Page 271 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
I stop in front of her. “I make a mean grilled cheese.”
“I do like grilled cheese.”
“With caramelized onions, if I’m trying to impress.”
Her brows go up. “Are you trying to impress?”
“No, ma’am.” I glance at the washer, and then back at her. “You started that honey episode. I’m just cleaning it up the way I was raised.”
I close the rest of the space between us and slip my arms around her waist, wishing neither of us were wearing these terry cloth robes.
My fingers brush the knot of her robe. “You know what I’m craving?”
She wraps her arms around my neck. “Dessert?”
I tilt my head, pretending to think. “Depends. You mean actual dessert, or”—I glance down at her mouth—“the kind I’m thinking of right now?”
Her eyes narrow playfully. “Are you trying to imply I’m edible?”
“Oh, I’m not implying.” My hand drifts just slightly, just enough to make her breath catch again.
The soft sound is music to my blood ears.
“I’m making a statement.”
She bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “Confident, aren’t you?”
“Only when I know I’m right.” I lean in, close enough to brush her ear with my words. “You look like dessert. You smell like dessert. But I know you taste better than both.”
She exhales a laugh, one hand gripping my forearm. “You talk like that and I might let the robe fall off by accident.”
“That would be tragic.” I sprinkle kisses down her throat.
With one of those delicious sounds of hers, she tilts her head, giving me access. Her pulse flutters against my lips. My lips trail down her velvet-smooth skin to the small hollow at the base of her neck.
My mouth finds hers, and her lips part. I take the invitation, savoring the taste of her. She moves with me, hot and hungry, her body arching as my hand slides up her spine.
The kiss turns rougher.
No questions.
No hesitation.
Just heat.
I tug her in tighter, pressing into the barrier of her robe. I want it gone. I want mine gone. I want to lift her on the dryer and have my way with her right here.
But I stop, just enough to breathe her in, lips still brushing hers. I wait for her eyes to open. When they do, they’re glazed, famished, and unfocused.
I grin. “Come on.” I ease back enough to take her hand. “Let’s get out of this laundry room before I forget how to be a gentleman.”
“Forget how,” she pleads, pulling me back. “Show me all the ways you aren’t a gentleman.”
I kiss her. “I want to show off some of my kitchen skills.”
“I believe you.” Her lips are on mine again, and her hands reach under my robe.
I push my hips back, out of her reach. “Damn woman, you’re a horny little thing.”
