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What he’d done was make love to her.
And it had been magic.
Bianca rose from the bed, plucked her robe from the chair where she always kept it, pulled it on and tied the sash. She needed the bathroom and then some coffee—or maybe a glass of wine to make her stop thinking, keep her from slipping into self-pity.
She’d slept with Chay because she’d wanted to, wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life, and she’d known how this would end from the start.
Barefoot, she padded into the bathroom. Peed. Flushed. Washed her hands and headed for the kitchen…
The overhead light was on.
Her heart leaped.
It was on because Chay was sitting at the table, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug, wearing a low-slung towel and nothing else. His clothes were there, too, draped over the backs of her kitchen chairs so they could dry.
“Chay?”
He swung towards her. Then he smiled, put down the mug and got to his feet.
“I made coffee,” he said. “Want some?”
She walked straight to him, wound her arms around his neck, tilted her head back and laughed.
“What I want,” she said, “is you.”
CHAPTER TEN
He made perfect coffee.
She, it turned out, made perfect scrambled eggs.
Chay was at the kitchen table. His chest was still bare, but he’d pulled on his now-dry jeans and he was sitting back, his long legs stretched out, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded over his chest as he watched Bianca poke through the refrigerator in a search for something or other.
He hadn’t really paid attention to what she’d said she was looking for.
He’d been too busy looking at her.
Perfect coffee. Perfect eggs
Or maybe it was simply being here that was perfect. Having breakfast with a beautiful woman, enjoying the sight of her as the sun rose over the city.
And, damn, she was one lovely sight.
All that tousled golden hair loose on her shoulders, the totally non-sexy dark blue terrycloth robe made sexy by the fact that he knew what lay beneath it—knew it intimately. The delicate fullness of her breasts, the flatness of her belly, the sweet essence his tongue coaxed from between her thighs.
Hell.
He shifted his weight in the chair.
They’d made love twice during the night and again this morning, but his body was telling him he’d be happy for a repeat performance.
He couldn’t seem to get enough of his Tigress. And it turned out he’d given her the right nickname. He’d dubbed her that because of her determination. Her toughness. And now, to his unabashed delight, he’d discovered that she was also a tigress when it came to sex.
When she’d walked into the kitchen an hour ago, he’d felt a momentary wariness. She’d seemed surprised to see him.
Had she hoped he’d have left by now?
He had no intention of going anywhere. Not just yet.
