Her hands cautiously rested on his ribs, touching, caressing, marveling at the hard muscles beneath them. Then they slid around to his back. Palms splayed, she rubbed her hands against the contours on either side of his spine.
“Oh, Leigh,” he breathed, pushing away from her. “If we start this now, I’ll never get any coffee.”
Now? Did that mean they would pick up later where they had left off? “And you’ll never get to sample my chocolate cake,” she replied in kind.
“There are other things I can’t wait to sample, but I guess the cake should come first.”
First? She made a nervous gesture to straighten her hair. “Why don’t you make the coffee? I’ll watch while I slice the cake.” She had to slow him down—no, slow them both down, she warned herself. Chad was only reacting to the invitation she knew she was communicating to him, despite her scruples, her anxiety.
He talked her through his foolproof method of making the perfect cup of coffee while she served slices of cake. He drank three cups of coffee while devouring two pieces of the rich chocolate concoction.
“How do you stay so trim when you eat so much?” Leigh asked him as he gouged a fingerful of icing off the cake.
“Hard work and good metabolism.”
“Do you ever work out at a health club? Jog? Play tennis?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you play sports in high school and college?”
“Some.”
“Chad Dillon, don’t you ever give a straight answer to a question?” she asked, exasperated.
“Occasionally.”
“Ohhhh,” she ground out, much to his amusement. He dodged a hand flying in the direction of his head.
“I can think of better ways to work off frustration—not to mention calories,” he said slyly. He took her hand and dragged her toward the living room.
“The cake—”
“Will keep. Besides, I thought you were hinting I’d had enough. But there’s something else I haven’t had enough of. Not nearly enough…”
He left her standing in the middle of the room as he sat down on the sofa and tugged at his right boot until it came off. “What… what are you doing?” she asked, mesmerized.
Why was she just standing there? Why wasn’t she demanding to know why he was taking off his boots, why he felt at home enough in her living room to do so, what he thought they were going to do when he got them off? “Why are you taking off your boots?” she asked on a note that was supposed to sound severe and instead sounded huskily obliging.
“They’re beginning to hurt.”
“Oh.” So much for outraged virtue.
The second boot dropped to the carpet with a soft thud. He didn’t say a word but looked up at her and extended his hand. As if following a mystic’s command, she crossed the room toward him, stepping out of her own shoes as she walked.
He drew her back into the curve between his arm and his shoulder. His hard chest was behind her. He shifted and adjusted until her hips were snuggled firmly between his thighs.
One gentle fist held up her hair as he kissed the back of her neck. She shivered when the velvet-roughness of his tongue sensitized her earlobe.
“Chad…” she moaned. She’d never before been kissed in that exact spot and moved her head to a more advantageous angle. “Chad,” she repeated feebly, “what are you doing?”
“Trying my damnedest to seduce you. I came here with honorable intentions,” his mouth quirked at the quaint phrase, “but they seem to have flown out the window.” His arm encircled her midriff, pulling her closer against him. “I’ve never wanted a woman like I want you,” he told her huskily. “Say you want me too, Leigh. Say it.”
With the patience he always exhibited, he turned her toward him. Her cheek was held in his palm as he tilted her chin up with his thumb. “My brave, beautiful Leigh. Please let me love you.”
Leigh felt her reservations sifting through her fingers like so much sand. “Yes,” was all she was granted time to say.
Then his mouth was fusing with hers, timelessly, precisely, as though they were two integral parts of a whole, celebrating their unity.