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No, she definitely didn’t want that. What she wanted was for him to fuck her brains out.
She took a deep breath and grabbed her clutch, a gold mesh dazzler reminiscent of the 80s. Then she stepped out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit living room.
Lyon stood at the large picture window overlooking Central Park, the city glittering beyond the darkness of trees.
She stopped in her tracks, taking a minute to appreciate her own view.
He was wearing a navy suit tailored perfectly to his frame, but he’d left off the jacket, giving her a heart-stopping look at his muscled shoulders and broad back, his waist tapering to a muscled ass that looked like it had been poured into his trousers.
The blood quickened in her veins, and she let her gaze travel the length of him, back up to his muscled neck, visible under the hair cut close at the back of his head.
“You look like a magazine spread for the rich and powerful,” she said softly.
He turned to look at her, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Even with the bruises on his face, fading but not gone, he was beautiful.
“And you look like a magazine spread for perfection,” he said.
She walked toward him and placed her clutch against his lapel for balance, careful not to press too hard against his shoulder.
She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “You should write copy for a jewelry store.”
He laughed uproariously, the first time she’d heard him laugh like that since he’d been back. He reached out to touch her face. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Probably. I think it must be a perk of the job.”
“You think so?” He leaned in and murmured in her ear. “A perk of my job is giving spankings to naughty girls who use their mouths in ways they shouldn’t.”
He was teasing, but the blood rushed between her legs, moisture slicking her thighs.
She took his hand and guided it up her dress, over her hip and around to her bare ass. “I look forward to it. I’ve even made it easy for you.”
She caught the moment he realized she wasn’t wearing underwear, heard it in the hitch of his breath.
“Sweet jesus,” he muttered, “maybe we should stay in and order room service.”
“Unhand me, you lout.” She shoved his hand away and started for the door. “You’re taking me to dinner.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Then you can spank me.”
Gramercy Tavern was packed even for a weeknight, but they were shown immediately to a quiet table at the back. The table consisted of a bench seat on one side and a chair on the other, but instead of pulling the chair out for Kira, Lyon gestured to the booth side and slid in after her with a wicked grin.
After that, she gave herself over to Gramercy Tavern’s famous five-course tasting menu. Lyon’s knee bumped againsthers under the table as they sampled moist citrus-cured arctic char and tender gnocchi with mushrooms, roasted duck with bacon and roasted sirloin with eggplant.
Lyon did the work of finishing an exceptional bottle of cabernet, while Kira sipped at her small pour to make it last. They talked about everything and nothing — the city, the best restaurants either of them had ever visited, the places they wanted to travel. They came up with outrageous names for their child — names that would make the poor child the target of every schoolyard bully — and laughed until tears rolled down Kira’s face.
The threats against them were hardly past, but she felt something like relief as she savored the sensation of Lyon’s thigh pressed against hers, the murmur of other diners and the soft clink of silverware, the music playing in the background.
She knew Lyon was still haunted by his time at the hands of Vadim’s men, but so far, he hadn’t opened up when she’d broached the subject. She worried about him — that he would keep it all bottled up, that he wouldn’t want her to know how bad it had been, that he wouldn’t want to share that ugliness with her.
But the dinner felt like a moment of much-needed normalcy, and she didn’t want to ruin it by asking the questions that had been on her mind ever since she’d walked into the bedroom in Lake Forest to find him standing in nothing but a towel, looking shockingly vulnerable, his body battered and beaten.
How are you really, my love?
Now was not the time.
She had just dipped her spoon into a silky chocolate pudding with raspberries and sour cream when she felt the slide of Lyon’s hand on her bare thigh. She forced herself not to pay him any attention, closing her mouth around her spoon instead and moaning with pleasure as his hand crept between her legs.
“Good?” Lyon’s voice was languid, full of sex and cabernet.
She cast him a glance out of the corner of her eyes. “Delicious.”
