Power filters through me, solidifying what turned to liquid only moments before. He’s still kissing me, his hands still cupping my face, and my trembling fingers undo one shirt button. Then another. And another and another until I’ve undone his entire shirt and my eager hands push the fabric aside. I break the kiss and step out of his hold so I can stare at the masculine beauty that is Cannon Whittaker’s chest.
And it is a sight to behold. He’s large and firm and there are muscles everywhere. His stomach is flat and ridged. There’s dark hair curling between his pecs, a line of it starting just below his navel and disappearing into his trousers.
My mouth waters. I want to follow that trail with my tongue.
“You’re starin’ at me like you want to eat me up.”
His rough voice startles me and I glance up at him, see the matching hunger that’s driving me in his eyes. “I think I do,” I tell him, immediately wanting to roll my eyes at myself. “Want to eat you up.”
He laughs. Shakes his head. Reaching for me, his hands are at my waist before he spins me around so my back is to him. He steps closer, pressing his body against mine, and I can feel him, heavy and hard, nestled against my backside.
I stare at the wall ahead of me, gulping. I want this. I do. But I’m realizing that once I commit to tonight, there’s no turning back. As in, I’m going for it.
What will happen tomorrow? And the next day? And the day after that? He’ll leave, and I’ll still be here.
Alone.
“I wanna take this off,” he whispers close to my ear, his fingers playing with the zip at the top of my dress. “Will you let me, Lady Susanna?”
I smile despite my nerves and worry. Calling me Lady Susanna at a time like this is amusing. No man I know would say it. Only the brash American would think it funny.
He steps away from me and I immediately miss his closeness. His heat. He’s quiet, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me to answer.
Bending my head down, I brush my hair to the right, putting the back of my dress on display. Hopefully he’ll know what I want without having to say a word.
I don’t know what she wants.
Damn it, I’ve never been good at reading a woman’s mind. What guy is any good at it? I know married men, guys who are fucking happy as shit in their relationships, and they complain that they’re not mind readers and that sometimes they don’t know what their woman wants.
So of course, at this very moment, I’m clueless.
But the longer she stands there silently before me, like an offering, the quicker I figure out what she’s doing. The zipper is on full display and I reach out and grab it, undoing it with shaky fingers.
The fabric parts slowly, revealing her smooth skin, her nude-colored bra. The zipper stops at the base of her spine, and I catch a glimpse of lacy panties. Just like that, I’m hard.
Truthfully, I’ve been hard for about the last hour, but now I’m well and truly popping a tent in my pants.
“I must confess something.”
Her soft voice reaches me seconds after she said the actual words, and I blink myself back into focus. “What’s up?”
She turns her head, glancing at me from over her shoulder, her lips curved. I probably sounded like an idiot just now, asking her what’s up. I can definitely tell her what’s up. All she’s gotta do is look at my dick and see. “I’m not wearing sexy underwear.”
I check out the back of her bra again. Looks pretty standard. My gaze drops to where the zipper dangles, right above a lacy waistband. “I might have to argue with you.”
“No, it’s true.” She turns to face me, the dress crumpling forward, revealing the tops of her shoulders. They’re slender and smooth and I want to kiss them. “My bra is—industrial strength.”
I’m confused. Frowning. “Say what?”
“I have.” She pauses. Shrugs, her cheeks coloring. “Rather large breasts. And so I always tend to—restrain them.”
Well, that’s a damn shame. I’m tempted to tell her that, but I can see this conversation pains her, and I don’t to make this any more embarrassing, so instead, I reach for her. Pull her into my arms so she’s snug against me, her body fitting to mine like a just-found piece to my life puzzle.
Whoa, getting ahead of yourself there.
“Can I see them?” I ask her as I study her face. She’s so damn pretty. Skin smooth and pink, eyes blue as the sky and a pert little nose. There’s a hint of curl around her hairline, and I wonder if this straight hair thing she’s got going on isn’t natural.
I like the idea of her hair being curly. Wild.