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He quirked a brow at her. “The other parts of my anatomy are working just fine, thank you very much.”
“Oh, yeah?” She ran a hand over his firm, hard chest. “Prove it.”
His eyes darkened at the challenge and he grabbed her hips. Pulled her forward until she was balanced right on the edge of the seat and her sex was nestled right up against the hard ridge of his erection.
“Proof enough for you?” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
“I don’t know. I think I might need a more detailed demonstration.” She arched against him then, reveling in the groan he didn’t even try to hold back.
“A more detailed demonstration, hmm?” He slid his hands under her and picked her up as if she weighed nothing. For the second time that night, Desi wound her arms and legs around him.
She clung to him like a limpet as he carried her out of the kitchen, through the family room and down the long hallway that led to his bedroom. She waited until he’d crossed over the threshold before she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “‘Need You Tonight.’”
“I need you, too,” he said as he carried her over to the bed.
It was her turn to laugh. “I meant, that’s my favorite song.”
Something moved in his eyes—something wonderful and terrifying and so, so exhilarating. Then he was kissing her, his mouth slamming down on hers with the same desperation that was suddenly crashing through her.
And then they were falling onto the bed with him on top of her.
“What’s your favorite song?” she managed to choke out as he finished unbuttoning her shirt, pressing kisses to each new bit of exposed skin. Her brain was going fast, her body taking over, but after all the back-and-forth, she wanted—needed—to know this one thing about him.
“I thought that was obvious,” he said and she could feel him smile against her stomach. “Eric Clapton’s ‘Wonderful Tonight.’”
Four
Nic woke up alone. Which was unexpected. And which also really, really sucked.
Especially since it wasn’t as if Desi was temporarily gone, like in the kitchen making coffee or the bathroom taking a shower. No, she had bugged out of his place and taken every last trace of her existence with her. She hadn’t left a note, hadn’t left a last name, hadn’t left so much as a high-heeled glass slipper behind for him to go by.
She was really gone. So gone that if he didn’t have scratches down his back from her nails, a bed that looked like a disaster zone, and—he glanced at his phone, just to make sure—her phone number in his contacts list, he might be tempted to think he’d imagined the whole damn thing.
But he hadn’t imagined it. Desi was real. He had her number to prove it, he told himself as he stared at the 323 area code of his last missed call. Unfortunately, he also had a promise—not to use that phone number until she used his first.
Which, again, really, really sucked.
Because he liked her. He really, really liked her. More than should be possible considering he knew almost nothing about her—and what knowledge he did have, he’d gained from asking questions and pushing the issue until she very reluctantly responded.
Which, now that he thought about it, probably should have been his first clue that this wasn’t going to go the way he’d wanted
it to. Damn it, he really hated playing the fool.
A quick look at his bedside clock told him it was barely 7:00 a.m., and since he knew she’d been asleep in his bed at five, when he’d finally succumbed to exhaustion, he couldn’t shake the idea that he had just missed her. That if only he had woken up a few minutes earlier, he would have caught her before she disappeared.
The thought made him crazy, especially since he’d planned on starting the morning the same way he’d spent most of the night. Deep inside Desi, watching her fall apart, as the defensive wall she’d built around herself crumbled one tiny brick at a time.
It seemed like a ridiculous plan now, considering he was alone in rapidly cooling sheets. After all, he’d known she was emotionally closed off—he would have had to be an idiot not to see the No Trespassing signs she had posted over pretty much every part of herself. And yet…and yet she’d opened up to him, over and over again through the night. Oh, not about big things such as who she was or why she had such a bleak outlook on people or even what her favorite movie was. But she’d let her guard down enough for him to catch glimpses of a lot of the mixed-up pieces that made her who she was.
He’d liked what he’d seen, a lot. Which was just one more reason this disappearing act of hers bothered him so much. For the first time in a very long time, he’d been looking forward to exploring her. To exploring them and finding out all the little things that made Desi tick.
For God’s sake, he’d brought her to his house, which was something he did not normally do. At least not until he’d been on a few dates with a woman. And definitely not until he knew she was someone he wanted to get serious with.
Yet last night, on that balcony, he’d been adamant about convincing Desi to come home with him. True, part of that was because he’d really, really wanted to sleep with her again—the two times on the balcony hadn’t been close to enough to exhaust the sexual chemistry between them. But that didn’t explain why he’d been so determined to bring her home, to his house. They’d been at a hotel, for God’s sake. How much easier would it have been to simply stop by the front desk and get a room for the night?
Instead, he’d brought her home. He’d made her blueberry pancakes and asked her questions and—when she had commented on various pieces of his furniture—had even thought about showing her his studio, which was pretty much the most sacred place in his house. He barely let his brother, Marc, in there, let alone anyone else.
But she didn’t know any of that, a part of him rationalized. He’d thought he had made his interest clear to her last night, but maybe he hadn’t. Maybe she’d thought she really was nothing more than a one-night stand to him. Maybe she’d thought he expected her to be gone when he woke up. After all, he hadn’t said otherwise.
