“I converted a bedroom to accommodate a larger bathroom in here.”
“Yes, I noticed it deserves its own zip code.”
He smirked. “I’ll fix breakfast before we head to the Lux. Meet me on the patio when you’re ready.”
“And he cooks,” I quipped, admiring everything about the man. “Let me guess—you studied the fine art of crêpes suzette at Le Cordon Bleu Paris?” I said it a bit haughtily.
He chuckled and kissed my forehead. “Betty Crocker.”
I watched him strut out of the room, naked and gorgeous.
This was all so surreal. Yet a shiver of excitement ran along my spine at the thought of him—and the way he touched me. The things he said. The way he made me feel.
I slipped from the bed with a smile on my face. I collected my tote and the stunning nightgown and robe and then returned to his bathroom. I showered and pulled the robe on, loving the rich satin against my skin. I did my hair, but the smell of strong coffee lured me away from the mirror.
Down the hall, I crossed the vast great room, pausing to pick up Dane’s shirt from the floor, where we’d left it last night. Apparently, he’d put the drawstring pants back on, because they were missing. I held the linen shirt to my nose and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of him. So much so, I loosened the sash on the robe and eased out of it. I put his shirt on instead and drew in another deep breath.
I turned toward the wall of windows and doors and found Dane at one of the smaller glass-topped tables. Watching me.
I passed through the opened doors to the terrace on the bank of the creek. Heaters kept the early-morning chill at bay.
Dane had the newspaper in one hand, a mug of cappuccino in the other, as I joined him.
“That was sexy,” he said, lust tingeing his voice.
My cheeks warmed. “Too bad we can’t bottle your scent. I like it even more than the frankincense.”
He set aside the coffee and paper and reached for me, pulling me into his lap. He wrapped one arm around my waist. The other hand cupped the side of my face and he kissed me. Slowly, deeply. As it went on and on, his palm slid over my throat and down to my chest. He deftly worked the first few buttons and slipped his hand inside to caress my breast and then brushed his thumb over my tight nipple. As he paid the same attention to my other breast, magma flowed in my veins.
When he finally dragged his mouth from mine, I was burning up. No heaters necessary.
“It’ll definitely be a toasty winter if you keep doing that.”
He grinned. Funny how he didn’t even balk at my second mention of us being together in winter when it was still only September.
My fingers skimmed over the scratches on his bare chest, running from his collarbone to his pecs. Four nail marks that clawed at him.
“I’m sorry,” I said with a cringe.
“Don’t be. I like you all worked up and crazed for me.” His voice was sensual and arousing.
He kissed me again. Then, breathless, I got to my feet and took the chair across from him. Or we’d never make it to work.
“Keep the buttons undone,” he said, his tone a bit darker.
I did as instructed.
He asked, “Which section of the paper do you want?”
“Sports.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Why’d I even ask?” He handed it over.
I scanned scores as I dug into the omelet on my plate. Fully loaded and absolutely fantastic. I moaned. “My compliments to Ms. Crocker.”
He chuckled. “Don’t get too excited. I have a very limited kitchen repertoire.”
“Good thing you have five-star chefs at your disposal.”