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“This”—I gesture around the room—“is new for me.”
His thick eyebrows quirk up in question. “What is?”
“Getting dressed with someone…spending a weekend together…sharing living space. I realize that most people by the age of thirty-three have experienced that, but I haven’t.”
He gives me an exultant smile. “Glad to know I’m your only.”
“You are. What about you?”
He drops his boxer briefs on the tousled sheets and moves toward me. My eyes roam the expanse of toasted caramel skin and the fire tattoo around his right bicep that, when in motion, resembles leaping flames. Mick is large and lean. His long, muscular body a striking work of art—broad defined shoulders, sculpted chest and abs, carved thighs, and an impressive package between them. He isn’t hard, but his virility still commands attention.
“Eyes up here, Dee, or we won’t be going anywhere soon.” My cheeks warm and he laughs. “Embarrassment from the same woman who left scratches all over my back.”
I can’t help being wild with him, it’s what he does to me. “Are you trying to distract me from having to answer the question?”
“No.” He pulls me into his arms and cups my fleshy bottom. “But you’re distracting me. I’m imagining what you look like beneath this robe, in those pink panties.”
It never ceases to amaze me that Mick can be this enamored by my body, especially by my behind.
“Now getting back to your question.” He gives me a playful squeeze. “It’s a first for me too.”
My jaw drops in surprise. “You never shacked up with any of your gorgeous supermodels? Not even for a weekend?”
He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and looks into my eyes, his gaze intent. “They weren’t mine any more than I was theirs.Comparisons between you and other women are impossible because they don’t exist. I have never spent a weekend with a woman, let alone shacked up with one, as you put it. I’ve never wanted that…until now.
“I love sleeping with you, Dee. Feeling you curled up against me, waking up to your soft body and beautiful face…watching you slip into sexy panties, sharing a toothbrush holder with you, seeing your soap next to mine…all of it.”
On a burst of joy, I wind my arms around his neck and blurt out, “So you’d be good with having a drawer?”
He answers with a lush, wet kiss. I pull back, panting, and smile up at him. “Should I take that as a yes?”
“You should take that as ahell yes.”
I empty the third drawer, and my heart gushes as he places the items from his duffle bag inside. He meets my stare, and warmth fills his eyes.
I know one drawer doesn’t equal cohabitation. That I’m even considering it this soon only proves to me how fast and hard I’ve fallen.
Since my teenage romance with Mick, my subsequent relationships had all been distant. It was easier to keep men at arm’s length. Safer. I picked guys like me—reserved, tedious, workaholics, consumed with their careers. No one that stripped me bare, revved my dormant sex drive, fluttered my heart, or made me yearn for a future together. I slept alone with no dirty whispers among the sheets, no cuddling through the night, or spontaneous wake-up sex.
With Mick, everything is different. On that thought, I step inside the walk-in closet and feel myself frown. I’d stocked up on pretty undies to embark on my affair with Mick but my wardrobe was still sadly lacking. Aside from an assortment of dark business suits, the few casual pieces I own are loose and concealing. Except for the items I’d bought on a whim, for when…if…I ever developed the confidence to wear them.
Channeling the self-assured woman I want to be, I reach into the back of the closet where I store the maybe-one-day outfits and retrieve black jeans. I’d worn them once to the Glam Bar, the night Lexie and Jordyn forced me into the unforgiving denim and dragged me out to forget about Mick. Today, I’ll don them under happier circumstances.
I tug the stretchy jeans over the thick thighs and pear-shaped hips I’ve always despised. It’s for that reason that I have never purchased a full-length mirror. I’m not comfortable looking at myself. Now, I glance over my shoulder and wish I hadn’t. The spandex that’s supposed to act as a fat suction doesn’t do any such thing. On the contrary, it shellacsthe material to my huge bubble butt, making it even more pronounced. When that mocking inner voice starts to get loud in my head, telling me I’m not good enough, not slim enough or perfect enough, I stop, take a deep breath, and negotiate with my balking self-consciousness. Rather than ditch the jeans, I pull on a long, oversized sweater.
Still battling myself, I step back into the bedroom. Mick blows out a soft whistle. “I haven’t seen you in tight jeans before.”
“They’re not something I wear often.” Or at all.
“Let me see.” He reaches for me, attempting to lift the sweater.
“Later.” I laugh, batting at his hands, feeling better than I had moments ago.
“Come on. Just a sneak preview.”
Since Mick likes my big butt, even if I don’t, I give him a quick flash.
“Jesus, Dee.” He adjusts himself. “You are seriously dangerous.”
