“I don’t know,” she wailed helplessly. Unfortunately, her fantasy was circumscribed by her own lack of experience.
Kneeling over her, Cole took her hand in his and carried it to his chest. She felt the diamond pattern of crisp dark hair that arrowed down to his waist and below. Slowly, he moved her palm over his small hard male nipples, then guided it lower, to where he wanted her attention.
She gave it freely, lovingly, testing his powers of resistance and her own powers to arouse—first with feathery fingertip caresses, then with the judicious use of fingernails. Finally—irresistibly—with a lingering series of kisses that brought him to a state near catatonia.
“God in heaven, woman, what are you trying to do, cripple me for life?”
“How’m I doing so far?” She teased him with a smile.
“You need to ask?”
He moved away abruptly, and she remembered the small, important packets on the bedside table. A moment later, he turned to her again. This time, instead of positioning himself over her, he settled back against the headboard and lifted her astride his thighs. “All right?” he murmured. His hands cupped her breasts while his tongue made love to her nipples.
Moments later they were both breathing harshly, quivering on the edge of the precipice. He cupped her hips and lifted her again, this time positioning her perfectly. It was like setting a torch to dry grass. Together they set a pace that could only be described as fast, frantic and furious. All too quickly, she felt herself flying over the top, heard the series of soft, wild cries that issued from her throat.
And then she collapsed against his chest, her head on his shoulder. Eventually they toppled together onto the bed. Cool air gradually chilled the perspiration on both their bodies, not that either of them noticed.
At some point before morning, one of them—later, neither could remember doing it—managed to pull up the covers.
The first thing Marty saw when a shaft of spring-scented sunshine found its way into the room was the two unused condoms on the bedside table. Cole was watching her, his expression a little cocky, a little wary. “Waste not, want not?” he suggested.
“Um…measure twice, cut once?” she returned.
“Ouch. I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
She grinned. “It’s your saying.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t think of one that fits the circumstances, so how about if I make one up for the occasion?”
“Does it have anything to do with food? Because I missed out on dessert last night, and I’m hungry.”
He nodded thoughtfully, his streaky-blond hair standing on end, dark bristles covering the lower half of his face. “Yeah, me, too. But first, tell me this—have you got any objection to being proposed to over bacon and eggs?”
Her heart stuttered, skipped a beat and began to pound. “That depends on what you’re proposing,” she said cautiously.
“Because I can do it just as well over waffles, even the frozen kind, if you’d rather.”
She recognized the glint in his eyes now. “Does this have anything to do with your contract?”
He nodded. “Manner of speaking, I guess it does. See, what I’m after is an extension. Maybe fifty years or so, with an exclusivity clause.”
She pretended to think about it while she fought against the absurd urge to cry. She’d had moonlight and roses. She’d had candlelight and French cuisine. None of those had lasted. She had a feeling this was the real deal—finally.
“Bacon and eggs sounds, um, reasonable,” she ventured.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
They were still bare from the waist up, covered only by a yellow print sheet and a quilted spread from the waist down. “What are you waiting for? You want me to go first?”
Well, she did and she didn’t. Talk of fifty-year contracts was scary enough; she would prefer a bit of plain-speaking before she jumped to any conclusions. “I want to know if you’ve got the courage to say it in plain English.”
“You mean the L word? As in lust?”
She had to laugh, because they both knew which L word she’d meant. And then he said it—the right L word—and her throat thickened up again with tears. Oh, God, she hated it when her emotions took over this way. What had happened to the pragmatic Virgo who always followed the rules and tried to stay out of trouble?
“Cole, you might as well know that I never rush into things. I’m far too practical for that.”
He lifted one dark eyebrow. She rolled her eyes.
“Okay, maybe ‘practical’ isn’t the right word, but I do know better than to act on impulse.”
This time his other eyebrow lifted.
She gave up. “All right! But there’s a lot about me you don’t know. Such as I never—that is, I usually don’t…rush into things. Honestly.”
“Gotcha. We take it easy, get to know each other—you tell me all your bad habits, I gloss over mine.” His smile was purely wicked.
She swatted him, and he laughed. “You want to hear it again?”
“Hear what again?”
“The L word?” he teased.
She shook her head, her heart too full for words. She knew the difference between loving and falling in love. One was permanent. The other was all too often an illusion.
She suffered from both.
But when she saw him reach across to the bedside table, she had to laugh, too.
“How hungry did you say you were?” he asked.
“Not all that hungry. Not for food, at least.”
His eyes said it all. “That’s my woman. My Marty. My love.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7687-5
HER MAN UPSTAIRS
Copyright © 2005 by Dixie Browning
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*Outer Banks
†Tall, Dark and Handsome
‡The Lawless Heirs
§The Passionate Powers
** Beckett’s Frotune
†† Divas Who Dish
Her Man Upstairs Page 16