He grinned.
“Morning,” he said, just as softly. He kissed her. Tenderly. Lingeringly.
She smiled. “What a guy!”
His grin broadened. “Well, if you say so—”
“A man who reads minds. Very impressive.”
“Oh, that.”
“Why, Mr. Castelianos, sir, whatever did you think I meant?”
Zach rolled onto his side so they were face-to-face. He’d seen lots of women first thing in the morning. Some used the kind of makeup that didn’t wear off. He’d always thought it made them look like bleary-eyed Barbie dolls. Some, he was pretty certain, crept out of bed at dawn so they could reapply what he thought of as their faces. One or two let the night do whatever it was going to do: smeared mascara, bedhead hair, rosy cheek-color that had transferred to the pillow.
This was a first.
Jaimie had fallen asleep looking the same way she had when she’d let him into her apartment. No makeup. No carefully combed and teased and sprayed-into-submission hair.
She was herself. Unadorned. Natural. And—
“Beautiful,” he said.
She laughed softly, touched the back of her hand to his jaw. How could that dark stubble be so incredibly sexy?
“Liar.”
“Me? Lie about such a thing?” He gave her a little push and she tumbled, very willingly, onto her back. “Are you suggesting that I’d say whatever it takes to have my way with you, madam?”
“Mmm.” She turned her hand over so that her palm cupped his jaw. The stubble felt wonderful. Soft. Teasing. Sexy. “I am, indeed, sir.”
“Mmm, yourself.” He caught her hand, kissed it. “Hey, I’m a guy. Saying whatever we think will get us past ‘Go’ is in our DNA.” He kissed her palm again, touched the tip of his tongue to the sensitive skin. “But not this time.”
The stroke of his tongue made Jaimie’s toes curl.
“No?” she said, a little breathlessly.
“No,” he said, his voice a low, raw growl. Zach moved over her, his body hard, his eyes dark. “You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful, you damn near stop my heart.”
“I wouldn’t want to do that,” she said. “Because if I did—” He moved, kissed her breasts, slipped his hand between her thighs. She moaned and arched against his fingers. “If I did, we wouldn’t be able to—to—Oh God, Zacharias. When you do that—what you do that—”
His mouth captured hers as he entered her.
She cried out, came hard and fast. He held out as long as he could, waited until he felt her spasm around his rigid flesh a second time. Then he let go, lost himself in her cries, her scent.
Lost himself in her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They showered.
“Together,” Zach insisted, even though the shower stall wasn’t much bigger than a phone booth.
Jaimie pointed that out. He said it wouldn’t be a problem. He made it sound as if it were simply a logistical issue that he’d solve in a practical way.
Not quite.
It turned out that what he’d meant was that he’d hold her in his arms, she’d cling to him, and that in very little time, the magical combination of water and soap and skin-on-skin contact would prove that the best way to deal with the lack of space would be for him to lift her in his arms, for her to wrap her legs around him.