His First Choice

“I planned to pour the floor tomorrow, if that works for you.”

“I think it’s pretty clear that anything you plan works for me.”

Her fingers skated up his thigh, stopping just below his ass.

“Why do I get the feeling we aren’t just talking about building a room here?”

“Maybe because we aren’t?”

Their wineglasses were full...and in the way. Taking hers from her, he set them down on the newly inspected footer. On his way back up, he grabbed the bottom of her dress, pulling it up with him and dragging it over her head.

And things were almost over before they’d begun. Her panties were lace. Her skin the same honey golden color all over. Her thighs went on forever...

She put one thigh forward and a hand to her waist, drawing his eye to the curve of her hip, a flat belly.

His penis throbbed. Painfully, but he ignored the irritation.

And now he could no longer even pretend to ignore the fact that she hadn’t been wearing a bra.

“You aren’t playing fair.” He groaned, reaching for the button at his waistline.

“I’m not playing at all,” she told him in such a sultry voice he had to try to capture it. With his mouth.

His fly was unzipped as he planted his mouth on hers. Finding her tongue with his. Immediately. Hungrily.

He still wasn’t touching her with anything other than his lips. He didn’t trust himself. Didn’t want everything to end. He wanted a beginning that lasted forever.

“Oh, my God...” he whispered raggedly, pulling the tie from around his neck to drop it in the dirt. His shirt followed right afterward.

“Time is money, you know,” she told him.

“There is no amount of money that could pay for this time right here,” he told her. He stepped out of his pants and briefs all at once, left them puddled on the ground and approached her. He’d take her on the wall. In the dirt. Any way he could think of.

“I like how eager you are,” she whispered, her gaze on his crotch. She stood up, turned her back to him and, leaving her dress where he’d dropped it, walked into her house.

Unable to tear his gaze from the white lace-covered backside, Jem grabbed a packet out of his pocket, dropped his pants again and sauntered slowly in behind her.

Two could play her game.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

LACEY HAD NEVER h

ad a thing for muscled working men. Had had no idea how sexy construction workers could be. She and Jem were in her room. She was a lady. A queen. He was strong. Solid. Gorgeous. And he wanted her. She touched his chest. He rubbed his penis against her leg. She kissed him. He picked her up off the ground and held her suspended against his rock hardness.

He hadn’t touched a single erogenous zone and she felt as though every one of them had been loved repeatedly.

Her nipples were hard. She was moist. And he prolonged the misery by running fingers down her back and stopping just above her tailbone. Licking her belly button, but no lower. Or higher.

“Jem,” she finally moaned. “I need you.”

“I know, Lace. I need you, too.”

“Then...”

“Shh.” Standing, he let his jutting maleness slide between her legs as he touched a finger to her lips. “The longer we hold out, the higher we’ll fly.”

She didn’t know about that. If he didn’t hurry, she might very well fly without him.