Her thighs clamped, a desperate grip around his head as she came in a shuddering, raft-rocking, glorious release.
His hands, now gentle, soothed her, stroking her in tender sweeps as he stood. When the inner tremors stopped and she relaxed, he shifted her, pulling her legs around his waist. Then scooped her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her up the steps, trying not to think of the image they made with his hands on her behind, and the rest of her fair skin bared to the cooling air.
Her goal had been to make a good impression on his parents, not fry their retinas.
“Where are we going?” she asked when he walked out of the pool area.
“Inside. To bed,” he said huskily, the proof that only she’d found release nudging her thigh with each step.
Inside sounded good. Bed sounded better.
They never made it past the living room.
He propped her on the back of the couch, moved between her thighs, and sank deep. They returned to frantic, hands everywhere, lips clinging, her cries breaking free once more. His groans of pleasure mixed with hers as, this time, they came together.
Breathing the same air, they half stood, half leaned, still wrapped around one another. His heartbeat was steadying now, but she could feel it, slow and certain against her chest. She got a feeling, maybe more of an impulse, but something settled intoplace, and she had to act on it. “This is probably bad timing, but I need you to know… I’m falling in love with you.”
“Excellent timing because I’ve fallen for you too, darlin’.”
She caught the difference immediately. Not falling. He was already there.
He lifted her again, arms squeezing a little tighter, and started for the bedroom.
“I can walk,” she said, with a little laugh.
“Yeah, but after that, you shouldn’t have to.”
She didn’t know if he meant the orgasm, her two to his one, or the profession of love. Either way, she’d won and wasn’t asking for clarification.
Chapter 26
Erica was already up and ready to begin the day when he emerged from the bedroom, freshly shaven and hair damp from the shower. She sat at the kitchen island with a mug of coffee, posture consciously relaxed, expression carefully neutral, like she hadn’t spent half the night tangled up with him, whispering things that mattered.
“Morning, darlin’,” he said, in a way that made it clear he rememberedeverything.
“Morning,” she echoed, trying not to stare at how his fitted shirt and dress trousers hugged his body. “You’re dressed up for a Saturday.”
“I have a meeting at FBI headquarters.” He glanced at her, suddenly amused. “I hope you’re wearing the right shoes.”
She looked down at her strappy summer sandals then up at him, brows lifted. “For dress shopping?”
“For survival,” he said dryly. “My mother and daughter treat shopping like a competitive sport. Endurance matters.”
A smile tugged her mouth despite herself. “Good to know. I’ll pace myself.”
He leaned down and kissed her, his mouth tasting of spearmint. Then he pressed his credit card into her hand.
“Vince—”
“Don’t skimp,” he said, his tone permitting no argument.
She did anyway. “I can buy my own dress.”
“I know.” His thumb ran lightly over her knuckles, then he squeezed her hand meaningfully. “But this isn’t just any dress.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
He exhaled, and she could tell he was carefully choosing his words. “This is a five-thousand-a-plate black-tie gala. The guest list is basically the who’s who of Austin. Old money. New money. People who think they invented money.” A wry twist touched his lips. “My mother’s taking you to places where the price tags start at ridiculous. I don’t want you feeling like you have to apologize for anything.”
