All right They’re thigh-highs, not panty hose.”
“I noticed.”
“Do it slow.”
Ian’s heartbeat quickened. She was in full boss mode now, and damn, it was exciting. Without looking away from her, he took quick note of the food, using his nose to determine how much more time he had.
The scents of sautéed veggies joined the other aromas in the room. The chops were almost done, and the pasta wouldn’t last more than another minute without being overcooked.
He leaned in to reach beneath her skirt, putting his face even with her belly. Eventually he’d have her in this exact same position again—but she’d be naked.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, she inhaled. Moving as slowly as he could manage given the trembling in his hands and the thundering of his heart, Ian trailed his fingers up her right leg until he encountered the warm, firm flesh of her bare thigh. He’d love to feel that flesh on his jaw while he tasted her. He’d hold her naked bottom in his hands and control her while she bucked and cried out a climax …
“Ian?” Her shaky voice drew him back.
“Just making it slow—the way you said.” He allowed his fingertips to graze the crotch of her panties—and his heart almost stopped when he realized they were damp.
His control snapped and his muscles went slack. He leaned into her, his jaw against her pelvis while he inhaled the spicy scent of her sex.
“Ian?”
She sounded as breathless as he felt. Disregarding her orders, he quickly rolled the stocking down her leg and removed it, tucking it into her shoe.
Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she offered her left leg and he went through the routine again. But he only touched her thigh this time, not wanting things to progress so fast that he ruined his plans. When the second stocking joined the first, he didn’t stand. Instead, he looked up at her, met her heavy, darkened eyes, and wrapped his arms around her hips.
Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he leaned forward until he could kiss her belly through her soft cotton shirt above the waistband of her skirt. Her lips parted on an indrawn breath. Nostrils flaring, he opened his mouth and gently bit. She was soft, just as a woman should be. Very edible. He’d enjoy nibbling on her everywhere once he got her complete acceptance of him as her man.
The kitchen filled with the sounds of their accelerated breathing. Suggestively, easing her into his command, Ian nibbled his way lower.
Her eyes closed and her hands on his shoulders clamped tight, stinging in force.
The leather skirt felt slick and impenetrable, drawing him to a halt. “You know what I think?” he rasped while noting the way her breasts rose and fell and her legs were braced apart. “I think you should be dessert.”
Her eyes snapped open. For one long moment, she looked disoriented, and then she shoved away from him with a flushed face and a noticeable dose of annoyance.
Giving her room to collect herself, Ian went to the stove. He removed the browned chops, arranging them on two plates on a tray. He lifted the pot of linguine from the burner and emptied it into a strainer. While steam rose in his face, adding to hisinner heat, Erica approached. Without her shoes, her petite stature was more obvious than ever. At least, she was petite next to him. He supposed she stood around five-feet-six, an average height for most women.
Her fingertips skated along his naked spine, making his stomach clench. “Speaking of dessert, I’m wondering if you shouldn’t be naked while you do all this.”
He almost snorted. Once again, she’d taken him by surprise. While water ran over the pasta, rinsing it, he faced her with a smile and his hands on his fly. “Want me to shuck the jeans? Just say the word.”
Her eyes widened, but quickly narrowed. “Not just yet. I’m afraid you’ll be a distraction and I am hungry.”
“For food?”
“That too.”
Giving her her due, he saluted. “You’re the boss.”
Under her breath, but not quite under enough, he heard her mutter, “Now if we could both only remember that.”
“You want to eat on the balcony?” He seasoned the pasta, mixing in the sauce and zucchini and topping it off with diced tomatoes and freshly grated Parmesan cheese. “It’s cooling off a little, so it won’t be too uncomfortable.”
“I think it might rain.”
He looked her in the eyes and said, “You won’t mind getting a little wet, will you?”
Her nose lifted into the air. “I’ll wait outside. You can serve me.” And off she went, her hips swaying, leaving Ian to grin behind her.
Twenty minutes later, when she was halfwaythrough her meal and he was almost done, she gave him a genuine compliment. “This is absolutely delicious.” Up until then, she’d been quietly eating, and he’d been quietly watching her.
Because he’d just taken his last bite of pork, he merely nodded in acknowledgment of her praise.
During the meal, the sky had darkened considerably but Ian hadn’t bothered with the outside light. He’d considered getting a candle, but the breeze had picked up so there didn’t seem to be much point. Besides, the dim evening suited Erica and her exotic looks. In the deepening shadows, her eyes were more luminescent, her skin softer. And the charged, humid air repeatedly stirred her scent, keeping him on the keen edge of awareness.
A heavier gust of wind brought the promise of an energetic storm. Erica held her hair away from her face and studied him. “I had no idea you were such a good cook.”
“I’m good at a lot of things.”
She swirled linguine around her fork and asked, “Such as?”
Ian leaned back, getting comfortable while she finished. Just watching her mouth as she chewed, her throat when she swallowed, turned him on, proving he was in dire straits. He liked the way her lips closed around her fork, how he got the occasional peek of her tongue … “I’m the best electrician around.”
She waggled her fork at him. �
��And modest, too.”
He shrugged. “Modesty is overrated. Did you know I’ve considered setting up my own shop a time or two?”
“So why haven’t you?”
Because I like working with you. He shook his head. “The timing isn’t right yet. Maybe soon.”
She looked a little downcast by the idea that he might leave the factory, which encouraged him. “What else are you good at?”
“Building things. Someday I want to build my own house.”
“All by yourself?”
“With subcontractors, but using my designs and direction. I’d like a place isolated away from neighbors. In the woods maybe, with a pond or a creek nearby.”
“Wow. That sounds wonderful.” At that moment, Erica looked softer than he’d ever seen her. She wasn’t bristling, wasn’t erecting barriers to keep him away. She looked almost … dreamy. “I like my privacy too.”
He sent her a look. “Really?”
The dreamy expression faded, replaced by teasing. “Hey, even us party girls like our downtime.”
“So you wouldn’t be averse to living quietly?” He hadn’t expected that. In fact, he’d thought the living arrangements might be his biggest obstacle.
“Someday. So when do you plan to build this dream home?”
Ian pushed his plate away and crossed his arms over the table. He saw Erica’s gaze skirt to his chest and then, with marked determination, come back to his face. Since her body fascinated him, he was glad for some reciprocal interest. “When I marry and settle down.”
She, too, pushed her plate away. “Got a woman in mind for that?”
Before he could think it through, he said, “Oh, yeah.” A beautiful, intelligent, stubborn woman—who suddenly looked ready to strangle him.
Well, hell. He’d certainly set himself up now.
Chapter Four
Erica drew up straight, making Ian regret his hasty admission. In a flash, she was on her feet, pacing to the railing behind him, her every step filled with barely restrained anger.“Strange.” She looked out over the back lot.“I can’t imagine a woman fitting into your life.”