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By contrast, she’d dressed in a green tee and an old pair of gray sweats. She’d used a scrunchie to pull her hair back in a ponytail. With no makeup or jewelry, she hardly felt sexy—though she still itched with need at the sight of him.
“I’d show you to the kitchen, but we’ll be working in there, not...eating.” A sudden image flashed through her mind of Cole slipping his hands under her tee and up her midriff, moving ever closer to her breasts...
Wow, it was hot in here.
She led the way into the living room and then turned back toward him.
“Let me take the coffee from you,” she said, intending to set the coffee carrier down on the wood tray that covered a rectangular ottoman.
Their fingers brushed, and her eyes flew up to meet his. They both stilled, and then he leaned in and touched her lips with his.
“You’re welcome,” he said in a low voice as he straightened.
“I thought we’d keep up the pretense about painting at least until nine.” She set down the coffee and faced him again.
“Sex first thing in the morning is great,” he responded, “and I’ve been saving it all for you.”
“I thought sports guys abstained from sex before a big game in order to keep their edge.” If he was going to expend a lot of effort today on painting, wasn’t it a similar situation?
“Sweet pea, I don’t play professionally anymore, and you’ll never see a better painter after this,” he responded with heartfelt enthusiasm.
She gave a nervous laugh—because he did make her tense. And aroused. And crazy. It was hard not to be thrilled with a guy who lusted after her even when she looked as if she was going to haul out the garbage. Even if her mind told her she shouldn’t.
He stepped forward and cupped her face, his fingers threading into her hair and loosening her ponytail. Gazing at her mouth, he muttered, “You know, I used to steal glances at you when we were working on that presentation for economics class. Just for the sheer pleasure of looking at you.”
“Really?” she breathed.
He nodded, and then gave her another light kiss.
When he straightened, she swallowed. “I could tell you were staring at me sometimes... I thought I had a food smudge or a blemish, or you were wondering why my face wasn’t completely symmetrical—”
His eyes crinkled. “Marisa?”
“Yes?”
“Adolescent boys think about one thing, and it’s not about looking in the bathroom mirror for hours and searching for flaws.”
“Oh, and what do you think about?” she asked, even though she had a good idea.
“This.”
He claimed her lips for a deeper kiss. He traced the seam of her mouth and then slipped inside. She breathed in his warm, male scent and then met his tongue, leaning into him. The power of the kiss seeped into her.
She followed his lead, meeting him again and again, until she was in a pleasant languor, her head swimming. When they broke apart, she bent her head, her forehead coming to rest against his lips.
He settled his hands on her waist and then slipped them under the bottom of her sweatshirt. He kneaded her flesh, caressing her back and rubbing up to her shoulder blades. With a deft move, he unclasped her bra and she spilled against him.
Raising his mouth a fraction from her forehead, he muttered, “Marisa.”
“What?” she asked dreamily.
“I’ve fantasized about your breasts.”
&nb
sp; “Now?”
“Now. High school. Forever.”
