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“Good.” He preferred to be an enigma, especially if it provoked her into trying to solve him. Enjoying the view of her breasts, he smiled at the peaked points of her nipples. Yeah, she had her tells. The whole interaction had him hard as a stone, and all they were doing was stripping and talking.
What the fuck was he going to do when she let him touch her again?
Toeing off his shoes, he reached for his belt and undid it. She mirrored him, step for step until they were both nude. His cock jutted up, full and thick. His balls were tight while he admired the lean length of her.
“Thank God I didn’t imagine you,” he said aloud. She really was quite perfect. And, having been on the receiving end of her strikes and sweeps, as capable as her musculature promised.
She chuckled, and he jerked his gaze upward. Zeroing in on her face, he drank in her smile. “You’re crazy.”
“So you’ve said.” He made a twirling motion with his finger. “Let me see all of you.”
“You first.” There it was. The push back. He’d expected it. Spreading his arms wide, he complied with the request and trusted her to not clock him in the back of the skull.
Facing her again, he raised his eyebrows. With a shake of her head, she mirrored his pose and spread her arms out from her body, fingers splayed, and turned in a slow circle. The ripple of muscle as she moved beckoned him. So fluid and graceful—“It’s a butterfly.” A hint of blue and green graced one cheek of her ass, and he dropped to a crouch to get a better look at it. She held still and glanced over her shoulder. The colors were stunning against the deep tan of her skin, almost jewel toned.
“Yeah.” She sounded almost sheepish, and he caught the rueful smile on her face. Open, honest emotion, and it punched him square in the gut.
“May I?” He held his palm toward it as though to touch, but hovered just over the skin. At her nod, he traced the line of the butterfly. It had the shape and the design of a monarch, but the coloring was so unusual. He’d never seen one in blues and greens. “It’s really very pretty.” Did it have some meaning to her? Was she the butterfly?
Or was she the caterpillar who longed to shed her existence to become a butterfly?
“I lost a bet.” The admission caught him off guard. Still stroking the wings, he admired the supple strength and beauty in the line of her back. The muscle tension eased as he traced a line up to her lower back and down again. Everything about this woman was lovely, even the mystery she presented to him. “It was a stupid bet to take, but I did and then I lost. So he picked out a butterfly for me, and I’ve had it on my ass ever since.”
He.A man picked out the butterfly. A man had claimed ownership, and his gut twisted. “First question,” he said, ignoring the tightness in his throat. He couldn’t keep his fucking hands off of her. “Are youwithanyone?”
The muscles in her ass clenched, and he settled his hands on her hips as he stood. Closing the distance between them, he soaked up the feeling of her back against his chest. No manufactured perfumes harshened the air around her. He wanted to get drunk off her sweet, wild vanilla sugar scent.
“No.” The whisper carried a note of such finality, it made his heart hurt. “I’m not.”Anymore.She didn’t use the word, didn’t even attempt to, yet he heard it anyway.
Trusting his instincts, he slid his arms around her and pulled her against him. Holding her, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“Can’t change the past.” The flip response couldn’t disguise the emotion clogging her words.
“No, you can’t. Doesn’t mean the past doesn’t hurt us or shape us.” Hell, he knew how much it could affect a person. His past ate away at his soul. All the good acts he could do wouldn’t give back the lives lost to his work. “So I’m sorry.”
“How do you do that?” Instead of pulling away, she sank back against him and let him hold her. The violent urge to cuddle her had him reaffirming his patience stance. Whatever the hell happened to her—where the fuck were the people who should be taking care of her? Family? Loved ones?
“Do what, sweetheart? You need to be more specific.”
“This,” she glided her touch along his arm, then covered his hands where they rested against her abdomen. “How the hell do you see me?”
“I don’t know.” He’d promised her truth. “All I know is I saw you two years ago, and I wanted to see you again. Maybe it was the smoking hot legs or the fuck me walking you were doing—or maybe it was that playful look you shot in my direction. Iwantedto know you.” She hadn’t asked, but she still deserved to know. “I looked for you for a long time. When I saw you in Nigeria, it hit me all over again, but I couldn’t get close. If I hadn’t saved some security footage, I wouldn’t have been able to see you walk over and over again.”
Laughter shivered through her, and she turned her head. Following her focus, he met her gaze in the mirror. He loved how she looked in his arms, the deep tan of her skin a contrast to his paleness. He really did need to get out in the sun more, but after years of tropical assignments, he found he liked the indoors. No insects. No sunburn. No threat of dehydration or starvation.
“You know, that sounds kind of stalkery.” But humor warmed the depths of her hazel eyes.
“It’s exactly what it sounds like. I wanted a name to go with the face and the walk, but couldn’t find it. Figured I had to give up when I took the teaching post, and then you walked into my classroom.”
“We said we were keeping it personal.”
He slid a hand down to dip between her thighs. She was damp and soft. Her lips parted at the caress. “Trust me,” he told her. “We’re definitely keeping it personal. What happened in that classroom and in the one next door had nothing to do with business. Not to me.” Unless… “Was it professional for you, Copper?”
Not once did her gaze cut away from his, so he held fast and let his finger drift along her slit. The slow petting gesture offered both satisfaction and torture. He wanted days with her, not mere hours. He wanted to spend time discovering what she responded to, what she craved, and what would send her over the edge.
“I want to tell you yes, so bad.” The admission cost her, and he respected the blunt honesty. “Because it should have been.”
“It’s okay,” he told her, finding her clit with his forefinger and stroking the hard nub. Her knees gave, and he held her up, gazes locked together as he continued to caress. The muscles of her ass went taut against him, and her breathing grew shallower. Increasing the pressure, he squeezed her clit and her mouth opened wider. The muscles along her throat contracted, and he could see the strain of holding back her cries as she began to pump her hips to meet the strokes of his fingers.
