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He paused staring at a place halfway between them on a bar before he finally lifted one shoulder. “I like her.”
Colton would have choked on the next sip, too, had he been drinking. “I like her, too.”
“Should we see her again?” he asked. This was first time in a long time he’d asked this question. In the last few years it had been understood that once was plenty enough.
“Yes. Definitely.”
His friend’s brows furrowed. “I don’t want to lead her on or hurt her.”
“I don’t either. But she is different. At least for me she is.”
Warrick nodded, studying the contents of his cup like his beverage would divulge the secrets of the universe if he stared long enough. “Me, too.”
“And last night was amazing. I can’t believe she was ready for double penetration.”
“Me neither.” Warrick’s eyes dipped half-closed as if he relived the moment when they found out she’d already prepared herself for them. “Last night was amazing. Seriously, my cock starts to get hard at the mere memory.”
“Ditto. So let’s move forward. See her again.”
“Thing is, we both know my track record of permanent is rocky at best.”
“Let’s take it one day at a time, okay? See if she’d like to get together on her next day off, whenever that is. Ask her. Find out. Call me later.”
Warrick nodded. “Sure.”
Colton leaned close to his friend. “Personally, I think it’s about time we found someone to hang with for a while. Maybe it’s her, maybe it’s not, but I’d like to continue on as if she is at least a contender. If my wish counts.”
“It counts. I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“Isabelle is the first to make me feel this way. Maybe we finally found the right girl for us.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
Colton nodded, downing the rest of his first morning cup. “Are you going to send her flowers, or should I?”
“I’ll do it.” Warrick smiled like a man in love.
“Don’t forget to write a note that says we want to see her again,” Colton said. It was about time someone got flowers from them that weren’t a final notice of affection.
“I won’t forget.”
“Do you know what to say?”
Warrick pushed out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. I know what to say. Now go.”
“Right.” Colton left the house, singing a happy tune, optimistic about his future love life for the first time in a very long time.
Chapter Eight
Isabelle woke up to the delicious aroma of coffee nearby. Who would make her coffee? Then the unmistakable scent of sexy prosecutor reached her. She opened her eyes and saw Warrick standing next to the bed with a steaming mug in hand.
He was dressed in a power suit, looking like criminals better beware. He also wore a smug smile as if he’d gotten laid the night before. Which he had. More than once. So had she. Colton had, too. Where was Colton? She looked to one side, sitting up quickly in bed ready to bolt.
“You don’t have to get up quite yet,” he said quickly. “Colton left before dawn to work at his ranch. I’m on my way to the courthouse in a little while. But I brought you a cup of coffee for starters. Also, my cook is downstairs in the kitchen, if you’re ready for some breakfast.”
“How long have you been in here?” she asked, wondering if he was trying to figure out a way to ditch her. Although with his surprising offer of coffee and breakfast, he didn’t seem in a hurry.
A sardonic smile appeared. “Only a few minutes. I like watching you sleep,” he said, placing the steaming blue cup he carried on the nightstand.
She sat up and leaned against the wood and iron spindled headboard, picking up the coffee mug to take a sip. It was heavenly and exactly the way she liked it.
“How do you know how I take my coffee?” she asked, trying to wake up.
A sexy half-smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I have spies everywhere making note of things you like?”
She took another sip, relaxing a notch, moaning her delight. “Hmmm.”
On some level, Isabelle had expected to be abandoned this morning. They hadn’t discussed how she was getting home after the several rounds of amazing sexual calisthenics from last night. She’d expected to call a taxi this morning. Maybe she still would.
“Spies? Really?” she managed to ask. Her voice sounded husky, overused, deeper toned because of all the screaming from last night’s climax fest. How many orgasms? Three? Four? Hard to remember. And all of them had been simply magnificent.
