Lissa- Sugar and Spice (The Wilde Sisters 3)

“Perfect! How did you know?”

“Magic.”

Lissa sat up and reached for the mug. Nick shook his head.

“Not yet,” he said softly.

“You promised!”

“I said you’d have to pay the price.” His gaze dropped to her breasts; the duvet had fallen to her lap, exposing them to his eyes. “And now I know what that’s going to be.”

She felt heat flood her body.

“Nick,” she whispered.

He put the coffee on the table and cupped her breasts in his hands. Lowered his head. Kissed the lush slopes. Kissed her nipples. Drew one into the heat of his mouth as he caressed the other between his thumb and forefinger.

Her soft moan turned him hard as stone.

“Do you like that?” he said thickly.

“Yes.” She reached out, curved her hand over the bulge in his jeans. “And this,” she said. “I like this, too. I like it a lot.”

“Dammit, Duchess! Are you trying to seduce me?”

Her laugh was wonderful. Soft and sweet and wicked. Everything about her was wonderful, Nick thought, and he rose to his feet, all but tore off his clothes and went into her outstretched arms.

Mouth met mouth. Skin met skin.

And two mugs of coffee went very, very cold.

* * *

Nick lay on his side, watching Lissa as she slept.

Her head was on his shoulder, her hand was splayed over his heart. Her hair, a spectacular tangle of gold, covered part of her face. Carefully, he looped it behind her ear.

He liked looking at her.

What man wouldn’t? She was incredibly beautiful. She was also amazing. Smart. Tough. Tender.

Damn.

Nick winced, swallowed a groan.

His leg, his damn leg, ached like a son of a bitch. Somehow or other, she’d ended up with her thigh thrown over his.

She was light as a feather, but still it was more weight than he’d handled in months. The last time he’d tried working against any kind of mass at all had been when he was still doing physical therapy, still believing the lies about regaining real use of the damaged muscles and tendons and bone. He’d worked with a machine that looked like a torture device out of the Spanish Inquisition.

His expression softened.

What Lissa looked like was a dream.

He couldn’t understand why he’d been so hard on her that first day.

Sure, he’d been expecting a cook and one look had made it clear she was anything but…

Except, that wasn’t true.