“For the record,” he muttered. “That was a nibble.”
He licked the spot. Soothing it with a wicked swirling pattern that made her think way-too-rude things about the agility of his tongue.
That’s when she realized one of his hands had left her waist and was firmly, easily sweeping south, tracing the leg-line of her swimsuit. Gorgeously close to her inner thigh—picking up from where he’d left the other night. Unable to resist, she slightly parted her legs, wanting more of the delicious sensations stealing through her body. He gently nipped along her shoulder while his fingers stroked too lightly, but ever closer to the place she wanted them most. He blew warm air over the skin he’d dampened and teased.
Heat washed over her, obliterating all thoughts other than the one at the forefront of her mind—more. Uncaring of how fast this was, she simply needed the ache inside assuaged. She needed to feel him. She swayed, leaning into the strength of those large hands and heard his pleased murmur. Earned another delicious lick. Pleasure ran through her, making her sparkle. She rocked her hips, desperate for him to slide inside her.
“Did you know lips are extremely sensitive?” he asked. “Thousands of nerve endings.” He let go of her waist to run a finger along her upper lip, then her lower. She fought not to touch his finger with her tongue. But her mouth parted as his other hand breached the line of her swimsuit. Stroking her other lips.
Oh mercy.
She closed her eyes as surprise—heat—coursed through her.
“Soft, sensitive lips need special attention.”
She shook, instinctively reaching out—her hands came into contact with his bare chest. She gasped. It was a wonder steam didn’t curl from her fingertips. He was sheer, solid strength. So tempting.
His fingers worked, gentle but firm, rhythmic, swirling around her slick heat, teasing. But they didn’t rub right on her good spot, didn’t penetrate—she wanted them to. She squeezed all her muscles, gripping his shoulders as desire surged at full throttle, unable to restrain the urge to rock her hips closer. She wanted all of him to come closer. To kiss her. To do so much more than kiss her. And to get him to do that she had to—
“Chelsea,” she broke.
“Ah, pretty Chelsea.” His thumb swiped over her clit.
She clutched his shoulders, moaning as she thrust her hips into his hand—wanting him to rub her there again. To keep rubbing until she came. It honestly wouldn’t take long.
But the tease still didn’t kiss her, his thumb swiped again—too quickly. “Chelsea who?”
“Chelsea… Greene.” She could barely remember.
He slid one arm firmly round her back, supporting her. His other hand was still between her legs, toying in her slickness and heat. She opened her eyes—momentarily embarrassed—until she saw the fierce, pleased look on his face. It made her need multiply.
But he dropped to his knees.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, half stunned, mostly so damn excited.
He gripped her hip with his hand to hold her still. The other pulled her swimsuit from her skin.
“I’m going to kiss your lips,” he said, the smile audible in his voice. “I’m thinking French kiss.”
Oh dear heaven. If he kissed her there now she’d come. This just didn’t happen to her. She’d never gotten turned on by a virtual stranger before. Never went this far this fast with anyone. She’d never let a guy go down on her unless she’d been dating him a while. She wasn’t dating this guy. And yet she wasn’t running—oh no. Not when he touched like this, smiled with those hot ice eyes.
He bent his head, she felt his warm breath. She braced in anticipation, her burning blood racing in her veins. Only as his mouth got to within touch distance, a loud gurgling sound interrupted.
OMG. Was that her stomach?
He laughed and sat back to look up at her face. “Seems you’re starving.” He put both hands back on her waist and stood, leaving her feeling bereft.
Because yes she was starving. Her libido had come out of hibernation and realized it hadn’t been fed in a long, long time.
“You came home for lunch and a quick dip?” he asked.
She blinked. Could the disappointment be any greater? “I’m working from home today.” She inhaled deeply, trying to regain her control as easily as he had. But it wasn’t anywhere near easy. She wanted that kiss. She wanted to lose herself in that heat.
“Here are your options,” he said, looking down at her with that devilish blue gaze. “Lunch at one of the restaurants down the street. Or in my apartment. You’ve got one second to choose.”
“Or?” She eyed him.
“I choose for you.”
“You can’t make me go to lunch with you.”
He went very still. “You ready to find out what I can and can’t make you do?”
She held his gaze but felt the flush beating its way up her neck and face.
His smile broadened. “Look at you,” he murmured. “What pictures have you got going in your head?” He nodded, looking as if his thoughts were as wild as hers.
“Restaurant down the street.” She ignored his whispered wickedness and answered the original question. “But I’m not wearing this.”
“We’ll stop by your apartment so you can change.”
“Fine.”
She grabbed her towel, glad to turn away and hide her breathlessness. Was she ready? She counted to ten to recapture some calm and think. This was just lunch. Going to lunch was okay. It was part of her progress—her return to some kind of social life. She wasn’t going to go without sex the rest of her life. A mild flirtation with a playboy like this was probably the best thing for her. He’d teach her the rules she needed to master. Because she was never risking her heart in a real relationship again. She didn’t deserve another real relationship.
“You’re wearing that tee-shirt again.” She glanced as he pulled the tee back on while keeping pace with her dawdle down the stairs.
“It’s always been a favorite. That’s why it’s the one I grabbed when the alarm went off.”
“Why such a favorite?”
“Happy memories.” He smiled. “And now it has even more associated with it.”
“Oh?”
“You’re the only woman to have worn it.”
“I’m so honored,” she said mock seriously.
“I know you are.” Mock serious right back at her.
She chuckled even as she shook her head. He was arrogance incarnated.
There was no chance he’d wait in the corridor. He walked in as soon as she opened up. She half wondered if he was going to pounce the second her door closed. More than half of her wanted him to.
But he didn’t. He s
trolled into the center of her small lounge and stared. She glanced around—imagined seeing it for the first time with no clue of the reason. Yeah, it probably did look weird. She glanced at his expression, and her laughter bubbled out.
Xander looked slowly round the room. Had he misread her personality completely? She really was a total rule breaker? She’d set up some weed growing operation in her apartment in the middle of the city? He stared at the trays and trays of seedlings and the lamps on to promote their growth.
“You think I’m crazy, right?” She rested against the arm of her sofa and laughed some more—pretty much bent double at his expression.
His mood soared at hearing her laugh like that and frankly, he’d been surfing a happy wave as it was. Damn it felt good. He’d have to make her laugh more. But he couldn’t look away from her walls for long. “What are you growing?”
There were hundreds—if not thousands—of small plants lining the shelves.
“Basil. Oregano. Stuff like that.”
“In bulk?” She was turning her Manhattan shoebox into a market garden? “Most people put books on their bookcases.”
“I know, I’ve had to put them in boxes.”
“Why?”
“Well, I need the herbs.”
“For what?”
She turned to him, her eyes alight with amusement and what—excitement? “You really want to know?”
“Absolutely.” How could anyone not want to know? And he definitely wanted to know what it was that had her so enthused.
“I’m an intern at an urban art institute—a non-profit organization that tries to raise art and design awareness in the city.”
He didn’t get what the plants had to do with art. “I’m guessing you’re an unpaid intern.”
“Aren’t we all?” She smiled, another small chuckle escaping.
He smiled right back at her. “And isn’t New York already full of incredible art and design?”