“I asked you first.”
His gaze ran over her, over that perfectly Renaissance face, not exactly breathtaking, not subtle, but something in between, something classic and intriguing all the same. Maybe it was the eyes, that dark green, or the fact her lips had him thinking things he was way better off not even contemplating. Or maybe it was the whole thing put together. A cross between some Irish pagan deity and a wild Viking lover.
“Yes.”
That single syllable, dark and promising, slid over her like a long-awaited caress.
What the hell?
Lake scooped up more rice for the lack anything better to do and shoved it into her mouth.
The man could make her hot and cold and hot again, and her nerves were strung tighter than they’d been in a long damn time.
Though she’d really, really missed this feeling, she’d be damned if the first man who jump-started her libido could sack her that easily.
So she’d take a bit of time to reflect and question and assess.
And then jump his bones.
Very, very sad, with a capital S .
She’d have to figure out what the hell she wanted.
Him.
“You game?” he asked, in that same dark tone of voice.
She swallowed and almost choked. “For?” she wheezed out, grabbing her beer.
He smiled, a one-sided grin that lifted to a full-fledged smile before a laugh rumbled out.
“You know what I think?” He leaned up onto the tabletop, his hands stacked on top of each other.
“You’re gonna tell me, right? Because I hate to be kept in suspense.”
His eyes narrowed fractionally. “Oh, but some suspense is good.”
She nodded. “True. Some suspense is.”
“The kind that leads to greater things.” He wiggled his brows.
“Sex.” There, she said it.
He sat back. “Now you’ve ruined it. We were doing so good dancing around the issue.”
She merely looked at him. “We were? I thought it was more a stumbling two-step.”
He frowned. “Nope. We were doing a damn fine tango.”
“A fine tango?” Lake couldn’t contain the chuckle. “Honey, you’ll know a damn fine tango after the fact.”
For a moment, he said nothing, then the corners of his eyes creased ever so slightly. “Hmmm.”
She waited, but he didn’t expound. “Okay, I give, what does hmmm mean?”
“Just thinking.”
“Given. Of?”
“Of you. Of me. Of us. Together. Naked.” His eyes never wavered from hers. “In here, with the paints. Or without. Down the hall in my bed.”
“Or, since you have a daughter, maybe across the street in my bed?”
He finally blinked, and downed a drink of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “True. Your bed across the street.”
Neither said anything for a bit.
“But—” he started.
“Not tonight,” she finished.
“No, not tonight.” He stood, walked to her and ran a finger over her shoulder, up her neck to trace her jaw. “Most definitely not tonight.”
“Because,” she whispered, “that would ruin—”
Max leaned down and she caught the scent of him yet again. “—the suspense.” His breath was warm and taunting like Satan’s temptation.
She sighed. Then almost jumped out of her skin as his lips nuzzled her neck.
“Relax,” he said softly.
“So-sorry,” she mumbled, as he kissed the side of her neck.
“For what?” One hand lifted her hair from her neck before he placed a kiss just there at her nape. Goose bumps shivered down her spine.
What had he asked? Oh yeah. “Been awhile. I’m a bit—”
“Jumpy?”
His lips were soft, yet firm, hot and inviting. She wanted them on her mouth.
“Yeah,” she agreed, turning her head to his. “Yeah.” Then his mouth fluttered closer and closer.
His eyes met hers. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Shut up.”
His lips settled on hers with a passion she had glimpsed in him, in his work, in his art, in the very air around him. Perfectly checked usually, it simmered just under the surface. Energy hummed along her skin, wrapped around her as his lips pressed against hers.
To hell
His gaze ran over her, over that perfectly Renaissance face, not exactly breathtaking, not subtle, but something in between, something classic and intriguing all the same. Maybe it was the eyes, that dark green, or the fact her lips had him thinking things he was way better off not even contemplating. Or maybe it was the whole thing put together. A cross between some Irish pagan deity and a wild Viking lover.
“Yes.”
That single syllable, dark and promising, slid over her like a long-awaited caress.
What the hell?
Lake scooped up more rice for the lack anything better to do and shoved it into her mouth.
The man could make her hot and cold and hot again, and her nerves were strung tighter than they’d been in a long damn time.
Though she’d really, really missed this feeling, she’d be damned if the first man who jump-started her libido could sack her that easily.
So she’d take a bit of time to reflect and question and assess.
And then jump his bones.
Very, very sad, with a capital S .
She’d have to figure out what the hell she wanted.
Him.
“You game?” he asked, in that same dark tone of voice.
She swallowed and almost choked. “For?” she wheezed out, grabbing her beer.
He smiled, a one-sided grin that lifted to a full-fledged smile before a laugh rumbled out.
“You know what I think?” He leaned up onto the tabletop, his hands stacked on top of each other.
“You’re gonna tell me, right? Because I hate to be kept in suspense.”
His eyes narrowed fractionally. “Oh, but some suspense is good.”
She nodded. “True. Some suspense is.”
“The kind that leads to greater things.” He wiggled his brows.
“Sex.” There, she said it.
He sat back. “Now you’ve ruined it. We were doing so good dancing around the issue.”
She merely looked at him. “We were? I thought it was more a stumbling two-step.”
He frowned. “Nope. We were doing a damn fine tango.”
“A fine tango?” Lake couldn’t contain the chuckle. “Honey, you’ll know a damn fine tango after the fact.”
For a moment, he said nothing, then the corners of his eyes creased ever so slightly. “Hmmm.”
She waited, but he didn’t expound. “Okay, I give, what does hmmm mean?”
“Just thinking.”
“Given. Of?”
“Of you. Of me. Of us. Together. Naked.” His eyes never wavered from hers. “In here, with the paints. Or without. Down the hall in my bed.”
“Or, since you have a daughter, maybe across the street in my bed?”
He finally blinked, and downed a drink of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “True. Your bed across the street.”
Neither said anything for a bit.
“But—” he started.
“Not tonight,” she finished.
“No, not tonight.” He stood, walked to her and ran a finger over her shoulder, up her neck to trace her jaw. “Most definitely not tonight.”
“Because,” she whispered, “that would ruin—”
Max leaned down and she caught the scent of him yet again. “—the suspense.” His breath was warm and taunting like Satan’s temptation.
She sighed. Then almost jumped out of her skin as his lips nuzzled her neck.
“Relax,” he said softly.
“So-sorry,” she mumbled, as he kissed the side of her neck.
“For what?” One hand lifted her hair from her neck before he placed a kiss just there at her nape. Goose bumps shivered down her spine.
What had he asked? Oh yeah. “Been awhile. I’m a bit—”
“Jumpy?”
His lips were soft, yet firm, hot and inviting. She wanted them on her mouth.
“Yeah,” she agreed, turning her head to his. “Yeah.” Then his mouth fluttered closer and closer.
His eyes met hers. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Shut up.”
His lips settled on hers with a passion she had glimpsed in him, in his work, in his art, in the very air around him. Perfectly checked usually, it simmered just under the surface. Energy hummed along her skin, wrapped around her as his lips pressed against hers.
To hell
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