Page 40 of Love You
She’d actually wanted to smack Lucky for letting Win go through with it. Other than the short presentation, Win had no training riding bulls. He’d pulled it off, though, like he did everything else. With a big toothy grin and a truckload of swagger. One of these days that swagger was going to get him killed.
“What about the bill?” she asked, since Win was the one with the GA credit card.
“Took care of it.”
As they walked through the restaurant she saw a few female glances turn Win’s way. A blonde, who looked as if she’d spent a good part of the day in the sun, drank him up like a tall glass of lemonade. Either Win didn’t notice or she wasn’t his type. To Darcy the blonde looked like every man’s type. Big, brown-sugar eyes, big boobs, and big, glossy lips.
They piled into the van and Win drove up the mountainous road to the hotel, slipping her occasional glances. She wondered what he was thinking. That come Monday he would be free of her? She was loath to admit it but despite all their arguing they’d made a pretty good team.
By the time they reached the hotel, she was too tired to think. But not too exhausted to hop out of the van and hug Remy, Sue, and Russell good-bye. Darcy was going to miss them. During the two days they’d had together, she’d bonded with the FlashTag trio, which wasn’t easy for her to do. She’d never been good at making friends. Although she wouldn’t be conducting any team building exercises, she hoped TJ would let her somehow be involved with the group if GA got the account.
On the way home, she must’ve nodded off because at some point she was awakened by a rush of warm air and a strong pair of arms that lifted her from the van’s passenger seat. All too aware that it was Win, she kept her eyes squeezed shut and pretended to still be asleep, nuzzling her head under his chin. He made a sound deep in his throat and suddenly warm lips touched her forehead. They lingered as if he was breathing her in. Darcy shifted, snuggling deeper into his chest, worried that he would figure out she was awake and put her down. She liked being in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body and the breadth of his chest surround her. It made her feel delicate and feminine, and deliciously safe. Even the slow beating of his heart felt oddly comforting. And his smell—Indian spices, sweat, and man—enveloped her like a hug.
And then they moved or rather he did, taking long strides that ate up the cobblestone walkway, his feet crunching as they went. The fact that he could lift her at all said something about how strong he was. But being able to carry her the distance from the driveway to her nana’s front door was impressive.
She heard whispering, then felt Win cross into the house, walk through the foyer, and climb the stairs. At the top of the hallway, a door swooshed open, a light flickered on, and then he unceremoniously dumped her in the middle of her bed.
“You can quit playing possum because I know you’re awake.”
Uh-oh. Feigning sleep seemed like a wasted effort but at least he might go away and save her from the embarrassment of faking it. That’s what a gentleman would do.
But Win wasn’t a gentleman. The bed dipped and she felt him stretch out next to her. What the hell was he thinking? Her grandmother was just one flight below them.
He turned on his side and was looking at her. She couldn’t see him because her eyes were closed but she knew. She could feel his breath on her face. He was only maybe an inch or two away. It was a meager double bed, barely enough room for both of them and his feet were probably hanging over the end.
“If you were thinking of becoming an actor I’d keep my day job if I were you,” he said.
She flipped onto her back and propped her arms under her head. “You suck.”
He laughed.
“You could’ve just left me on the couch if I was too heavy for you.”
“You’re not heavy.” He flexed his bicep like a ninth grader. “Were you testing my strength?”
“No, I was too tired to walk.” And just for once she wanted someone to carry her. Not literally but figuratively. “Because while you were busy being charming and wrecking all my thoughtful plans, I was trying to nail this account.” She knew she wasn’t being fair but it was easier to fight with him than what she really wanted to do.
“And I wasn’t?” He scowled. “I worked my ass off this weekend.”
He had. And they’d loved him. “I’ll admit you were impressive. But don’t let it go to your head. You did what you do every weekend. You played.”
“That’s bullshit, Darcy. We both worked our asses off, okay?”
“Okay,” she conceded. “But I finagled that entire picnic lunch, practically had to promise my first-born child, and didn’t get one word of praise from you. Not so much as ‘this looks great, Darcy.’ All you did was stuff your face.”
“You want credit? Fine, I’ll give you credit.” He leaned over and planted his lips on hers, the move so surprising that Darcy froze.
He rolled over so that he was practically lying on top of her and tucked his hands under her head so he could take the kiss deeper. The pull of his mouth made her forget everything. Her frustration, her disappointment, the fact that they were in her grandmother’s house with the door open. She twined her arms around his neck as he explored her mouth with his tongue.
He tasted like beer from the Indian restaurant and desire. So much desire that she lost herself in him. In the hard planes of his chest, pressing her into the bed, the warmth of his mouth, plying her with pleasure, and the sensation of his fingers, tangling in her hair.
She arched up, wanting to feel all of him and he obliged by grinding against her, the evidence of his arousal pushed between her legs. She heard a moan of pleasure. Maybe it was hers, maybe it was Win’s. She was too caught up to know or to care. His hands moved down her arms and inched their way under the hem of her T-shirt. She sucked in a breath as he touched the bare skin of her stomach and moved up to her breasts, feeling the weight of them through her bra. Never once breaking the kiss.
Darcy might not be the most experienced lover but there was no doubt Win was an expert. The things he was doing with his body, lips, and tongue were out of this world.
Her hands moved to the waistband of his jeans. She wanted to hold him . . . stroke him, make him feel as good as he was making her. He shuddered as her fingers scraped his rock-hard abs and he glided his lips over the side of her face, landing on her neck and sucking.
She worked his belt, desperate to feel him between her legs before she exploded. He kissed her breasts, laving them with his tongue, leaving wet spots on her shirt. And this time the moan definitely came from her. If he felt this amazing with clothes on she could only imagine what it would be like naked.
