“That would be great.” I realized how overenthusiastic I sounded about an offer to use a restroom. Weird how that awkward teenager I’d once been still emerged at the oddest times. “I mean...thanks.”
I ducked in the other direction to wash the grit of horse and leather from my hands and face. Toweling off on the thick white terry cloth that hung on a brand-new pewter dowel, I had a stern stare-down with myself in the mirror.
Don’t read too much into this. Don’t get all mushy romantic inside because a guy treats you to dinner.
How pathetic would I be if I fell over the first guy to do something so sweet? The fact that I’d pushed men away with both hands for years was the only reason I was such a relationship newbie. The only reason Damien’s careful plans for a date today had me dreaming about a romantic future.
Relax.
When I came out of the bathroom, Damien was just returning to the office from somewhere else in the half-finished building, a towel around his neck. His short hair was damp and pushed back from his face. His shirt a little more open at the collar than it had been.
My heart rate quickened. My breath caught. I stared at him, frozen, while he shut the door quietly. Locked it.
He caught my stare. Must have seen the way I eyed him like a drink after a hike through the desert.
“Hungry?” His gaze never left mine. I swear those hazel eyes pulled me to him as if I was on a string.
“Starving,” I whispered, right before I pressed myself against him, pressed my lips to his.
He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the few noises he made while I kissed the ever-loving daylights out of the man sounded full of approval.
Eyes closed, arms twined around his neck, I backed him against the heavy wooden door. Kissing, wanting, panting. I peeled one layer of shirt off and then the other, until his chest was hot and naked against mine, the sculpted lines of smooth abs and narrow waist almost as appealing as the flat surface of his pectorals or the broad expanse of shoulders.
Looking wasn’t enough, though. I smoothed my hands over the warm, hard planes and drew deep, wet kisses from him until we were both edgy and excited.
“I’m in charge,” I warned him between kisses, savoring the way he let me do as I pleased.
“I’m strangely in the mood for taking orders.” His hands roamed over my body with all the self-assurance of a guy who knew exactly what he was about.
“No.” I gripped his wrists in manacles of thumbs and forefingers, not reaching all the way around. “I mean—I’m in charge.”
Shaelynn speaks! The notion flashed through my head, the idea of a character speaking through me not nearly as absurd as it should have been. I needed her strength. Her confidence. If I didn’t have much time left with Damien, I needed every second to count, every encounter to push me further toward becoming a normal, sensual, sexually empowered woman.
I felt his smile in a stretch of his lips beneath mine, a sensation that seemed sexy on the outside even as it warmed my heart. Yes!
“Can’t wait to see what you’re going to do with me,” he teased, his wrists going slack in my hands, the muscles in his forearms relaxing.
The action between his hips and mine...that didn’t relax one bit. Quite the opposite.
Bolstered, I rocked against him, liking the hard feel of him and the knowledge that I’d done it to him. I raised his arms higher, to shoulder height. Higher still.
“Am I your prisoner?” he asked, an eyebrow quirked as I kept going.
“Mostly I just like seeing things flex.” I dipped down to kiss his shoulder, where muscles had popped into delicious relief. Then I bent lower, to lick a kiss along the top of his biceps. “You taste good.”
I nipped a soft bite there, but he flexed again, making it impossible to get a hold on him. I kept him pinned in place, looking, and liking what I saw. Until I glanced into his eyes and saw a starker hunger there.
“What?” I loosened my hold.
“It’s nothing.” He shook his head. Stayed right where I’d left him, even though I wasn’t really holding him anymore.
Confused, I rubbed a finger against his arm. More friendly, less sexy. “Did I mess something up?”
Doubts crowded my mind, a quick avalanche of negative thoughts—
“No.” He grabbed me by the shoulders—gently. “Look at me. You could never mess this up. Ever. I’m so turned on I can’t think straight, which is why I...” He shook his head as if to clear it. “You said that thing, you know—‘you taste good.’”
“I remember.” I was holding the avalanche at bay. Or he was. I liked the way he held me. Talked to me.
I definitely liked how he looked at me. There was a sincerity in this man’s gaze that I was certain never left. He could be cynical. Unsocial, even. But he was honest. He didn’t have that layer of charm that most of Hollywood wore like a second skin. I’d bet anything he’d shed it like a hot potato when he moved up here.