Sloan absently watched him devour the grapes while she wiped the stickiness from her hand. For a man who usually breakfasted on steak and eggs, she knew croissants and fruit could hardly satisfy his morning appetite.
“You must be starving,” she said with feeling.
He aimed his steady gaze at her. “Only for you.”
His look was too blatantly sensual for Sloan to misconstrue his meaning. For a split second she was totally robbed of speech even as her heart began thudding madly against her ribs.
She made a shaky attempt to laugh it off. “You’re very direct, aren’t you?”
“You aren’t giving me enough time to court you the right way.”
Oddly flustered by his answer, Sloan wasn’t sure how seriously she should take it. So she strove for a response that would fall somewhere in between.
“What an old-fashioned choice of words.”
“It surprises me, too,” Trey admitted. “But si
nce I met you, I realize that I want it all—strolling hand in hand across a meadow of flowers, sitting on a front-porch swing on a moonlit night, stealing kisses, and hoping nobody turns on the porch light.”
The images pulled her as much as his presence. “No one has swings on their front porches anymore.” Sloan found herself regretting that fact.
“I know.” Trey leaned toward her. “That’s why a guy has to steal a kiss when and wherever he can.”
He cupped a hand behind her neck, exerting light pressure to eliminate the space between them. The kiss was sweet and warm, heady in its strength and incredibly easy to return. His mouth tasted of grapes and coffee and—most stimulating of all—desire.
Sloan was never sure how it happened. One minute they were straining closer to each other, and the next, Trey was on his back and she was lying half across him.
With the coolness of morning all around, she found warmth in his arms, an all-pervading heat that came from the delving hunger of his kiss, the molding caress of his hands, and the muscled solidness of the body beneath hers. It was something to bask in and explore.
There was no camera separating her from the experience. It wasn’t enough simply to record it; she had to participate to feel for herself the springy thickness of his hair, taste the sharp tang of aftershave on his skin, and glory in the half-strangled moan that slipped from him when she nibbled at his ear.
In the next breath, the tables were turned and Trey was the one administering the love nibbles, igniting a series of thrilling shivers radiating from them and eliciting a groaning sigh of her own. Then his mouth was there to swallow the sigh and claim her lips.
When she felt the first invading touch of his hands sliding under her top, she drew in a quick breath that was all pleasure. It wasn’t something she had known she wanted until she felt the splaying of his hands over her skin. The stretchy fabric of her sports bra acted like a second skin when he molded his hand to the underswell of her breast, his thumb making a stroking search to find the hard nubbin of her nipple. Sensation spiraled through her, and the ache grew.
Confusion reigned when he ripped his mouth from hers and started swearing bitterly, his hands gripping her ribs and pushing her off him even as he rolled after her.
“What’s wrong? Why—?” she began, half in anger.
“I spilled my damned coffee,” Trey muttered tightly.
Recalling the hot steam that had swirled above the cup, Sloan asked quickly, “Did you get any of it on you?”
“It’s all over the back of my shirt.” He sat up, giving the side seam a tug to survey the damage.
“I’ll get some napkins.” But it was her turn to swear when she scrambled to her feet and accidentally stepped on the remaining croissants. She pulled her foot away from them too quickly and knocked over the strawberry container. Letting them lie, Sloan gathered up the extra napkins from the cardboard box and returned to Trey’s side. “Did it burn you?” She blotted at the coffee-sodden shirt.
“No. It was just the shock of something hot and wet against my skin.”
“I can imagine.” Reassured that no harm had been done, she continued to use the napkins to absorb as much of the excess moisture as possible. “I hope you didn’t want anything more to eat. I pretty well demolished what was left of our breakfast.”
“Food is about the last thing on my mind.” His eyes were twinkling with amusement when he said it.
Sloan smiled in answer, letting him know she understood perfectly. After a moment more of working on the wet stain, she sat back on her heels. “That’s about the best I can do.”
“It’s fine,” he said and rolled to his feet, scooping up his hat along the way. “What d’ya say we go for a walk? We can clean up this mess later.”
“Sounds good to me.” Sloan pushed to her feet.