Page 91 of Colton's Last Resort

The first?Her heart leaped. She swallowed all the deeper questions and asked, “What’s your sign?”

“What sign?”

“Your astrological sign,” she clarified. When he gave her a long sideways look, she let a slow grin play across her mouth. “Come on. With a sister like Allison, how could you not know?”

“Please tell me you don’t put as much stock in that as she did,” he groaned.

“Not really,” she said. “But it’s a fun question. And I’m curious. You were born in November.”

“You remember that?”

“Of course I do,” she murmured.

He lifted the wineglass, taking a break to study her.

She smiled. “November either makes you a Scorpio or a Sagittarius. Which is it?”

Ever the man of mystery, he chose not to answer and took a long sip instead. Then he picked up the spatula and continued to stir. “I’m not a wine drinker. But this one’s fine.”

“It is,” she agreed. “It’s a rare vintage. One I’ve been saving.”

He raised a brow. “For me?”

Why did he think he was worthy of so little? “Yes,” she said, moving closer. “And after we eat, I’m going to find out how it tastes on your tongue.”

The spatula clattered to a halt and his eyes fired. The tension hardened his features, but it had nothing to do with anger this time and everything to do with what they had made the last time their bodies had come together in a fit of urgency. He remembered that clash, she saw, and its sensational conclusion every bit as much as she did.

“Is that right?” he ventured.

She saw the smile turn up the corners of his eyes even as his mouth remained in a firm, forbidding line. “How much longer?” she asked.

“Not long,” he guessed. He cursed. “Too long.”

She wondered if his body had responded as eagerly as hers was. Crossing one foot over the other, she tried to tamp down on it. By pressing her thighs together, she only fanned the flame. She ran her hand over the small of his back, just above the line of the towel he’d wrapped around his hips, and made herself step away. “I’m going to change.”

She made it to the corner before he spoke up again. “Scorpio.”

She glanced back in surprise. His head was low, intent on the work of his hands. And she grinned because she saw the pop of color in the flesh leading from his collarbone to his ear.

His bodyhadresponded, and she could think of nothing more than unknotting his towel and letting dinner burn.

Taking a steadying breath, she said, “Of course you are.”

In her bedroom, she opened the top drawer and pulled out the black nightie she’d bought online on impulse a few nights before. Lifting it by the straps, she considered. She hadn’t thought she’d have the nerve to wear it for him. She’d thrown out all her nighties after the fiasco with Quentin, deciding she wouldn’t need sexy finery again.

Carrying the gown into the bathroom, she closed the door after letting Sebastian follow her inside. She discarded her towel and the wet bathing suit underneath and hopped into the shower.

When she came back out, tying the belt of a black silk robe that had lived at the back of her closet for some time, the smell of pesto hit her. She followed the seductive aroma to the dining room table, where he had already plated dinner for them.

She stared at the candle he’d found on her side table in the center of the dining set. “My goodness,” she said, at a loss for anything else.

He topped off her wine. “From the moment we met, I knew you were the candlelit-dinner type.”

He pulled out a chair for her. Inwardly, she sighed. The hard man in the towel, quietly and devastatingly courteous, had no idea how irresistible he was. “Thank you,” she said, turning her mouth up to his for a breathy kiss.

His eyes remained closed when she pulled back. His head followed hers as she lowered her heels to the floor. “You smell good. You always smell good.” When his eyes opened, they were unfocused. “I could eat you alive.”

“Tortellini first,” she insisted.

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