Sliding his hand over her ass and slipping it between her legs, Nash chuckled, the deep rumble penetrating her back. “Phew. He’s a tough old codger to impress. Glad to have passed inspection.”
“Enough talk, Cowboy. There are raffles and pools all over Paris tonight betting on whether we’re making each other’s eyeballs roll. You’re better get to the business at hand or suffer the humiliation when I tell everyone we only did it once.”
Cupping her breast, he moaned a laugh when she arched her back against him, his cock rigid again. “I’m a little crazy about you, you know that, Cupcake Lady?”
Leaning into his hand with a soft purr, she smiled.
She knew.
She really did.
Chapter 6
Reaching upward, Calla stretched her arms, numb from sleeping in the same position all night long—in Nash’s strong embrace.
A warm thrill shot through her when she remembered last night, and not just their incredible lovemaking, but how well loved she felt once she’d revealed everything to him.
How secure and sexy he’d left her feeling made her smile just before she yawned. She knew she should get up and see if Nash had some toothpaste she could scrub on her teeth with her finger, but his strong body, still in sleep, kept her in the bed.
She forced the small niggle of regret, that she’d put Nash on the spot the way she had, out of her head. It was the only way she’d felt comfortable enough to do it, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
Her last encounter had been horrible. Turned out, Reed claiming he understood what he’d see versus actually seeing it was just cheap talk. It had been humiliating entering an encounter with anticipation, only to find herself shunned and rejected.
Going into last night, Calla had opted to show rather than tell, rolling the dice and gambling that Nash would love her anyway.
She took a deep breath and sighed a happy sigh at how right she’d been.
Calla peered over at him. He rested on his side, the morning sun peeking through the illusion he’d created last night, giving his skin a glow. She rolled to her side, too, admiring how beautifully sculpted he was, with his long lashes sweeping across his cheek and his thick dark hair tousled from sleep.
Inching closer, she ran the palm of her hand over his chest, reveling in the heat of his skin. Moving in, she brushed her lips against his nipple, making him stir. He groaned and shifted, catching her hand in his.
Then he stilled, becoming almost frozen in place.
Which was odd.
But she didn’t let that deter her. Maybe he just wasn’t a morning person. She had plans to fix that as she scooted beneath the covers…
Until he roared, “Who the hell are you?” from above her before leaping from the bed, his feet hitting the hardwood with a solid thud.
Calla sat up in surprise, forgetting to take the sheet with her, but then she giggled. Nash was always joking around. Holding out her hand, she summoned him. “Very funny, Cowboy. Finally get me into bed and suddenly you can’t remember my name? A likely story.”
He whirled around, locating a blanket tossed on the floor, then scooping it up to wrap around his waist, his eyes wild and angry…
Angry? Her nostrils flared.
He was red-hot pissed off—it rolled off him in waves, vibrating the stifling air.
His eyes narrowed at her. “I said, who the fuck are you and why the hell are you in my damn bed?” The cord of muscles along his neck strained against his skin.
His question rang hard in Calla’s ears, making her cock her head. “You’re joking, right?” Of course he was joking.
Ha-ha.
Nash’s eyes scanned the landscape of the room, noting her dress and underthings on the floor. He began furiously picking up her clothing, lobbing it on the bed. When he came to her prosthetic, he fumbled.
It slipped from his fingers like a fumbled football before he caught it again and held it in his hand as though he’d just picked up droppings from Bitty with unprotected fingers, staring down at it then looking to her.
“What the hell is this?”
Okay, now he’d gone too far. This was no longer funny. It was almost cruel. She didn’t know who this man was. Was he having some sort of blackout? A brain malfunction?
Sliding from the bed, she pointed to her chest. “You know damn well what that is. It’s my prosthetic. You know, because I’m the one-boobed wonder?”
For a brief moment, the fury of his tight face relaxed. He dropped the prosthetic on the bed, the gel misshapen from his clutch on it. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
“Damn right it was insensitive. This isn’t funny anymore, Nash!”
Planting his hands on his hips, his blue eyes fiery, he pointed to the bedroom door. “Look, lady, I don’t know who in the bloody blazes you are or why the hell your clothes are all over my floor or even why you’re naked in my bed, but you need to get dressed and get the hell out of her. Now!” he yelled, so loud, Calla felt it in her bones.