“Would I be bringing you coffee?” I ask, getting into the vision.
“I don’t give a damn what you’d be bringing me. As long as you bring it, because I’d meet you at the door and I’d close it behind you. Your big, gray eyes would get all wide and innocent like they do sometimes, and you’d back slowly toward the desk. When you felt it brush that beautiful ass, you’d stop. And when I reached you, you’d stop me with a hand to my chest, telling me not to mess up your lipstick. I’d laugh, and then I’d turn you around and bend you over the desk. I’d ease that skirt up and find nothing underneath. Not a damn stitch of underwear. Because you’re a dirty little vixen that way.” His grin is enough to melt all my clothes off. Right here, right now. I’m practically panting as I wait for him to continue. “I’d drop to my knees and I’d kiss those creamy thighs. That pretty ass. That sweet *. I wouldn’t stop kissing…and licking…and touching…until you came for me. And then I’d stand up and eeease into you. Again. And again. Until you came a second time, until all that sweetness was dripping down your legs. Then I’d push your skirt down. And I’d turn you around. You’d slap me, but then I’d kiss you and smear your lipstick anyway. You wouldn’t complain. Because you’d love it. You’d love it and I’d love it.”
I’m so turned on, I think I’d be grateful if a good, stiff wind would blow between my legs. I clear my throat, realizing I’m way out of my depth in this game that I so pluckily started. I don’t even know what to say, because everything I want to say is totally off limits with my daughter in the next room. I settle for, “Well, I guess I’ll have to buy a skirt the next time I go to Ashbrook.”
Cole gives me that smile again. It nearly stops my heart, I think, which is not a good thing. At this point, I need all the oxygen to my brain that I can get. All my bloodflow seems to be diverting to…other places. “In that case, let me show you the other rooms, too. You might have a list.”
Excitement twitters through me. This man might be dangerous after all.
TWENTY-TWO
Cole
I AM SO hard right now, I could probably drive a nail through a cement block with the tip of my dick. I’ve taken Eden into nearly every room in my house and spun her an explicit, erotic tale about the things I’d like to do to her in each one. With each scenario, she’s only gotten more excited. I can see it in the flush of her skin. I can feel it in the flutter of her hand in mine. And I can sense it in the rapid way she breathes, in the throaty way she asks questions when she plays along.
Hot damn! I never would’ve expected such a sexual creature to be hiding behind those amazing gray eyes. It’s like a bonus–for a woman to be such a good mother, such a decent person, such a pleasure to be around, but to have a dirty-girl streak, too.
Jackpot.
I pull Eden behind me into the second guest room’s bathroom. “It’s so spacious,” she mutters in her low, husky voice. I know she’s trying to be quiet so she doesn’t wake Emmy, who fell asleep two rooms ago, but it’s sexy as all hell. I don’t even think she realizes how she sounds, how she could ask me to do anything in that voice and I’d do it.
“What was that?” I ask, flattening her against the short wall, out of sight of the door. Just in case.
I feel her shallow breathing. I see the sensual slant of her eyes. She’s on fire right now. Just like me.
“I said it’s so. Spacious,” she repeats, her eyes falling to my lips as she annunciates.
“There are so many things I’d like to hear you say right now. In that voice,” I confess, my mouth mere inches from hers.
“Like what?” she asks, all sex and innocence, spicy and sweet.
“Say ‘cock’.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. “Cock,” she says softly.
I bend my knees enough that I can press my hips into hers. Her gasp of pleasure is nearly my undoing.
“Are you wet right now?”
“Yes.”
“You are?”
“God, yes!”
“Show me.”
Her eyes widen the tiniest bit. I know what she’s thinking. “But Emmy…”
“One finger. Show me with one finger.”
She debates for less than a second before she reaches between us, her knuckles brushing my stiff dick, and slides her hand into her pants.
“Go deep,” I tell her, loving the way her lids get all heavy and her lips part like she’s about to moan. I know the instant she does it. I know when she pushes her finger inside. Her breath brushes my cheek in a quick puff. I figure she’s about as close to coming as I can stand her being without doing something I’ll regret. “Now let me taste.”
“Ohmygod,” she groans quietly, gently taking her hand from her pants and hesitantly raising it between us. When she stops, I reach for her wrist. Without taking my eyes off hers, I bring it to my mouth and slide her moist finger across my tongue, licking it from base to tip.
“You taste better than ice cream, Eden Taylor,” I tell her. And then I give in to the urge to kiss her. It’s quick and violent and full of all the insane things that she makes me feel. And then I let her go. Because that’s the responsible thing to do. Her kid’s in the house, for chrissake.
Reluctantly, I release her mouth and rest my forehead against hers. “Damn you, woman! Damn you for making me feel this way.”
“I’m pretty sure this is all your fault, Mr. Danzer.”
When I raise my head, she’s smiling up at me. I’ve never wanted something, anything, anyone, so much in all my life as I want this woman right now.
I push away from the wall and take her hand again. “Come on. If we don’t get this over with, your daughter’s liable to get an education that she’s too young for.”
Her smile tells me she knows I’m kidding.
Mostly.
The last stop on the tour is the master suite. It takes up the majority of the west side of the house. I stop at the double doors and gesture for her to go first. I just stand back and observe.
It’s as I watch her walk through the room, touching the ice blue comforter, dragging her fingers along the edge of the dresser, that the reality of having her here, of feeling the crazy way I do about her, hits me. She belongs here. With me. In this room. In this house. In my life.
“This is amazing,” she whispers in awe when she reaches the floor-to-ceiling windows across from the bed. They’re framed by nothing and filled with the snowy beach beyond.
Most people find the beach soothing–the waves, the horizon, the endless stretch of sand. But I don’t care about most people. I care about this woman. And for some reason, it pleases me that she’s reacting this way.