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“You’ve never been bound with scarves or handcuffs? Or even just hands on your wrists, pinning you until you begged for relief?” At her stubborn head shake, he trapped her racing pulse beneath his thumb. “Someone as adventurous as you living such a vanilla existence. You surprise me.”
Her chin came up. “There’s nothing fun about someone restraining me.”
“What if the restraints are all in your mind?” He pressed into her skin, knowing he would leave an indent. Wanting to. “And what if that someone was me?”
She hissed out a breath and yanked her arm away. “I’m not into that. Sorry.”
Even steeled for her reply, disappointment sheared through him. Until he saw her trembling lips and the way she couldn’t stop staring at him, as if he’d trapped fire in his gaze and she liked to play with matches.
“I don’t believe you,” he taunted softly. “I think you’re wet for me. So wet you can’t tighten your legs enough to hide what I’m doing to you.”
She tilted up her chin. “Why don’t you come here and find out?”
If she expected him to refuse, she was sadly mistaken. He shoved her dress up her thighs, fisting the cotton at her hip as he dragged her closer to fuse his mouth to hers. She gasped, going soft and pliable against him while he licked his way between her lips. Teasing her tongue to come out to play with his in a deliciously hot tug-of-war that made the pulse in his cock turn into a crash of cymbals.
He toyed with the knot at the side of her panties, coaxing a moan from her that flowed into him more sweetly than the dark chocolate from the torte they’d had for dessert. She drove her tongue against his, warring with him while he edged ever closer to the triangle of heat between her thighs. He could imagine all too well what she’d feel like as he sank into her. Inferno-hot, desperately tight. Her need spilling over his skin. Imprinting him with her scent just as he’d wished to do to her with his touch.
“Your body can’t lie to me, even if your mouth can.” He rocked his hard length into her belly and absorbed the quiver that went through her with a victorious smile. “I’m breathing you in.”
She huffed. Laughter exploded outside the door and he bit her lip to quiet her as she started to speak. “Shh,” he interrupted. “Don’t want to get caught twice in one day.”
“Three times in two weeks,” she muttered.
He smirked. “Three strikes and I’m in…if you play your cards right.”
They stared—glared might’ve been a more accurate description in her case—at each other as the voices faded away, then Victoria swished her dress from his hands and stepped back. “I want a tour of the house.”
Suppressing a sigh, he shut his eyes. The intimate fragrance of her desire had branded itself on his brain and he doubted anything would ever remove it. He ached to taste her. But he couldn’t, not right now.
He set aside the drink he hadn’t finished. The brandy heated his throat and gut nicely, but he wanted his senses clear. He needed every one of them to deal with Victoria.
“I’ve always loved this place. To me, nothing bad could ever happen here. Not like my parents’ house. Here it’s never been anything but warm. And safe.” She shook her head as if she’d just heard herself, then reached for his hand. He stared at her as if she’d thrown a hissing viper at his feet. “Show me?”
He nearly said no. There was way too much in her eyes, and it called to him, arousing urges he’d never allowed himself to satisfy. She wasn’t number
s on a ledger that could be tabulated and eventually conquered. No rational, emotionless plan could outweigh all the very unrational needs she inspired in him with a look.
Their fingers brushed. His stomach jumped and he spoke to distract himself from the riot of sensations her touch caused. “This is the dining room.” He cleared his throat. “We eat here.”
She nodded soberly and tightened her hold on his hand. Instead of her grip making him want to pull away, he found himself moving closer. “Very nice.”
He gestured at the cherry piece against the far wall. “Note the massive antique china cabinet that my great-grandfather built with wood from his own property. Also note all the dishes my mother’s going to have to lug with her across the country.”
“You could take some of them.”
“For what?”
“To use with your own family some day, silly.” She squeezed his fingers and wandered closer to the cabinet. But it wasn’t the dishes that stole her attention. She snatched up one of the ornate scrollwork picture frames, her face softening as she studied him and Dillon as little boys, running through the backyard. “So cute.”
He looked at the photo over her shoulder. They couldn’t have been any more than five and six. Dillon had a thicket of blond hair and Cory’s was as dark as the heavy black galoshes he wore. He was grinning at the camera, showing off a gap-toothed smile. Back then he and the Tooth Fairy had been on a first-name basis.
“I was a damn fine-looking child, I’ll give you that.”
“I meant Dillon.” She grinned and grabbed another picture. There were a lot for her to pick from, considering his mother had commemorated just about every moment of her sons’ lives until college. Even now she struck terror in their hearts when she whipped out her digital camera. “He was adorable.”
Cory pinched her ass, making her yelp. “He’s taken. You had your chance.”
“There was only one Santangelo brother I ever wanted to take my chances with,” she said lightly, not looking at him.
