“What kind of miracle worker are you?” I growl. “I couldn’t get him to step one foot in a guest room, much less settle in. And I gave him his pick of five rooms.”
She shrugs. “He took the one off the sunroom. I had Armstrong pick up his games, too. That probably helped. He’s eaten twice now. I think he’s feeling better. His mood’s improved and he’s not so sulky.”
I sit down on the bed beside her. “How are you so good at this? Do you have a secret baby I don’t know about?”
“Nope, but Mom’s done that plot like a dozen times!” She laughs. “I don’t know, Mag. I guess dealing with grumps like my dad gave me a lot of practice.”
“Is your dad grumpy?” I ask, curious. This urge hits me, and I want to know more. I want to know what makes this woman tick. “I thought you had a good relationship with your parents?”
She beams like the sun. “I do, but that doesn’t stop him from being grumpy.”
What am I doing with this high school shit?
Here I am, almost naked next to a beautiful woman on my bed, blundering around for words. There are things I’d much rather talk about than her grumbling father.
I slip an arm around her waist, coating her cheeks with a new splash of balmy red.
“Mag?” She smiles at me. “Are you hungry? If you want I can go warm you up some—”
“Not for food.”
She giggles into her hand, and I love that fuck-hot heave of her chest as she catches my drift.
I brush my lips against her cheek, down her chin line, scraping her soft skin with my scruff.
“Well, since I was so busy cooking, I didn’t get a chance to sample the goods.” She winks at me and stands. “Come on. Let’s eat before we both starve.”
Fine.
If I don’t eat baked hotdish, she’ll be offended. I’ll do it because the CEO of HeronComm never disappoints. But damn, this is the part where I’d walk away from a client—not that any client has ever turned my dick into a blueberry sausage like her.
“I’ll have dinner with you, sweetheart, but first you’re feeding my other appetite.”
She stands in front of me, her knees against mine. I drag her between them, diving for her lips. But she turns her head at the last second, and our foreheads press together, our breath synced in hurried, shallow rasps.
“Say please,” she whispers.
“Touché.”
“Not the magic word.” She raises her eyebrows. “Say it.”
“You’re stunning, but I’m not begging for a kiss,” I growl. “You’ll be begging by the end of the night, Brina. I promise.”
“I’m stunning?” she asks too innocently.
“You know you are,” I throw back, every inch of my skin electric, so done with these games.
It must be the right thing to say.
She moves closer between my legs, clasps the back of my head with her hands, and gives up her lips.
I fucking devour her, flicking my tongue gently over her lips before I take the full plunge.
As long as I live, I’ll never experience another woman who tastes this good, this right, this much like a forbidden fruit I’d die for.
She opens her mouth and slips out a moan just as I slide my tongue in.
“Mag,” she whines, so ready even her voice sounds wet for me.
That moan undoes me.
In a flash, I pull her on top of me. Her knees dig into my hips. Her tongue traces the inside of my mouth, and my fist twines through her hair, giving it a delicious pull.
My other hand falls, clasping her ass, pinching one delectable cheek until she squeals.
Fuck.
She pulls away then and sighs with a playful slap against my arm.
“Behave. I told you, dessert comes after dinner.” She pushes herself back to a standing position. “That was nice, though.”
“It’s going to get a lot nicer. And then not nice at all.”
Her mouth falls open and she grins.
Sweet hell, I can’t wait to ruin her.
This night is nothing like I ever imagined the run-up to our first time would be, but I’m past caring.
Before the dawn comes, I’m going to fuck the soul out of Sabrina Bristol.* * *I dress in sweats and an old Marine Corps shirt and follow her into the dining room.
The casserole smells like savory, cheesy goodness. A throwback to times with my grandparents outside the city, who always insisted on home cooking.
My stomach rumbles like a quake. I was so entranced with Brina’s sweet body I didn’t realize I’m ready to gnaw off my own arm.
An aluminum baking dish sits on the table and half of its contents are gone.
Sabrina gives me a strained smile. “Jordan attacked it first. He’s a big eater—or maybe he was just starving because he skipped so many meals.”
She scoops a huge chunk of casserole onto a plate and hands it to me. I hope I like this. She takes an equal portion and digs in the instant she joins me at the table.