This would probably be a good time to remove her tongue from his mouth.
She pulled her head away and watched his eyes open. They otherwise stayed where they were, staring at one another and breathing heavily. His chest and belly pushed up into hers with each inhalation. It was extremely difficult to keep her fingers away from his shirt buttons.
When Richard spoke, his voice was a growly, sexy rumble. “Bad idea?”
He was still tracing slow, sliding circles on her bare stomach. She placed her hand over his to still the movement. “I’m only guessing,” she said, “but I’d say disastrous.” She looked regretfully at the impressive body sprawled under hers. “I think this situation is messy enough already, don’t you?”
“Sadly, the situation seems to have been aborted before it had a chance to get messy, but I take your point.” Richard lifted her off him completely, helping her to sit up. In the process, she made another accidental attempt to unman him with her kneecap. He dodged back out of harm’s way, the momentum carrying him all the way to a standing position. “Christ! You should come with some kind of warning label.”
“Sorry.” She picked up her abandoned mug and took a fortifying gulp of lukewarm tea. Tea for shock: that was the idea, although she had always preferred wine after a stressful experience. She looked at the wall clock. Maybe not at half past eleven in the morning. Good Lord. She had almost seduced Richard on her couch, and it wasn’t even noon. This was the day for all kinds of personal firsts.
“Could you stop knocking back cold tea like it’s straight bourbon?” Richard asked her testily. “It’s not the most flattering reaction to a kiss.”
Was that what he considered a garden-variety kiss? Having a woman crawl all over him while he stuck his hands up her sweaty workout clothes? She didn’t want to know the answer, so she kept her snarky internal response to herself.
Richard sighed and pushed a hand through his rumpled black curls. “Do we need to have the hackneyed ‘so sorry—big mistake—won’t happen again’ conversation, or may we just take it as read?”
“No, I think that about covers it.” Lainie summoned an unamused smile. “We did promise Pat we’d practise being nicer to each other. I think we can check that one off for today.”
“Indeed.”
She pulled at her top, suddenly impatient to be clean and dressed, and back in control. “I should have a shower.”
“Since I assume I’m not being invited to either observe or participate, I’ll accept my dismissal and push off.” Richard bent to pick up his keys from the coffee table and hesitated, playing with them in his hand. Briefly, his gaze moved past her to focus on the bookshelf. His eyes flickered, darkening, before he visibly pulled himself together. “Do you want a lift to work today?”
“I can take the Tube.”
“You have functional legs and there are coins jingling in your pockets, so I expect you can. However, you don’t have to, as I’m offering a lift. Yes or no?”
She didn’t want to be childish and silly about it. Lainie nodded. “Yes, okay. Thanks.”
“Good. I’ll be outside at twenty to four. Don’t be late. Oh, and Tig?” Richard turned at the door. “Ten out of ten for effort, but the execution could do with some work.”
She drew in a sharp breath, but before she could retort, he added innocently, “But then, you’ve never run a 5k before, have you?”
Left alone in her lounge, listening to the echo of his footsteps, she reluctantly smiled.
*
Outside in the street, Richard stood motionless, his eyes fixed sightlessly on the crumbling stone fence. The rain had dwindled to a light drizzle, but the air bit icily into his skin. He exhaled a long, slow breath.
Shit.
A couple of young women approached, pushing covered prams. One of them glanced at him with passing curiosity, and he grimaced, angling his body away from view with a discreet movement. He should probably count himself lucky it was almost winter. Right now, he was reaping the benefits of bulky, concealing clothing and nature’s version of a cold shower.
He could still feel Lainie’s soft skin under his fingers, the quivering of her stomach, the faint etching of stretch marks on the curve of her hip. Pale and perfect. Her breath had been warm against his neck, hitching when he touched her.
As a teenager, he’d been covered with acne, angry at life, and stuck at an all-boys boarding school. He was no stranger to sexual frustration.
It was more than that. He was...God, he was bonding with her.