“What?” she asked. “You don’t want to sleep with me?”
He looked at her, groaning softly.
She smiled. “I know, fine.” Banshee stopped sleeping on the bed around six months old. He was too big. Now he preferred
a nice patch of floor, preferably near a window, where he could stretch out and snore. And boy did he snore. “Go on,” she said, opening her bedroom door and watching him trot down the hallway—at the same time Click rounded the corner, carrying a glass of water.
“Hi,” she said, her heart picking up. Every inch of her responded to the heat in his eyes.
“Hi.” He stopped, his gaze wandering over her camisole and panties. His jaw clenched tightly, his fingers tightening around the glass he held.
She smiled. “Coming to bed?”
One dark eyebrow arched. “Inviting me in?”
“It was a standing invitation,” she said.
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I forgot the baby monitor,” he said, heading back into the kitchen.
She slid into bed, anticipation igniting in her stomach and spreading like wildfire. Just thinking about their earlier kiss, the touch of his hands and fingers on her skin, had her aching.
By the time he’d plugged in Pearl’s monitor and turned to look at her, it took all of her self-control not to attack him. Something that got ten times harder when he tugged his skintight white T-shirt over his head and unbuttoned his jeans. He was gorgeous.
She tore her gaze from the rock-hard expanse of his chest and abdomen, worrying the quilt between her fingers.
“I saw your message from Miss Francis,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed. “You up for a trip to Alpine tomorrow?”
She nodded, too breathless to sound coherent.
He flipped off the overhead light and lay back on the pillow, his hand taking hers. “Tired?” he asked, his voice deep and gruff.
She shook her head. Sleep was the last thing on her mind.
“Tandy?”
She sat up, turned on the bedside lamp and stared at him. “I’m not tired.” Her voice shook.
His blue eyes blazed into hers.
She hesitated, overwhelmed with need. It helped that he felt the same. That his hands gripped the quilt and his chest rose and fell too quickly. She closed the distance between them as she climbed on top of him, straddling him. His eyes widened, the muscle in his jaw clenched, as she leaned forward to press her curves against the angles of his chest.
He was warm beneath her hands. Her fingers ran along the sides of his neck to trace his jawline. His eyes bore into hers as she cradled his cheek and brushed her lips against his.
He moaned against her lips as he touched her. Finally. His hands slid up her sides, finding their way beneath her thin camisole. She arched into him, her lips parting his as his hands pressed against her back.
Her fingers threaded through his thick hair, giving her something to hold on to—to anchor herself as when his kiss made the world fall away. The stroke of his tongue was intoxicating. When his mouth descended to her neck, pressing light, wet kisses to her sensitive skin, she shuddered. His lips sucked her earlobe into his mouth, nipping gently before moving down, around her neck and to her collarbone.
She held on, yearning for more. His hands drifted to her hips, giving her the room to slide her camisole up and off.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, staring up at her. He ran his fingers along the cleft between her breasts, sweeping his fingers under the swell and teasing her senses. She arched forward, crying out when his mouth latched on to her nipple.
She ended up under him, the quilts tossed aside as he kissed her deeply. His hand clasped her breast, his finger and thumb stroking her to a feverish point. She moaned, her nails scouring his shoulders when his mouth left her to nuzzle and suck her inflamed nipple. First one, then the other, he seemed intent on making her body come alive. Before she came apart.
She couldn’t stop touching him. So many things had changed, but not her fascination with his body. The strength of his arms. The line of his back. The quiver of his stomach when her hands dipped beneath the elastic of his boxer shorts. He was all muscle. And all hers.
Her eyes fluttered open then, reeling by the look on his face. He was lost in exploration, watching his hands on her body. Every gasp she made, every shudder or tremble, pleasing him. She pressed a hand to his cheek, loving the kiss he pressed against her palm. Her hand slid up, tangling in his hair, to pull him down to her.
When his gaze met hers, he smiled.