“Only the ones that fall into my lap.” The elevator dinged to a stop and the doors pushed open. “Besides, I’m not ready to let you go yet, America.”
Her beautiful dark eyes looked up at me in such a quiet, innocent way I couldn't help but want to kiss the demure look off of her face. She was everything I’d never known existed, a rare, sparkling beauty that didn’t know the way she captivated people.
I carried her easily through my apartment, depositing her on the long leather couch before holding up one finger.
She laughed, then crossed her bad ankle over her good one and waited patiently.
I left down the long hallway, gone only an instant before returning with one of the knit sweaters grandma Mads gave me every year at Christmas. “I’m afraid I don't have pants that will work, I’m sure you want to get out of that dress.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get fresh with me?”
I tossed the sweater at her. It landed on her head and mussed her already loose brown curls. “So what if I was?”
She laughed. “I would say I appreciate your honesty and I’ve had just the kind of bad day that I might take you up on it.”
I pushed a hand through my hair, feeling the meaning of her words in a slow throb in all of the cells of my body. “Why must you tease me?”
She was holding my sweater to her chest, grinning back at me with a wide smile.
America, the beautiful.
“I’ll be in the kitchen.” I bolted from the room and around the corner, trying not to listen to her disrobe from that dress and ease into my life. I mean clothes.
“What the fuck is wrong with me today?” I uttered, opening the fridge door and pulling two bottles of mineral water out for us.
“You’ve got great taste in art.” She stepped into the small space and instantly the air sparkled to life.
She wore my sweater and it hugged the lines of her body sweetly. Her curvy hips, a waist I wanted to hold against my palms while I kissed her, and breasts so round and perfect they’d have any hot-blooded man on his knees.
God Bless America…
“Thanks for the change of clothes. I hate the dress code at those mixers, I’m happier in a sweater and boots with my hands in the mud.” She was admiring a ceremonial head piece, something I’d purchased from the Scandinavian Museum of History years ago. “Is this a Viking war helmet?”
“It is.” I approached her, my hands tingling with the desire to find the hollow of her waist under Granny’s sweater. I expected her to push me away, that fire in her eyes keeping her at a safe distance, but maybe her soft body would bend to mine.
“You're into Viking history?” A flash of desire sparked in her eyes as she looked up at me under heavy eyelashes.
“What kind of Dane would I be if I wasn’t? Viking blood runs deep.” I was focused on the way the light from the moon was stroking the angles of her face.
I was lost in her, shook to the core by something I couldn't quite place.
I took her chin between my thumb and finger and tilted her head to mine. I dipped my head low and placed a soft kiss on her lips. The tiniest of moans escaped the back of her throat as she moved her lips against mine. I brushed along the seam, asking for permission, something I wasn’t accustomed to. Most women threw themselves at me because of who I was, this one didn’t have a clue and I couldn’t stop thinking about wanting her.
I wanted Pixie Wells willing and open, begging for me.
Her soft lips parted and I swept my tongue inside. I tightened my grip on her waist and pulled her body tightly to mine, rubbing my aching length against her hip, finally showing her just what she did to me. I hadn’t brought her here for this, but now that we were here, the chemistry seemed to reach a fever pitch.
Her arms curved up around my shoulders then and her hands locked around my neck as she stretched up on her tiptoes and increased the pressure of our kiss.
“I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you tonight.” I snaked my hands up the curve of her waist, along her ribs, to dust my thumbs along the swell of her breasts beneath the fabric of her sweater. “But I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you in this state.”
“S-state? What state?” She pulled away from my lips, confused.
I smiled the most innocent smile I could muster, my eyes drinking in the lines of her face. “You almost killed yourself falling into my lap, America. I know American girls like to move fast, but us Danes value a slower…” I drew the word out as I kissed the tip of her nose, “pace.”