the answer by reading the rigid tension in his face.
“My bedroom terrace. You can keep enjoying the view from there. But this time, I’m going to have you while you’re doing it.”
* * *
The drapes had been partially drawn in his bedroom suite, making the air feel cool and pleasant against Harper’s flushed, tingling skin. Her feet slowed when they neared his big, luxurious bed, but he didn’t pause. He tugged on her hand, and she followed him to the circular bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. One of the doors to the terrace was open. An evening breeze was causing the white curtain to billow inward. They went through the door. The sweeping terrace led up to a waist-high, wrought-iron-constructed fence that blocked little of the fantastic view of the lake and the surrounding mountains. There were several comfortable seating areas and potted plants arranged on the balcony.
Jacob turned toward her. He brushed back her damp hair and planted a kiss on her temple.
“I’m going to restrain you,” he said, brushing his lips across her hairline and ear. She shivered in unfurling excitement. “Is that all right?”
“Out here?” she asked shakily, lifting her chin and whisking her mouth across his jawline.
“Yes.”
“But . . . how is this an improvement on fooling around on the downstairs terrace?”
“I told you that my personal quarters are completely private.”
“But a boat from the lake . . .”
He met her stare, and she saw he wore a hint of that smile that always undid her. “No one is going to see anything. No one but me,” he added pointedly. “When are you going to start trusting me?”
“I trust you far too much as it is.”
“Are you going to let me show you what I have in mind? You can always say no.”
“Can I at least have a drink first?”
A rough bark of laughter scraped his throat. She smiled at the unexpectedness of his flash of humor.
“You’ve called me out. I’m a shit host. Wait here.”
She walked over to the wrought iron fence while she waited, breathing in the fresh scent of the surrounding pines and trying to dampen her mounting anticipation. She blinked, startled, when he was suddenly standing next to her, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was as silent as a ghost. She took the champagne gratefully.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. His gaze dipped from her face to the champagne flute. “Drink up while you can.”
Her brows went up at that. She watched him as he went back inside, admiring his broad shoulders and the shape of his ass in the swim trunks. Excitement bubbled up in her. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d bargained for with him? A thrilling sexual affair, a wholesale distraction from the gray grief that had swallowed up her life recently? She glanced around her, seeing a world of luxury, beauty, and brilliant, blinding color. Her breasts and sex ached pleasantly with the knowledge of the pleasure and challenge to come.
He was delivering, in spades. The least she could do was try to return the favor. She swallowed half the contents of the flute, the clean, crisp taste and effervescence only amplifying her anxious arousal.
She was glad for the rush conferred by the delicious champagne when he backed out of the door a moment later and turned, and she saw what he carried. It looked a little like a sitting massage chair, but there were more hinges and movable parts, and some of the cushions on it weren’t in typical places.
Definitely
in different places, Harper thought when she saw that the place where a person would prop their legs had been split so that their thighs could be kept open. There were other variations from a sitting massage chair. There were straps hanging from the leg portion and below the cushion where a person would rest their forearms and hands. Instead of the donut cushion where one usually placed their face during a massage, there was a narrow chin pad that curved upward, like a thin crescent.
He set down the
“My bedroom terrace. You can keep enjoying the view from there. But this time, I’m going to have you while you’re doing it.”
* * *
The drapes had been partially drawn in his bedroom suite, making the air feel cool and pleasant against Harper’s flushed, tingling skin. Her feet slowed when they neared his big, luxurious bed, but he didn’t pause. He tugged on her hand, and she followed him to the circular bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. One of the doors to the terrace was open. An evening breeze was causing the white curtain to billow inward. They went through the door. The sweeping terrace led up to a waist-high, wrought-iron-constructed fence that blocked little of the fantastic view of the lake and the surrounding mountains. There were several comfortable seating areas and potted plants arranged on the balcony.
Jacob turned toward her. He brushed back her damp hair and planted a kiss on her temple.
“I’m going to restrain you,” he said, brushing his lips across her hairline and ear. She shivered in unfurling excitement. “Is that all right?”
“Out here?” she asked shakily, lifting her chin and whisking her mouth across his jawline.
“Yes.”
“But . . . how is this an improvement on fooling around on the downstairs terrace?”
“I told you that my personal quarters are completely private.”
“But a boat from the lake . . .”
He met her stare, and she saw he wore a hint of that smile that always undid her. “No one is going to see anything. No one but me,” he added pointedly. “When are you going to start trusting me?”
“I trust you far too much as it is.”
“Are you going to let me show you what I have in mind? You can always say no.”
“Can I at least have a drink first?”
A rough bark of laughter scraped his throat. She smiled at the unexpectedness of his flash of humor.
“You’ve called me out. I’m a shit host. Wait here.”
She walked over to the wrought iron fence while she waited, breathing in the fresh scent of the surrounding pines and trying to dampen her mounting anticipation. She blinked, startled, when he was suddenly standing next to her, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was as silent as a ghost. She took the champagne gratefully.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. His gaze dipped from her face to the champagne flute. “Drink up while you can.”
Her brows went up at that. She watched him as he went back inside, admiring his broad shoulders and the shape of his ass in the swim trunks. Excitement bubbled up in her. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d bargained for with him? A thrilling sexual affair, a wholesale distraction from the gray grief that had swallowed up her life recently? She glanced around her, seeing a world of luxury, beauty, and brilliant, blinding color. Her breasts and sex ached pleasantly with the knowledge of the pleasure and challenge to come.
He was delivering, in spades. The least she could do was try to return the favor. She swallowed half the contents of the flute, the clean, crisp taste and effervescence only amplifying her anxious arousal.
She was glad for the rush conferred by the delicious champagne when he backed out of the door a moment later and turned, and she saw what he carried. It looked a little like a sitting massage chair, but there were more hinges and movable parts, and some of the cushions on it weren’t in typical places.
Definitely
in different places, Harper thought when she saw that the place where a person would prop their legs had been split so that their thighs could be kept open. There were other variations from a sitting massage chair. There were straps hanging from the leg portion and below the cushion where a person would rest their forearms and hands. Instead of the donut cushion where one usually placed their face during a massage, there was a narrow chin pad that curved upward, like a thin crescent.
He set down the
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