“Stay. I’ll get it,” I insisted, waving at the couch.
“You’re injured. I don’t want you waiting on me like I’m some guest.”
“You are a guest,” I said flippantly as I headed for the kitchen.
“Brooke.” A warm hand on my wrist stopped me. His grip was firm.
“What?”
“How do you feel?”
Hot and bothered. Hornier than a thirteen-year-old boy at the community pool. Wetter than Costa Rica’s rainy season. “I’m fine. Between the shower and the dinner, I feel pretty damn good.”
“Good.” He pointed up. There in the open doorway between the living room and dining space dangled a plastic piece of mistletoe.
“It’s not real,” I said, referring to the mistletoe, as if the plastic nature of the leaves had any bearing whatsoever on Vonn’s intentions.
“I’m superstitious,” he countered. He was, as was the rest of the band. Drummer Kaio had to walk on stage with a drumstick in his back pocket and one in his hand. Keyboardist Steve wore the same patterned socks for every performance. When the pattern was retired, he’d used his star power to convince the manufacturer to make a few hundred more just for him.
“I want to kiss you,” Vonn said, his voice low and dangerous. “But if I do, it’s not going to stop there. If that’s not something you want, I need to hear it now, babe.”
He used my wrist to tug the rest of me into his body. This time it was my stomach cuddled up to his hard-on. My thighs quaked.
Lazily, as if he had all the time in the world, he put his arms around me, sliding his hands under my cardigan and splaying his palms over my back. We were pinned at the hip. My hands went to his chest and fisted in the cotton of his T-shirt. Suddenly, launching my career with this story seemed much less important than being with a man I’d fantasized about for a few decades.
“You said you didn’t fuck strangers,” I whispered stupidly.
“Think we’re still strangers, babe?” he asked, amused.
He had a point…and an erection. Neither of which I felt like arguing with.
“Good point,” I whispered, mentally prepared as his mouth lowered slowly toward mine.
The kiss was warm, hard, consuming. Awesome. He wasn’t polite or tentative. He confidently plundered my mouth and set my soul on fire. I was melting, combusting in his arms.
His hands were on the move. One sliding lower to squeeze my rear end, the other traveling around to cup the outer curve of my breast. My nipple was painfully aware that the attention it sought was mere inches away.
r />
I let out a low moan as his tongue swept into my mouth. He wasn’t just sampling, Vonn was devouring.
God, it had been too long since my last satisfying sexual encounter. A one-night stand a few weeks after my divorce was final. Since then, I’d found it hard to put into words what I wanted from a new lover. And Mark’s sexual dysfunction hadn’t exactly done anything for my self-confidence.
But I knew from the sweep of his tongue, from the rock of his arousal against me that Vonn would be different.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he murmured against my lips.
The lights seemed to flicker before my eyes, and then I was plunged into darkness as he expertly kissed the life out of me. It took me several long, embarrassing seconds before I realized the lights really had gone out.
“Power outage,” I gasped into his mouth.
“I’m aware,” he said smiling as he stroked his thumb over my sensitive nipple. Once. Twice.
My knees went weak.
“I can still make tea,” I squeaked. “On the stove.”
“Baby, fuck the tea.” His breath was warm on my cheek.