“What have you got instead?”
“Plenty,” she reported. “I have a little black dress, for one.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That and some fuck-me pumps would do it. You’ve got great legs.”
She did her best not to flush with pleasure because she did not care one bit that he liked her legs. Correction: She didn’t want to care. “It’s not all about physical attraction,” she said.
“No kidding,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh as he looked her over again.
She narrowed her eyes. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Babe, you’re covered in that blanket from head to toe, and I bet beneath it your pj’s are flannel and baggy. That should be a turnoff but I’m not even close to being turned off.”
She stopped breathing. “You’re not?”
“Nope.” He lowered his head so that his breath warmed her neck. He stayed still for a beat, ratcheting up the anticipation within her so tight that when he finally spoke, just the brush of his lips moving against her throat made her damp.
“Back to your bedroom rules,” he murmured.
She huffed out a laugh that sounded nervous even to her own ears. Probably because she suddenly was.
And unbalanced.
So very, very unbalanced.
To try to ground herself she leaned into his solid chest.
“Tell me one,” he said, those lips of his still ghosting over her throat with each syllable. “Slowly and in great detail.”
She stopped a helpless moan from escaping. “No.”
He rubbed his jaw to hers like he was a cat, a big, sleek cat. “Want me to guess?” he asked.
She meant to give him a shove, but her hands were still entangled in her blanket. “You don’t know me well enough to guess.”
“You don’t want anything too intense,” he said, ignoring that. “Get in, get out, and if you get an orgasm out of it, you consider yourself lucky.”
She’d be totally insulted if his words weren’t deadly accurate. “I’m not that uptight,” she said.
He gave a soft, sexy laugh.
“You were wrong when you said I had the smart mouth,” she said. “You’re the one with a smart mouth.”
“Maybe kissing it would help contain the sarcasm,” he suggested, and this time his mouth was at her ear, drawing a shudder out of her. Somehow her hands had separated from her brain and dropped the blanket.
He looked down at her tiny boxer shorts and thin white cami.
“I stand corrected,” he said roughly.
Smug, and also unbearably aroused, her hands slid down his chest.
And then back up.
Unable to handle the onslaught of all the emotions—hunger, desire, need, and a yearning that weakened her knees—she couldn’t hold back her moan this time.
“You’re sweet,” he murmured.
“No, I’m—”
“Shh,” he said, and kissed her just beneath her ear. “You’re also fierce,” he went on. “Loyal. Tough . . .”
She heard another moan. Still her.
Parker sucked her earlobe into his mouth and then gently sank his teeth into her and gave a little tug.
She gasped and would’ve slid to the floor if he hadn’t lifted her to the counter. He did it casually, easily, and then with a palm on each thigh, he pushed open her legs.
And then he made himself at home between them.
“But one thing you’re most definitely not,” he said, “is uptight.” And then his mouth covered hers.
Sixteen
The kiss blew Zoe’s socks off. It was so easy to get lost in the promise of what he offered: no wondering, wishing, worrying . . . Wrapped up tight in him as she was, she felt tempted. She also felt feminine and powerful and oh so ready for whatever came next . . .
But then he pulled back.