“Come, baby, because I sure as hell am.” He pulled out and plunged deep, his finger bit into her sex, and she exploded around him, her orgasm taking her higher than she’d ever been before. And even as she came, she was aware of him following her over, spilling himself inside her in the most intimate, sensual way.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she became aware of her breathing again or his heaviness holding her into the mattress.
In tune with her, he rolled over with a groan. “That was spectacular.”
An unfamiliar feeling of warmth and pride crept over her. “Yeah?”
He gripped her face between his hands and kissed her hard on the lips. “Absolutely.”
She grinned. “Well, good. And I happen to agree.”
He laughed and flopped back onto the bed.
When they could both finally move, they took a shared shower, which led to her soaping him up and learning his body in ways she’d never before experienced with another man. And visa versa. He cleaned her up, helped her wash her hair, and wrapped her up in her favorite fluffy towel before wrapping one around his waist too.
Her stomach chose that moment to growl unattractively. “Sorry.”
He shook his head and laughed. “No worries. I’m starving too.”
“There’s a great Italian place downstairs. I thought maybe we could eat there? If you want me to cook, I can do that tomorrow.”
“I came here to be with you. It doesn’t matter where we go or what we do.”
She shook her head, grateful he was so easygoing—at least outside of the bedroom. And she was glad they could spend time together in her world too. She felt safe taking Decklan out here. She’d only recently moved to this apartment complex, and nobody knew her well enough to question whom she went to dinner with. It was only within the D.C. political world where Brad’s father’s people paid attention.
TWELVE
The restaurant Amanda had chosen was a quiet one on the corner near her apartment complex. The walls were painted a pale blue, the lighting low, most of the patrons their age, people who looked like they’d just come from work and others who were dressed even more casually. Decklan felt comfortable here, with her.
They ate in easy silence. He tried the chicken piccata special; she chose the Marsala. The food was great, the company better.
“I love this place,” Decklan said, glancing around while they waited for the check.
“It’s relaxing. I come here a lot when I don’t want to cook. Sometimes I’ll bring my iPad and just read while I’m eating.”
He stared at her a moment, taking in her now-makeup-free face and serious eyes and saw someone who was, at heart, a loner. Much like him. “I’m glad you let me come this weekend.”
She smiled. “You were pretty insistent. But I have to admit I’m glad too.”
After a shared dessert, they walked back to her apartment. As they reached the entrance to the building, a female voice called out from the parking lot. “Amanda?”
“Mother?” Amanda stiffened, then turned.
A well-dressed and very unhappy-looking woman strode up to her. “Of course it’s your mother. You know, the woman whose calls you’ve been ignoring. The woman you kept waiting in her car?”
Amanda sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s not like I was expecting you. And as for not returning your calls, I’ve been busy.”
“Yes, working as a secretary.” The older woman wrinkled her nose in disdain.
“Personal assistant,” Amanda corrected her.
“Same thing.”
Amanda shook her head. “Mother, please. Not again.”
Since the other woman didn’t seem to want to notice him, Decklan took the time to evaluate her with a lingering look. She came up lacking. Although it was obvious she and Amanda were related, blonde hair—though clearly her mother’s had been touched up with a bottle—similar bone structure, and brown eye color, the similarities ended there. Where her mother was tall and too thin, Amanda was lush and curvy. Where Amanda was warm and real, her mother was full of grandeur and illusion. Or was it delusion? Decklan wondered.
“Mother, please what?” the older woman mimicked. “How about you show some manners and invite me inside?”