“Yes. And green is definitely your color.”
“I cannot believe you did that.”
“Well, since I got paint all over me….”
“But I didn’t put it there.”
“That’s true. I suppose I owe you an apology.”
“Apology accepted.” She patted his cheek, leaving a wet, sticky residue behind. “You know, actually, green looks quite good on you, too.”
He laughed. “Oh, lady, are you in trouble now.”
“Don’t even think about—”
Before she could finish the sentence, he had her on her back and on the floor, plastic sheeting crinkling beneath her. Laughing, she squirmed beneath him as he tickled her with scattered kisses and neck nuzzles. “You crazy man,” she said in gasps. “This is not the way to paint a room.”
“I think it’s a great way to paint a room.” He kissed her again, fancying that he could taste her sweet smile. With maybe a slight hint of paint thrown in, he thought, grinning against her lips.
The humor carried them out of the guest room/nursery into Cecilia’s bedroom. They were still playing and laughing when they stepped into the shower to wash off the paint. But as the warm water cascaded over them and their soapy hands began to wander, the laughter and banter faded.
He crowded her against the tiles, dipping his head to cover her mouth with his. She was so small, delicately boned, yet strong and capable. As comfortable climbing a ladder as she was cradling a fragile newborn in her arms. What man wouldn’t want a woman like this to be the mother of his children?
Oops. Wrong word. Children implied a long-term commitment, not a one-time partnership.
Deciding not to think beyond this day—not even beyond this moment—he pulled her closer. Her arms went around him, and it pleased him that she seemed as eager to be close to him as he was to be close to her.
Their wet bodies fused. The kiss went deeper. Became almost hot enough to cause the shower water to steam around them. He lifted her against the wall, bringing her mouth within easier reach, and she wrapped her legs around him.
Humor had been completely replaced now with hunger. His need was so great his knees were weak with it, forcing him to brace Cecilia against the shower wall.
He wanted her. Desperately. It had nothing at all to do just then with any agreements or plans they had made, but everything to do with her warm smiles, her beautiful eyes, her generous heart and dry sense of humor. The only goal he had in mind just then was mutual satisfaction. And in that quest Cecilia seemed to be a very willing partner.
“Are you sure you won’t take a ride with me?”
Cecilia looked over her shoulder for a moment to answer, drawing her attention away from the last of the painting supplies she had been cleaning. “I’m absolutely certain. But promise me you’ll be careful on that thing.”
He smiled and leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose, which was now scrubbed free of paint. “Careful is my middle name.”
“Yeah, right,” she muttered, thinking of their exploits in the spare room. And in the shower. And then in her bed.
“You’d better put those clothes in the wash as soon as you get home—or have your maid or housekeeper or whoever take care of them,” she added, suddenly doubting that Geoff Bingham did his own laundry. “As it is, I’m going to be scrubbing paint out of my shorts for a while—thanks to your roving hands.”
He looked more proud of himself than apologetic. “If those shorts are ruined, I’ll buy you another pair. Heck, I
’ll buy you a dozen. That will give me a chance to ruin a few more with my, er, roving hands.”
She found it hard to hold on to her smile when he talked about buying her anything. Even though she knew he was joking, reminders of the difference in their financial standing didn’t strike her as particularly funny.
He stepped up behind her and kissed the back of her neck, which she had bared by pinning her damp hair into a loose roll. “Any other chores I can help you do around here?”
She wasn’t sure she would survive any more of his help. “No, thank you. You didn’t have to work today?”
Helping himself to an apple sitting in a bowl on the counter, Geoff shook his head. “I’ve decided I deserve an occasional day off, myself. After all, I worked until late last night, if you count a business dinner as work, which I do.”
Cecilia wiped her hands on a paper towel and reached for the teakettle, deciding she would prepare herself a cup of herbal tea. She was making a deliberate effort to cut back on coffee, which would be good for her health—and for the child she hoped to carry. “How did it go last night?”
“Not bad. Maybe we soothed a few concerns about some of the craziest rumors buzzing around. I’ve got to admit Lillith Cunningham did a good job working the crowd. Not that you’d get my dad to admit that.”