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Lysander pulled his phone out and sent a text. "We will not be disturbed." Then he got up and pulled thickly paneled pocket doors together, closing off the entrance to his sanctum from the hall. He crossed the room and shut another pocket door, closing off the entry the housekeeper had used earlier. "We are now entirely private."
"What about when my clothes arrive."
"I've instructed they be delivered to my bedroom."
"Oh, that's efficient." But hadn't the idea been for her to change into something less sexy for their television time?
He rejoined her on the sectional, shocking her when he settled them back into the position they'd been before. "Relax, watch the show. If your skirt rides up, no one is here to see it."
"You're here."
"Yes, I am." The meaning behind his words sent heat pulsing through her body.
Yes. He was. And that was what she wanted. To be here with him.
They went back to watching the show and Rowan felt herself relaxing again. When she shifted and her skirt inched up her thighs, she didn't worry about it. In fact, it excited her a little, just thinking he could see her body.
The idea of exposing her thighs to her husband had always stressed Rowan out. Cyrus always had something to say, and it was never complimentary. He'd made cutting comments about choosing a different designer for her clothes and not showing skin if it was dimpled with cellulite.
Why didn't she worry that Lysander would be turned off by her less than perfect body?
Maybe because despite him never making a move on her, she knew he wanted her. Just like she now wanted him. And maybe, just maybe, the self-made business mogul wanted her as much as she wanted him.
Because this? This relaxing in front of the TV? It was just for her.
Lysander's thumb brushed up along her neck and he traced her earlobe with the lightest caress of his fingertips. Rowan shivered.
"Cold?" Lysander asked.
She shook her head. "No."
"I would like to kiss you."
Rowan turned so their lips were only a breath apart. "I'd like that too."
His mouth pressed against hers softly. Once. Twice. Three times. Each touch of their lips teased and delighted in turn. She loved it. She wanted more. She wanted to taste him.
She initiated the next kiss, parting her lips just the littlest bit and exploring his mouth with hers. It was so good. The connection between their lips electrifying. Before she realized what was happening, her hands were buried in his dark hair as she tugged his head closer to hers, prolonging the kiss.
The tip of his tongue slid along her lips and she let hers meet it.
Her body felt like it was on fire, heat surging through her in volcanic waves.
Rowan wanted more. Not just more kissing, but touching. She climbed over Lysander so she was straddling his lap. Part of her brain was vaguely aware of him shifting so no pressure was on her hurt ankle. She ignored the tiny sting from the pressure she was putting on her knees.
This was too good to worry about minor discomfort.
His big hands cupped her bottom and kneaded, sending pleasure arcing through her. Their kiss became more intense as they explored each other's mouths and her breathing grew ragged.
His hands slid up her back until he reached the halter clasp on her dress. He stopped, breaking the kiss and panted. Then asked, "All right?"
"Yes," she said and dove back into the kiss.
The clasp came undone and then he was peeling the fabric down so her breasts were exposed. Her nipples were already hard, but now they tingled from being exposed to the air and she wanted oh so badly for him to touch her there.
Like he read her mind, Lysander brushed his palms over the turgid nubs, sending an arc of need directly to her core. It felt so good to be touched by another person, to know that person was as keen to touch her as she was to be touched. She arched her back, pressing her breasts into his hands, seeking more.
He gave it to her, gently squeezing the round globes in his hands and swiping his thumbs more firmly over her nipples.
