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"What are you getting at?" She tugs at the cutlery, and I hand it to her. She wipes it with the dishcloth, surveys it, then carefully rubs the tines again. Her every movement is restrained. She doesn’t stop until she is satisfied with it. She places the fork down, then turns to find me staring at her. "What?" She frowns.
"We are stuck here until the storm lets up. No one can come here; we can’t leave. We may as well as use the time wisely."
"It’s a good excuse for you, isn’t it?" She throws up her hands. "Just because we have nothing else to do, let’s have sex."
I hand the knife I’ve just washed, handle first, to her. "It’s as good a reason as any—" She accepts the knife, opens her mouth to protest, and I raise my hand. "And it’s not just any sex. I’m talking about sweaty, down and dirty, filthy, kinky sex. The kind that will leave an imprint in between your legs sex. The kind that will ensure that you can’t walk straight for days sex."
She draws in a breath. Her hand trembles, and the knife slips from her fingers. I swoop down and catch it by the handle again, then straighten and place it on the counter. "So, what do you say, Flower? Do we have a deal?"
"No." She flings down the towel, then marches past me.
I laugh. "I’ll wear you down yet, Flower. You know that, right?"
"Keep trying." She raises her middle finger above her shoulder as she heads out of the kitchen.
I chuckle as I wash and dry the rest of the dishes, then put them away. After wiping down the counter, I head out of the kitchen to find her curled up with a book in front of the fire.
"What are you reading?" I murmur as I sink down on the settee next to her.
"None of your business," she retorts, then blows out a breath. "I found it on the bookshelf." She nods toward the array of books on the opposite corner of the living room.
She holds out the book, and I read the title on the cover.
"Murder for Christmas by Agatha Christie." I whistle. "That’s a rather bloody book for Christmas, don’t you think?"
"Somehow, murder and Christmas seem to go together." She tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Must be the fact that you are shut in an overly warm house with family you don’t normally see during the rest of the year. The setting is ripe for old resentments to boil to the surface. Sounds to me like the perfect recipe for committing murder."
"Didn’t see you as such a bloodthirsty person, Flower." I survey her features.
"Reading is one of the ways I relax, and I find there’s nothing like a good murder-mystery to act as a stress buster."
"I can think of other ways of relieving stress." I waggle my eyebrows.
She frowns. "Can’t you go for five minutes without thinking with your dick."
"Can’t you go for five minutes without talking about my dick?"
She makes a sound at the back of her throat that goes straight to my groin. My cock twitches, and damn, if I don’t want to throw her down, part her legs, and show her just how quickly I can relieve her stress.
She must have an inkling of what I’m thinking, for her cheeks redden. She throws the book in my direction, and I snatch it out of the air. She jumps to her feet and begins to pace. "This is useless. How long are we going to be stuck here? Isn’t there any way of reaching the rest of them and asking them to speed up the rescue?"
I glance to the windows outside and notice the snow climbs halfway up the panes. "Doesn’t seem like anyone is going anywhere anytime soon."
"Bet you are happy about that." She drags her fingers through her hair. "I still think you planned all of this."
"I know I’m a powerful Mafia guy, but controlling the weather is beyond even my capabilities."
"Thank god!" She throws up her hands. "At least, you admit that there is something that you can’t do."
"Now, if we were talking about what I can do with my fingers," I hold them up, "or my tongue,” I stick my tongue out and wiggle it suggestively, “that would be a different story."
She squeezes her thighs together. It’s a subtle gesture, but I’m watching her so carefully that I catch it.
I draw in a breath, and I swear, I can detect her arousal. I toss the book onto the seat next to me and rise to my feet.
She pauses and watches me warily as I prowl over to her.
"Why don’t you try to relax a little?" I drawl, "Look on this as a paid holiday."
