Once at her house, he followed her inside, carrying the results of their baking lesson in a white Vacilli’s box, while she continued to rave about techniques and ingredients. He walked behind her so he could watch her ass sway from side to side in that yellow dress she’d put on that clung to her curves. He’d spilled a bag of flour at Vacilli’s watching her move around the kitchen in that dress. It had not been his smoothest moment, but those seemed to be few and far between when he was with Gina—and that was saying something.
The woman just did things to him. She shook things up. And he liked it. A lot. Probably too much.
He should probably be worried about that. He wasn’t. He was too busy wondering how, when they’d first met, he’d missed how her eyes twinkled when she smiled, how the curve of her high cheekbones perfectly highlighted her dark eyes, and how the nose she hated so much gave her a unique look that was so much her own that she redefined what beautiful could be.
“And the mixer,” she said as she closed the front door after he’d walked through and flipped the deadbolt. “I cannot believe how big it was.” She paused for a breath as she leaned back against the door, and her eyes went wide when she looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
Not a damn thing. Everything. That he wasn’t touching her. The fact that she still had clothes on.
“Ford?”
His name on her lips snapped something in him. The Vacilli’s box hit the hardwood floor with a thump. His determined footsteps echoed in the foyer as he crossed over to her. She let out a soft mewl when he pressed his body against hers. He cupped her face in his hands and took her mouth like a man who had just discovered the meaning of life, because that’s what he’d just realized. Gina. She was his meaning.
He couldn’t get enough of her because there was no such thing. The curve of her breast. The dip of her waist. The roundness of her ass. God, she was so sweet everywhere.
He broke the kiss, gliding his lips down the long column of her neck as his hands were busy with the hem of her dress, pulling it higher and higher, desperate to feel her soft skin.
Her hands were in his hair, holding him close as he kissed along the line of her exposed collarbone. He raised his hand and brushed the back of his knuckles down the long column of her neck to the collar of the thin material of her dress. Her answering moan tipped him over the edge.
He grabbed her hips and turned her around so she faced the door and made quick work of the zipper on the back of her dress. There was no slow teasing between them, not tonight.
“Take it off.” He barely recognized his own voice in the gruff command.
She turned around and reached for the light switch.
“Leave it on.”
She hesitated but left it alone. Then, she let the yellow dress slide off her body to pool at her feet, her eyes on him, a sexy come-hither upward curl on her full lips. “Like what you see?”
“‘Like’ isn’t the word I’d use.” He curled a hand around her wrists and pulled her arms up above her head, pinning them to the door with one hand. “‘Obsessed with’ seems about right.”
Eyes watching her face for her reaction, he brushed the back of his knuckles over her hard nipples, pressing against the pale pink of her sheer bra. “‘Can’t get enough’ comes to mind.”
Desire swirled in the dark depths of her hooded gaze, and he pinched her nipple through the material, and she let out a needy moan. “‘Want it all’ is definitely correct.”
He put his leg between hers, moving it so that his thigh rubbed against her panty-covered mound. “The question is, what do you like?”
He unsnapped the front clasp of her bra and sucked her nipple into his mouth, raking his teeth over the hard nub. “Do you like that?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking.
Rolling her other nipple between his finger and thumb, he moved his leg away from touching her. She let out a frustrated groan that he felt down to his balls. He cupped her breast, rolling his thumb in circles around her nipple again and again before taking his hand lower, stopping only when he got to the top of her panties. She pushed her hips forward, silently begging for his touch. Poor Gina. She was as lost as he was. He kissed the spot where her shoulder met her throat, that pulse point that was always so sensitive to his tongue, his lips, his nipping teeth.