The wind picks up, blowing the sweet scent of the ocean over us. I shiver as the cool breeze touches me and he pulls me closer, wraps me in his arms. So gentle. So tender. I don’t know what’s going on, but I like it. More, tonight, after everything that’s happened today it feels like I need it.
The fact that he seems to understand without me having to say anything…it means more to me than it probably should.
“Come on,” I tell him, clicking the button on my key chain to open the garage door closest to us. “The Santa Anas are coming in. Let’s go inside.”
I lead him through the garage and into the house, pausing to type the alarm code into the keypad in the mudroom. As I do, I’m conscious of him looking around, taking in whatever parts of my home that he can see. It makes me nervous, edgy. Not so much because I think he’s going to judge me for my house, but because it is my home. And because he’s a man who notices everything. Reading his books has taught me that much and two nights in his bed have only cemented the impression.
“So, this is your home?” he asks as we make our way into the kitchen.
“It is.”
He glances around, taking everything in, just as I knew he would. And I can’t help shifting uncomfortably as I wait for him to say something, can’t help wondering what he thinks of this room—this house—that I decorated completely on my own.
He doesn’t say anything, though. Instead he makes a beeline for my refrigerator and pulls it open.
“Looking for something?” I ask, more than a little surprised at his behavior.
“Just checking,” he tells me, shooting a smirk over his shoulder. And that’s when I get it.
“Is there enough food in there to prove I actually live here?”
“There’s enough food to prove a rabbit lives here. I don’t know about you.”
“I’m an actress, darling. It’s pretty much one and the same.”
“That sucks.”
“It really kind of does,” I agree with a sigh. “But, in defense of my nearly empty fridge, I do prefer my calories in champagne.”
“Apparently,” he says as he shifts a couple bottles of Cristal around. “And Peanut Butter M&M’s.” He holds up a pack from my emergency stash in the back of the fridge.
“You’ve found my weakness. Those things are my Kryptonite. Which is why they’re hidden all the way in the back. So that I forget about them until times of crisis.”
“So, does it work?”
“I’d say it’s about fifty-fifty.”
“Not bad odds, then.” He puts the pack back and closes the fridge. “So, are M&Ms your only weakness?”
I arch a brow. “No, but it’s the only one I’m going to admit to at this point in our relationship.”
Shit. As soon as the words are out, I want to call them back. Pretty presumptuous of me to call what we have a relationship, even if that’s not really what I meant. I have a moment to make a wish for him to just let it go, but then he’s stalking toward me, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with sudden arousal.
“Is that what we’re doing?” he asks. “Starting a relationship?”
“It sounds so serious when you say it like that.” Still, there’s nothing left to do at this point but brazen it out. “Well, we are about two nights too long for a one-night stand. And three-night stand just doesn’t have the same ring.”
“It really doesn’t,” he agrees, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me toward him.
And then he’s kissing my jaw, my neck, the sensitive skin behind my ear. I arch backward, turning my head to give him better access as my whole body melts at his touch.
This is what I’ve been missing all day, what my body’s been craving from the moment I rolled over and found him missing from the bed we’d shared. I’ve spent my whole adult life standing on my own two feet, refusing to lean on anyone for help, refusing to need anyone because I thought that was what would make me strong.
But there’s something about being with Ian, something about the way he touches me, holds me, makes me feel, that takes away the fear. That makes me feel strong for being with him instead of running away from him. I don’t know what it is, but I’d be a fool not to take advantage of it. And an even bigger fool not to like it.
Still, I can’t resist teasing him as he works his hand around to the back of my dress and starts peeling down the zipper. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to start thinking you have a kitchen kink. Every time we’re in one, you try to take my clothes off.”
“I think what I’ve got is a you kink. I’m pretty sure there’s not a room in this house I don’t want to fuck you in.”
His words cause another jolt of heat to rush through me, have my knees weakening and my sex growing damp. “I’m glad to hear that. Since I have plans to fuck you in all of them.”
“So, I guess this means you’ve got a kink for me, too, then?” he teases.
I pause, pretend to consider. “It’s really more of an interior design kink, but…”