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“Always was.”
“My shoot is over. Dress shopping is behind me.”
“Good.”
“Another family dinner is Friday night, oh, and Julietta wants me to visit the bakery with you tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
She frowned. “Why are you still here?”
“Because I want something.”
“What?”
“You, cara.”
Her tummy plummeted. She worked her jaw up and down but nothing came out, just weird squeaks because she had no air left in her lungs. Michael never moved, just remained poised on the edge of the tub. His easy posture contradicted the heat and demand in his eyes as he stared at her like a hungry cat ready to pounce on his evening meal. Oh, and just the thought of him biting her somewhere made her limbs go loose and liquid. What had he said?
“What did you say?”
His lip quirked. “You heard me. Here, try a bite of this.”
“I don’t want a frickin’—”
He reached out and pushed the crème puff slowly between her lips. She opened on reflex, then bit down. The flaky, buttery taste of the pastry exploded in her mouth. Rich crème coated her tongue in sheer pleasure. He watched her chew, and his thumb ran across her lower lip to catch the last bit of crème lingering. With deliberate motions, he put his finger in his mouth and sucked.
Her thighs tensed. Wetness seeped from between her legs and she knew it had nothing to do with the water. Her eyes widened as he tipped the glass to her lips. One precious drop fell on her tongue, and the icy sting of liquid slid down her throat and seduced a moan. He set the wine on the ledge and leaned in.
“Good?” he murmured.
Maggie blinked.
His gaze held her spellbound. Rough stubble covered his jaw and matched the image of a civilized man gone bad. The intoxicating scent of musk and soap filled her nostrils.
“Uh. Yeah.”
His hands skimmed her shoulders, teasing a line through the bubbles and leaving a trail of peppered gooseflesh. “What scent is this?”
“Huh?” Oh, dear God, she’d become a mute. She struggled to surface from the physical torture of his touch right above her br**sts. “Sandalwood.”
“It’s been driving me crazy. When I finally taste you, will you remind me of earthy musk, sweet against my tongue?”
She realized then he was the master. He’d pretended she was in charge the whole time. No wonder she amused him! Her limbs hung limply, her center ached, and her skin burned even underwater. The man had bided his time and got her when she was the most vulnerable. Why did he suddenly want to change the rules of the game? Maggie forced her brain to work through the sensual haze.
“Why are you doing this now?” She hung fiercely to the thread of irritation, knowing if she lost it she’d throw herself at him and beg him to take her. “Are you playing some sick game with me?”
His face tightened with determination. “You’re the one playing games, la mia tigrotta,” he growled. “I’ve wanted you from day one, and I never denied it. I’m tired of fighting with you when we can be doing other things. More pleasurable things . . . for both of us.”
The fact he’d come to the exact realization she had pissed her off. She was supposed to proposition him. Michael was mad if he thought she’d meekly sit by and let him seduce her and stay in charge. It was her idea to finally have sex and get him out of her system. Damned if she’d allow him to win this round.
“I need time to think.”
He rose from the tub and nodded politely.
“Please hand me a towel.”
He glanced back at her. The struggle on his face, whether or not to push, finally settled. Maggie realized a layer of trust had begun to build, and knowing that as angry as he would get, he’d always remain in control softened a fear deep inside that had been buried for way too long. He grabbed the pink fluffy bath towel off the hook and handed it to her, then discreetly turned around.
Maggie grinned in triumph. Slowly, she rose from the bath, wringing out the dripping ends of her hair and wiping down most of the bubbles. Then she dropped the towel on the floor.
“Okay, I’m ready now.”
• • •
Michael turned.
She was naked.
Gloriously, vibrantly, bare-ass stark naked.
He dimly remembered the first time he’d seen a pair of naked br**sts. As a young man on the brink of sexuality, he’d thought nothing could ever beat that moment for him.
This one did.
She stood at full towering height, head thrown back, with the towel pooled around her feet. An endless expanse of golden smooth skin lay before him, damp from the bath, glistening with the remains of the bubbles. Her br**sts were high, full, and crowned with red ni**les. His mouth watered to taste and suck on the ripe fruit. Her legs went on forever, lean and muscled. And a perfect triangle of cinnamon-colored hair hid her most intimate secrets. Barely. He scented her arousal and her body beckoned him.
Yet, he stood stock-still in the middle of the ceramic tiled floor, completely unable to move.
She’d tortured him all afternoon. The brush of her hair on her shoulders, her sarcastic wit, her vibrancy that shimmered even when she stood still. He remembered those few precious inches the other night. If his hand had dipped just a tiny bit lower, he would have been able to touch liquid fire.
The woman was under his skin and there was only one way to remove her. Sleep with her. Wring her out of his system, and in the morning, maybe they’d both be normal. Hell, they weren’t right for each other. They wanted different things—craved different lifestyles. He wanted a big family and a settled home with minimum drama. He wanted someone sweet, fairly pliable, but with enough spunk to keep him from getting bored.
Sex could fix everything. He was sure of it.
Maggie’s rejection had stung, but he refused to force her. The deep disappointment in her inability to be honest with him only proved his point that they weren’t evenly matched. He touted honesty as one of the most important factors in a relationship, and whatever secrets she hid, he bet those would never be shared. With him. With anyone.
But, again, she’d surprised him. On her own damn terms.
She had the gall to shrug and look down her nose at him like she was dressed in a royal gown. “I agree with your proposition to sleep together. But since you can’t even speak, I’ll go get dressed and we’ll revisit the topic later. When you’re more”—her gaze drifted downward to his rapidly rising erection and she smirked—“functional.”
