Hey, Banks. That was a fun time. Thanks for the BJ. Nice knowing you, but I’m going back to hooking up with the rich and famous now.
Okay, he’s too suave to actually say that. But if he doesn’t want a repeat, he’ll probably be distant. Cool, even. He might suggest dividing and conquering today’s activities, just to make his point clear.
It could be so awkward.
This right here is exactly why I never let on that I’m attracted to him in particular.
And I’m still trapped in this tiny house with him for at least three more days. Just him, me, and the memory of my mouth on his cock, and the sounds he makes when he comes.
I’m still staring at the coffee maker when he pads into the kitchen. I don’t turn around, though. I need to put on my game face first.
But he doesn’t give me a chance. He comes up behind me, presses his bare chest to my bare back, and kisses the nape of my neck softly.
Fuuuuuuck that’s nice.
“Good morning,” he says huskily.
“Isn’t it?” I reply.
“I’d hate to interrupt the mind meld you’re having with the coffee pot, Banks. But I thought we should plan our day. The caterer is this morning, no?”
Setting the mug down, I turn around. And there he is, at point-blank range, all floofy hair and tanned smirk and sleepy hazel eyes. My heart spasms, like I won some kind of hookup lottery last night. “You do want coffee, St. James? I didn’t suck off some kind of monster, right?”
He barks out a laugh. “Of course I want coffee. I made it, didn’t I? And guess what—your poker face is good, but everyone has a tell.”
I successfully fight off a smile. “No way. I have no tells.”
“Yeah, you do,” he says in a low, guttural voice. “It’s right here.” He lifts a hand to my throat, which is strangely sexy. Then he strokes a thumb across my Adam’s apple. “This jumps when you’re turned on.”
He drops his hand and leans down to kiss my throat instead.
Check, please. I just want to shove him back into the bedroom and have my filthy way with him.
Instead, the coffee pot dings, and Asher straightens up. “Outta the way, Banks. We have to drink coffee and sample crab cakes.” He moves me to the side and picks up my mug to fill it. “There’s no time for whatever is running through your mind right now. We have a wedding to throw. It has to be perfect for Hannah! Not one detail out of place.”
“Are you quoting me back to me?” I ask grumpily.
“Just telling you how it is.” He shoves the mug into my hand and reaches for a second one. “Get out your spreadsheet. Let’s see what’s left on it.”
About ninety-nine more wickedly dirty things.
Oh, wait. “Which one?” I mumble.
He pokes my belly. “What do you mean, which one? Is there more than one wedding spreadsheet?”
“No,” I say quickly.
His coffee mug stops on the way to his mouth. “Hang on. What’s the other spreadsheet?”
“Nothing.” I take a gulp.
Those hazel eyes narrow. “You use spreadsheets a lot, right? For any kind of list?”
I shrug indifferently. My poker face is tight.
Asher’s gaze drops to my throat, and I gulp. “Banks. You mentioned a list of things you’d like to do to me. Do you keep it on a spreadsheet?” The corners of his mouth twitch.
“Spreadsheets are very convenient,” I mutter.
“Huh.” He struggles not to laugh. “Break it down for me. If you were going to keep a spreadsheet for sex, how would that work?”
I sigh. “The rows are for the action, and the columns are for body parts. If you’re going to laugh, just make it quick. We have a busy day planned.”
“I’m not laughing.” He takes a slow breath and masters himself. “You gotta do you, Banks.”
“That’s why the spreadsheet exists. Because me doing me was all I ever got.”
He bursts out laughing. “Okay. I see your point. And kudos to you for giving new meaning to the word spreadsheet. Do I get to see this thing?”
“Only if you’re nice.”
“I’m very nice,” he says, ghosting a hand over my ass before withdrawing it quickly. “But we need some rules.”
“Rules. Okay. Tell me.” But what I really mean is stop talking and kiss me more.
“We get the work done first,” he says. “Because I don’t want to rush next time. I want to play with your body. Show you things I can do to make you writhe and moan, harder and hotter than you did last night. Want to spend some time doing,” He lowers his voice, leans into me, and whispers his plans into my ear. My head pops.
I actually moan into my coffee mug. “Not fair. That’s 9A, 9B and 9C.”
A smirk comes my way. “So that body part will get a lot of action, if I’m doing the spreadsheet math right.”