She gave the small chore of filling the glasses way more attention than it required but was happy for the distraction. She needed to get her mind straight. She wanted to have a conversation with him before succumbing to the attraction between them again.
To that end, it was best to put some distance between them. After placing his glass on the kitchen counter, she carried hers to the living room, and sat on one of the big, cream wingback armchairs. It was a ridiculously impractical color. Vicki perched right on the edge of the seat, terrified she would spill the red wine on the pristine upholstery.
She enjoyed the confident way he moved around the kitchen. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she found that culinary competence utterly seductive.
Ty had showered—if his still damp hair was any indication—and changed after returning home. He was wearing another irresistible chest-hugging t-shirt and her favorite faded blue jeans. His butt and thighs looked phenomenal in those jeans.
He had a dish towel slung over one broad shoulder; his hair was long enough now to flop over his brow while he focused on his task. She heard the unmistakable sizzle of food searing in a pan, and the room filled with the aroma of cooking salmon. Her mouth watered, but not only because of the delicious smell of food. The single-minded concentration on his face reminded her of how he looked when he was working on giving her an orgasm.
She bit back a groan and took a gulp of wine, anxious to quell this rising desire. She forced herself to look away from him and allowed her eyes to roam around his apartment again.
It had been impossible not to notice the almost aggressive neutrality of his color scheme when she’d been here before. So many shades of beige, and cream, with the occasional brown scattered around for contrast.
“My pink room must really have been a shock to your system,” she said after a few minutes of silence.
He grimaced, giving her a quick glance before lowering his gaze back to the skillet. “Don’t remind me. Has your brother fixed it yet?”
She shook her head. “I’ve given up. I’m going to have to do it myself.”
“I could help.” His offer was unexpected. And sweet.
But… “I probably won’t have time to do it until January.”
She studied his face closely over the rim of her glass, not sure what she was hoping to see in his expression.
She swallowed her resentment down with a gulp of wine when he kept his head lowered and hid his reaction from her.
“What’s your favorite color?”
Her question startled him into looking up. “What?”
“It’s a pretty standard question.”
“Not pink.”
She laughed again.
“At least not the dyspeptic pink plastered all over your room. I’ve recently developed an appreciation of the more subtle shades.” His eyes lingered on her face, making her flush for some reason.
He jabbed a finger in her direction. “That blush for example…it’s an enchanting shade. Rosy and pretty.”
Who knew the man could be so charming?
“I like the delicate camellia pink—don’t look so shocked, I picked up a few things in that shop of yours—” This when she couldn’t hide her surprise at his use of the flower’s name. “As I was saying, I like the camellia pink of your mouth. I like that your nipples are the exact same shade, but that they darken to the same color as Amaranthus caudatus when you’re turned on.”
Amaranthus caudatus? Oh, he was really showing off now.
She was pretty absolutely certain her nipples were a deep shade of amaranth pink right at that moment because his words were certainly revving her engine.
“And don’t get me started on your pretty pink little puss—”
“Oh, my God,” she yelped interrupting him when her hand tilted, and the wine spilled—thankfully onto her lap and not on his perfectly clean upholstery or carpet.
“You okay?” he asked striding toward her. He handed her his tea towel to help mop up the spill. Which really wasn’t too bad, just a couple of drops. It had been the shock of it—more than anything else—that had triggered her loud exclamation.
She dabbed at the drops, before handing the towel back.
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice hoarse and breathless. Damn him. This was his fault; he had been seducing her with his words, and she had drunk them all in. Thirsty didn’t even begin to describe her.
Ty smiled serenely at her, as if he didn’t have a clue what he’d just done, even though the wicked glint in his eyes belied his angelic countenance.
“You still haven’t told me what your favorite color is,” she reminded him defiantly once he was back behind the kitchen counter.
“Dark green. Yours?” he asked before taking a sip of his wine.
“You’d better not be expecting me to start rhapsodizing about the complex shades of pinks and purples on your penis, mister,” Vicki warned with a grumpy glower. She was deeply satisfied when he choked on his second sip of wine.