Best Laid Plans

He blinks and slides a hand across his stubbled jaw, as a strangled moan of appreciation slides past his lips.

His lips part, but he appears thoroughly incapable of words as his eyes travel up and down my body. Up and down, then back again, his gaze heating me up, sizzling my skin. After a few more tours of duty, he stops at my face, his baby blues shimmering with desire. “I’m ready for dinner. And for dessert.”

His words come out hot and heavy, and the weight of them makes my pulse soar.

I gesture to my outfit. “I guess this meets your approval.”

“This meets every seal of approval in the world.”

I’ve never heard his voice sound so husky. The rasp in it feeds me. It moves through me, giving me another dose of confidence, another serving of naughtiness.

I bring my hand to my mouth, an exaggerated Betty Boop move. “Oh no! You were expecting me in an apron. Oops!” I raise a finger, the sign to wait. “I’ll be right back.”

I turn on my heels, giving him a view of my barely-covered derriere as I saunter back to my bedroom.





33





Gabe





There’s a fire extinguisher handy. I bought her extras a few months ago when I installed additional smoke alarms too.

Pretty sure they’re going off right now.

Because I am en fuego.

That ass.

Those legs.

Those curves.

Yes, it’s a five-alarm raging in my body as I stare, slack-jawed, at my good friend while she turns the corner into her bedroom.

Evidently, I’m still a gentleman since I don’t go chase her in there. I wait, like a good boy. Or, really, like a dinosaur of the cock-a-saurus rex variety.

She’s magnificent in all her nearly naked glory, and even though I was panting like a dog to see her in the apron, her switcheroo worked.

Hell, did it ever work. I tug at the neck of my shirt. I try in vain to adjust myself in my jeans.

No luck. Her effect on me is stubbornly self-evident, and I’m damn sure I’m not going to be able to erase the image of her barely covered body from my brain any time soon.

Nor do I want to.

Shoes click against the hardwood floor, and she emerges, stopping at the end of the hallway, gesturing to her new ensemble. “Is this better?”

A small black apron covers her front and her belly, reaching down to mid-thigh.

I walk to her and take yet another liberty when I get there, running a hand down her bare arm. “Everything you wear looks amazing, and if you ever open the door in lingerie, or in this, whoever is lucky enough to be on the other side is going to be one happy motherfucker.”

A slow smile spreads, and her eyes stay on mine. Like she doesn’t want to look away.

“Thank you.” Her words are soft and breathy, and they ghost across my skin, weaving around me. She takes my hand, squeezes. “I mean it, Gabe. Thank you. For all of this.” She waves around at her house, and I furrow my brow.

“What do you mean?”

She takes a breath as if she’s fortifying herself. “For letting me try new things.”

My heart vaults out of my chest, skidding at her feet. “You don’t have to thank me.”

She swallows. “But I do. You’re my friend, and that means you make me feel safe, but somehow, you make me feel beautiful too. I don’t know how you do it, but you do.”

I close my eyes for a second, processing her words. It’s no mystery to me why I make her feel beautiful. None whatsoever, but I need to demystify it for her, and soon.

I shake my head, trying to form words.

“What is it?” Her voice rises.

I take a breath, look at her again. It’s hard to look away. “Thank you for trusting me to be the one you try new things with.”

“There’s no one else I’d want as a guide.”

No one else.

The one.

That’s what I want. For all her explorations to begin and end with me. “But there is one more thing you wanted to try, I believe?”

“What is that?” Curiosity weaves through her tone.

I make a circling gesture with my finger. “Turn around, Arden.”

A wicked grin takes hold of her mouth and widens. She spins halfway.

I point to the living room wall. “Hands against the wall.”

She bends forward, dipping into a beautiful, enticing L. I move behind her, sucking in a harsh breath through my teeth as I enjoy the peek at her ass, her cheeks barely covered by the lace panties.

“Ready?”

“So ready.” A tremble moves through her body, and it’s the most sensual thing I’ve ever seen. It’s evidence, the physical manifestation of all I’ve been seeing in her eyes these last few days. A true and real desire. All I can think about is whether one quick slide of my hand to cup her between her legs would reveal if she’s on the edge too.

But that’s not what I said I’d do.

Instead, I raise my hand then lower it, swatting her ass.

“Oh!” she yelps.

I rub my hand over the flesh. “Did it hurt?”

She nods. “But do it again.”

I laugh. “You little junkie.”

I swat her other cheek then soothe it with my palm.

I’m so damn tempted to plant a kiss on those pink cheeks. To grab her luscious ass and squeeze hard. But this will have to suffice, and if I’m doing it right, I’ll leave her wanting more.

I give one more swat then grab her waist, yank her up, and whisper, “Now feed me, woman.”

And that tremble? It turns into a full-body shudder.

I don’t know how the hell I’m going to make it through this meal.





*



I’m so sad.

I completely understand the sad panda saying now.

Because Arden is now dressed.

She’s serving dinner in . . . wait for it . . . clothes.

Cue the tears.

But the chicken stir-fry she’s made is heavenly, and I can’t complain about her cooking.

I try to remember my dad’s words—focus on the friendship. But now that I’ve seen her in a bra and panties—dear God, has a bra and pair of panties ever looked as good on a woman as they do on her?—I can’t unsee it.

Can’t unsee the apron either.

Can’t unsee anything.

Nor can I unhear the thank you.