She turned toward him, kneeling to pull her panties up before wiggling her skirt back down and giving him a coy look.
“Don’t you dare,” she said, lifting to her toes and pressing her lips to his. “Don’t you apologize.”
“But—”
Her arms wound around his neck and she deepened the kiss.
Vincent kissed her back, mainly because it was a chance to hold her.
When they pulled back, he surprised himself by kissing both her cheeks, then set to righting her bra, rebuttoning her shirt.
When he glanced up, she was watching him with such amused surprise that the embarrassment crashed over him again.
What was wrong with him? It was just sex. It was just—
Except it wasn’t just anything.
Sex with Jill wasn’t just mind blowing. It wasn’t just an intoxicating combination of raunchy and playful.
Sex with Jill felt a hell of a lot like coming home.
And even more scary, it felt a lot like it’ll never be this good with anyone else, ever.
Fuck.
He moved toward his sauce, unsurprised to see that the bottom had burned a little thanks to their interlude.
He scraped at it with the wooden spoon, then picked up the champagne he didn’t really like and tossed back the entirety.
“You okay?” she asked.
He glanced at her, saw the wariness on her face—realized that she wasn’t just expecting him to pull away. She was counting on it.
But for tonight, he didn’t want to be that guy. He didn’t want to be the guy that clammed up and was emotionally unreachable.
He was that guy—he knew that. Knew that he didn’t have whatever other people had that made them good for another person forever and ever. There was no way he’d subject Jill to a lifetime of his frequent need for solitude, or his inability to make the proper chatter at social functions.
Even if he remembered to occasionally bring her flowers, he didn’t know how to put together all the pretty phrases that women seemed to want.
But maybe for tonight, he could pretend that he was her man. That she was his.
He reached out and grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling her toward him for a quick kiss, his hand sliding over her back and down to her ass, which he gave a playful tap. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a dirty girl?”
She let out a little laugh. “I’m the dirty one? Didn’t seem to me I had a lot of say considering I was handcuffed and bent over the counter.”
His cock stirred at the memory, as well as the steamy look in her eyes. She could say whatever she wanted, but she’d fucking enjoyed every moment of it.
So had he.
He bent his head again, and she laughed lightly, dodging his kiss. “No way, Detective. I know that look. You’re feeding me first.”
“Then we can do a repeat?” he asked, opening the box of pasta and dropping a handful into the water he’d had boiling on a back burner.
Jill pulled down plates and water glasses. “I’m thinking repeat, with a twist.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Twist?”
She nipped his shoulder with her teeth as she passed. “Yup. Say, maybe… I’m the one with the handcuffs.”
He turned to look at her. “Jillian Henley.”
She shrugged as she set the table. “What? Now that I’ve seen what’s beneath the clothes, I wouldn’t mind having all that solid muscle pinned down for my personal pleasure.”
To Vin’s surprise, the idea was arousing. He was game for just about anything that would involve her putting her hands on him. All over him.
Vincent served them both a hefty portion of the pasta, and Jill kept her promise of red wine with dinner, pouring him a glass and topping off champagne for herself.
As they settled down to eat, Jill’s usual happy chatter mingling in with companionable silence, Vincent was struck with an unfamiliar sense of contentment.
No… that wasn’t quite right.
He’d been content before Jill had left for Florida. Back before she’d rocked the boat. What he was feeling now was much bigger.
He shoveled the last bite of pasta in his mouth and sat back to find her watching him. “What’s up?”
She pressed her lips together briefly in the way she always did right before she said something he wasn’t going to like, and he instinctively braced himself.
“Do you want to stay?” she asked.
He looked at her in surprise. “I thought we cleared that up right about the time I agreed to let you handcuff me.”
“No, I mean—well yes, I want that. But I mean, do you want to stay and… hang out? Watch a movie? Or TV? Or we could read—”
Her words came out in a rush, and he frowned. “What’s got you so nervous?”
She fiddled with her napkin. “It’s just… have you noticed that we’re usually either talking about work, or having sex?”
“Sure,” he said. “But those are two of my favorite things. And yours too, if I’m not mistaken.”
“I know. And you’re right; I love those things too. And I’m not suggesting less, of either, it’s just—”
She blew out a breath and met his eyes. “I want to try normal with you, Vin.”