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Chapter Five
Talia
Imanaged to remove his shirt for round two, but we moved to the couch. I didn’t rush right into more sex but instead took my time admiring every square inch of him. It was worth the wait.
Now I’m lying on my back, completely nude, out of breath. My eyelids are struggling to stay open after our workout. He heads for my tiny kitchen in naught but a pair of boxer briefs. It takes nearly every remaining drop of energy I have left, but I manage to prop up on one elbow so I can watch as he pours us each a fresh bourbon.
His chest is thick and wide, not waxed bare like Brandon’s. I never thought about my preference until now. Archer is the kind of man who can wear a sleek suit, be properly manscaped and trimmed where it counts, but would never dream of waxing his chest hair. It’s proudly decorating his firm, round pectorals, in defiance of any trend suggesting otherwise. It’s not too thick. Just enough to tickle my breasts when he was sliding into me moments ago. I hum in the back of my throat, curling a pillow against my middle and fantasizing-slash-remembering it all over again.
He glances beneath the cabinets, his lips twitching into a not-quite smile. “You want a snack?”
“Sure. Are you making it?”
“You’re going to need your strength tonight, so yeah.” He moves out of sight, and I hear the refrigerator door open. Happy zings zip up and down my body in a parade of sexual satisfaction. The promise of more of him is too much to resist. I want to ask how long he’s staying, but I also don’t want to ruin tonight with talk of the future.
“What are the Post-It notes for?” he calls out.
“Those are Calista’s. She marks the food she’s saving for testing recipes in case I’m tempted to eat it after mind-blowing, sweaty sex with a billionaire nightclub kingpin.”
He gives me an aren’t-you-just-so-funny look through the gap between counter and overhead cabinets before vanishing again. “So we can have cottage cheese, eggs”—a rustling sound—“or cookie dough.”
“Sounds about right. I haven’t gone to the grocery in a week.”
He steps into view again, tube of cookie dough in hand, our glasses pinched between the fingers of his other hand.
“What are you going to do with that?” I ask when he sets the glasses aside and sits next to me. He unwraps the already opened cookie dough tube, a spoon strategically tucked into one palm. He’s planned ahead. He dips into the cookie dough and offers me a bite. I pinch the dough off the spoon and eat it. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve eaten in my life. I suspect that’s the sexual satisfaction talking.
“I assume these teeth marks are yours.” He shows me the roll of dough, on which there are no teeth marks, thank you very much. I shove him with my foot. “Don’t tease me.”
“‘Vegan,’” he reads off the label. “‘Safe to eat raw,’” he continues reading. Eyebrows raised, he pops a bite into his mouth, no spoon, and decides, “This is good.”
“It’s my only vice.”
“You sure?” He leans forward and pops more cookie dough into my mouth before I can answer.
I’m not sure. A Sunday spent with Archer Owen could easily replace cookie dough as my new vice. I shift on the couch so he can sit more on the cushion rather than perch on the edge. I grab the soft afghan blanket draped over the back of the couch, but he takes the other end of it.
“I’m cold,” I argue.
“I like you naked,” he argues back.
“But I’m cold.”
He gives in, turns his attention to the cookie dough, and observes, “You won’t make it in Ohio. It’s about twelve degrees there right now.”
I shudder and curl deeper into the blanket. His low chuckle warms me further. I pick apart his comment. “What do you mean I won’t make it in Ohio?”
He shrugs. “When you come to work with me.”
“I’m not going to Ohio.”
“You’ll have to if you work with me,” he states, eating another dough ball. “I bought a building in Clear Ridge, used to be a dental office. Gutted it, changing it into a day spa. Well, a night spa. It’d help if you toured the project you’re working on.”
“You’re opening a wellness center?”
“Surprised?” He lifts his eyebrows, waiting for my response.
“A bit,” I tell him, though I’m not sure I could be more surprised today if I tried.
