"I've been on my own since I was eighteen. They died just before I went to college," I told him.
Fenton stopped his caresses and leaned down to kiss me. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"I'm just used to taking care of myself," I said. "How about you? Does the Morris family keep close tabs on you? Or do you call every Sunday like the dutiful son."
He chuckled as he reached for his pants and got up. "Speaking of Sundays, I could eat an entire Sunday dinner right about now. Do you suppose the kitchen is stocked in this place?"
I sat up and shielded myself behind the sofa. He was opening and closing cabinets, comfortable in his state of half-dress. I skipped the bra and settled for tugging my dress back over my head. I still felt the shockwaves of my orgasm as I tugged on my panties and joined him in the kitchen.
"You look like you could use a drink," he said with a wink. He pulled out a bottle of champagne and a pitcher of fresh orange juice. "Looks like that chef left you fully stocked, even though he disapproved of the company you keep."
"I don't mind your company – if you can do something good with those eggs. I'm starving," I said.
Fenton laughed and handed me a mimosa. "Lucky for both of us, I make a mean omelet."
I leaned on the counter and the neckline of my dress dropped open. His eyes tripped over me and his breath caught. I felt my cheeks get hot, and I stood up and laughed. After what we had just done not twenty feet away, it was ridiculous to still feel shy.
"I like this new look on you, Ms. Allen," he said. "It might suit you more than the whole buttoned-up thing you've been working."
I ruffled my hair and shot him a look, happy when he fumbled the spatula he was holding. "I don't know, this time last year, I was in Palm Springs at a golf tournament. Five star everything without the gambling. Not too shabby."
"Did you have any fun?"
"No," I slid onto a stool to watch him cook. "My job was to secure another five-year contract with a long-time client. All he wanted was a steak dinner. It was three days of sweltering temperatures outside and long conversations about golf."
"I think Vegas is agreeing with you more than you'd like to admit," Fenton said.
I rolled my eyes. "In Vegas, I've been a half-inch away from a disaster the entire time."
He slipped a perfect omelet onto a plate and slid it towards me. "Only if you count getting blackout drunk at a nightclub party, waking up in a strange man's bed, upgrading yourself to a high-roller's suite, and then following a pair of gangsters that turn around and kidnap you."
I took a bite of the omelet and almost forgave Fenton for the twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes. "Don't forget, I also picked up your duffel bag for you."
"After you crashed a bare-knuckles underground fight."
"I think you mean 'thank you,'" I tipped my head and gave him a pointed look.
He laughed again, an eruption of sound that made my stomach flutter. "You're right. Thank you."
He finished his breakfast in big bites and went to the door to retrieve the black duffel bag. I tried not to watch as he fished out his phone and scrolled through the messages. One he read made him pause and then he quickly texted a response.
I swiveled on my stool, uncrossing and crossing my legs in his eye line. "Don't tell me those other agents contacted you. I'm fine if you and I are not doing business, but I am very competitive woman."
Fenton crooked a black eyebrow at me. "How competitive?"
"Very," I said. I slipped off the stool and walked barefoot to him. When I drew near, he looked down and noticed my nipples pushing hard against the thin fabric of my dress. I nodded and raised myself on my tiptoes so we were on eye level. "What if I want you all to myself?"
"Yes, please," he s
aid.
His hands slipped around my waist, but I pulled my lips back from his hot mouth. "Just you and just me," I said.
He did not answer. Instead, he gave me a wolfish grin and tightened his arms around my waist. I could not resist and our lips met, the kiss melting away my resistance. I ran my hands up the washboard ridges of his bare stomach, my fingers flexing over his hard male body. Once I reached his shoulders, it was a sweet relief to press my breasts against him.
This time, his lips were soft, his tongue leisurely exploring mine. We tangled and tasted, retreated and smiled. I kneaded the taut stretch of his shoulders and let my fingers slowly work upwards to his thick black hair. Fenton let his hands rove up and down the curve of my back, then along the sides of my body. Slowly, his warm hands brushed against the sides of my breasts.
He smiled against my lips again and dropped his hands to tug at the hem of my dress. It slipped up slowly, tickling and tantalizing me as he drew it up my body and finally over my head. I raised my arms, gasping as my breasts bounced against the heat of his bare skin. Fenton stopped to admire where we pressed against each other then dropped his lips to mine for a deep thirsty kiss.