He grinned as the blush fired up her neck, but didn’t offer any objections when she pulled her dress over her head. He might not be self-conscious about his nakedness, but suddenly she was.
Getting off the bed, he sighed. ‘Okay, I’ll shower in the guest bath,’ he said. ‘You can take this one. Then I promise to feed you.’ He crossed his fingers over his chest. ‘But in return I’m gonna expect lots of really dirty sexual favours.’
She scooped up the maple-syrup bottle on the nightstand, inspired by the mischievous look in his eyes and grateful that the rush of emotion had been replaced by the surge of lust. ‘Watch it, Montoya, I am now in charge of the syrup bottle.’
He gave a low groan as she swirled her tongue around the neck of the bottle, then lapped at the drops of syrup that had dripped down from the lid. ‘And I’m more than prepared to use it,’ she finished before shooting off to the bathroom—with his pained shout of frustration echoing in her ears.
She closed the door, her heartbeat thumping with exhilaration and something she refused to address.
This affair wasn’t a big deal. But why shouldn’t she take pleasure in getting a peek behind that mask of devil-may-care charm he wore so easily—to discover the fascinating and complex man beneath? A man she would have the time to discover fully in the weeks ahead.
And if s
he had to use really dirty sexual favours to do it?
She laughed, the throaty chuckle filled with a sexual confidence she’d never felt before in her life.
Well goodness, it was a tough job, but someone had to do it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘DON’T WORRY, GIRL, not long now.’ Iona smiled at C.D., who gave her tail a lazy flap on the deck, keeping up her patient vigil for Zane.
Funny to think she and Zane had been having their casual sex-fling for nearly a month now. The time had passed in a blur of hard work, lazy dates and seriously hot sex—which had only got hotter when she’d moved into his place a week ago.
She’d had her misgivings at first, more than a little concerned about taking him up on his offer of a place to stay when his friend had got a vacation renter for the cottage. She knew she needed to be careful about coming to depend on him too much. But she’d been spending so much time at his place anyway in the weeks before that, he’d managed to make her objections seem like a childish overreaction. They were both adults, both completely clear about what this was and what it wasn’t, and why should she go hunting up a new place when he was perfectly happy to have her stay here?
In the end she’d agreed, putting her mind at rest about the intensity of their affair by promising herself as soon as she had the required funds, she would book her return flight to Scotland.
She dabbed the ochre watercolour onto the pet portrait she’d been commissioned to do by one of Zane’s clients—and ignored the flicker of dismay because she hadn’t quite got round to booking the flight, yet.
It was simply because she was having such a good time here. Carefree and fun—and she’d also found a surprisingly fulfilling and lucrative outlet for her art.
Never having managed to find any seasonal work in Monterey, she’d been helped out of a financial hole when her neighbour in Pacific Grove, Mrs Mendoza, had asked her to paint a portrait of her Jack Russell, Zapata. Mr Spencer’s cat Figaro was her tenth commission, the new cottage industry providing her with another practical reason to stay at Zane’s. With all its natural light, his beach house was the perfect place to paint. She choked out a little laugh—and then of course there were the other, more exhilarating benefits of living here to consider.
Zane had looked so surprised when she’d joined him in his shower this morning, he’d dropped the soap. And risen to full attention so fast she’d been a little worried he might collapse from the loss of blood to his head.
For someone whose sex life prior to Zane had been spectacularly bad, the way he reacted to her never failed to thrill her. Hearing his heartfelt groan when she’d sunk to her knees and swirled her tongue over the head of that beautiful erection had been yet more proof that she now had the ability to make men weak at the knees. Or at least this man.
She loved the way he responded so readily to her teasing and her playfulness. Finding Zane’s buttons, and pushing them, discovering his limits and then charging right through them had become as addictive as the man himself, and all the things he could do to her.
Iona dropped her brush into the turpentine, and stretched her spine, casting a critical eye on the portrait of the slightly moth-eaten but wise-eyed rescue cat.
She felt pleasantly fatigued and a little achy from standing in the same position while C.D. dozed beside her. She felt the answering ache tug her abdomen at the thought of Zane’s imminent return, and grinned.
She rinsed the paintbrushes and packed them up ready for tomorrow. Drawing the easel up, she carried it and the half-finished painting into the house and stowed them in the alcove where Zane had suggested she keep her supplies. The dog’s claws skidded on the wooden flooring as Iona slid the screen door closed and headed for the kitchen with C.D. at her heels.
As the weather was a little cooler than it had been the last two days, she’d put together a lasagne. She enjoyed cooking, had learned how as a young girl when she and her father had had to survive on their own. But she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed cooking for others. And now she could use Zane’s state-of-the-art kitchen—instead of the tiny kitchenette at the cottage—it had become a real pleasure again. Of course, he’d moaned at first about her paying for all the grocery shopping, but she’d finally convinced him that if he wouldn’t accept any rent he’d have to let her at least do this much to pay her way.
After ladling out C.D.’s chow and getting the dog a fresh bowl of water, she began searching for the salad ingredients in the fridge. Funny how after only a week in Zane’s house, they’d settled so easily into a routine.
She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Six o’clock. He’d be home in about an hour—and they’d be able to have a leisurely walk with C.D. before they had dinner. Or maybe they’d opt for sex first and dinner later.
The grin widened.
Quite apart from the empowering sex, she’d also got a surprising insight into the man in the last week. He still generally avoided talking about himself much, but their routine had allowed him to relax more and so she’d managed to weasel a few more details out of him, especially about his work.
It was so strange now, she thought as she sliced tomato and shredded lettuce, to think that when she’d first met him she’d been so critical, and more than a little suspicious about what he did for a living. Now she knew about the huge diversity of work his firm provided and how closely he supervised and controlled every aspect of it, she could see why keeping a similar rein on every other aspect of his personal life might be natural for him.