Naked Games (Hard to Get 3)

He winked. “Fine, you can go first, how’s that?”

Catherine grinned as she thought of all the wicked things she would do to him. She rubbed her hands together. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Dean grunted and started to shove some papers into a drawer. “Hell, I might not survive it.”

Catherine’s mind went back over all they’d just done, and her mind glommed on to one thing. “Dean?”

Without looking up from his desk, he said, “Hmm?”

“Earlier you called me . . . your girl. Did you mean that?” She hadn’t meant to sound so vulnerable, but she needed to know where she stood with him.

Dean stopped what he was doing and looked over at her. He never took his gaze from hers when he said, “I meant every word.” He stood and closed the distance between them. They were only a breath apart when he asked, “Do you have a problem being mine, sweetheart? If so, you should tell me now.”

Her stomach flip-flopped. She felt utterly desirable around Dean. His words and caresses made her come alive. “I don’t have a problem with it. And you should know that I consider you mine now too.”

He reached out and stroked a single finger down her cheek. “Suits me just fine.”

“This could prove interesting though, considering I live in Georgia and you still don’t trust me.”

His eyes turned hard. “I don’t want to think of you leaving.”

Catherine noticed he didn’t address the trust issue. She knew at some point they’d have to. It was the white elephant in the room whenever they were together. She took the last remaining step and wrapped her arms around his waist, cuddling close. She didn’t know what was going to happen to their fragile relationship, but for now she planned to make the most of every second. “Let’s go play in the tub.”

His lips brushed the top of her head in a gentle caress. “I love the way you think, sweets.”

19

Dean looked at the time on his alarm clock next to his bed. Christ, he’d only been away from Catherine for a few hours and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. What was wrong with him? Normally he was relieved when the woman he was dating didn’t smother him twenty-four hours a day. He hated the clingy types. Catherine definitely wasn’t clingy. In fact, right now she was off listening to some orchestra perform and probably having a great time. He shook his head and put the graphite pencil back in the cup. As he stood back, he surveyed the sketch. Damn, it was the best thing he’d ever drawn. He wondered if Catherine would like it. When he heard the doorbell, Dean’s stomach knotted. It couldn’t be her. The performance wouldn’t be over until nine, Catherine had said. She’d told him that she’d call when she made it back to the hotel. Still, a guy could hope. The doorbell chimed again, and Dean strode from the room. By the time he reached the front door, he was frowning. He yanked it open, ready to blast his visitor when he was brought up short by the sight of his mom and sister.

“Took you long enough to answer the door,” Deanna said, rubbing her hands together to ward off the chill.

“Was it really necessary to ring the bell twice?” he asked as he stepped aside to let them in.

“Sorry,” Deanna said, sounding anything but. “What were you doing?”

“I was working, Little Miss Busybody,” he answered as he tweaked her nose.

“This late?” his mom asked.

“Here,” Dean said as he helped her with her coat. Not that she needed it. At sixty-two years old, his mom still got around just fine. She had fair skin that barely showed her age and dark brown hair sprinkled with gray. Dean knew she’d joined a yoga class and that she took good care of herself. He still worried about her though. Since his dad’s death from a brain aneurism a few years ago, his mother had been left alone in the large house he’d been raised in. It bothered Wade, Deanna, and him that their mother refused to sell and find a small apartment.

“Nothing strenuous, I swear,” he answered her. “Just working on a bid.” He hated to lie to his family, but he hadn’t shared his love of art with them. He hadn’t shared it with anyone, until Catherine. It made him feel exposed whenever he thought of showing his sketches to his mom and sister.

She looked at him with the astuteness only a mother seemed to possess. “Are we interrupting?”

“Of course not, Mom. You’re always welcome at my house.” He leaned down and hugged her, before saying, “Sorry if I was rude.”

“Well, in that case, you wouldn’t happen to have some coffee made, would you?” she asked as she shivered. “Some really hot coffee?”

“Coming right up,” he said as he led the way to the kitchen. “For you too, Dee?” he called over his shoulder.

“I’d love some,” she answered as she followed close behind. “I thought you were dog sitting. Where’s Duke?”

“Back at home. His owner came home early from his trip.” As the women sat, Dean asked, “So, is there a particular reason for the visit? Or is it that you missed my pretty face?”

His mom laughed. “I always enjoy seeing the pretty faces of my children.”

“Yeah, but I’m the prettiest, right?” Deanna chimed in.