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They disentangled to get their footing, and Chris had enough brains left in his head to turn off the water.
Maggie leaned against the counter, breathing hard. “Wow, that was…”
Usually, when he was done, he was done for the night. There was nothing he liked better than indulging the warm, sleepy feeling after amazing sex, but the sight of her leaning against the counter, naked except for those heels, inspired him enough to surprise himself. He stepped closer, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
“That,” he said, grinning, “Was just a good start.”
* * * *
The morning light beat mercilessly through the windows and Maggie’s eyelids. She blinked and held a hand up to her eyes. Chris’s arm lay across her waist, his head tucked against her back. When she shifted a little to sit up, he stirred with a sleepy, “Morning.”
“Mmm,” she responded with clamped lips. It was beyond unfair that there wasn’t some hormone released during sex that would eliminate morning breath. Turning her head, she asked, “Any idea what time it is?”
“Time to go back to sleep,” he murmured, dropping a few kisses along her spine.
“That might not be the best thing to say to your boss.” He might have a day to rest before opening day, but she sure as hell didn’t. She got to her feet, one still clad in a red pump—she would definitely feel that all day—, and shuffle-limped to the kitchen, where her dress lay in a tangled, wet puddle.
“Oh. No.”
“That’s no good, is it?” Chris asked, and Maggie turned to see him with one arm over the back of the couch, watching her with a barely repressed grin. “You need to borrow a shirt?”
“Yes. And don’t look so damn amused by it.” Okay, not the most grateful response to the guy who was going to loan her dry clothing, but still. She hadn’t intended to spend the night, she was more than likely late for work, and she wasn’t Carrie Bradshaw. She couldn’t just nonchalantly waltz around town wearing a man’s shirt as a dress. Not to mention her hair had gotten wet and she’d slept on it with absolutely no regard for what it would look like the next day.
“I’m not amused by your plight,” Chris said, laughing softly. “It’s just that it’s not every morning I wake up to a gorgeous naked woman walking around my apartment.”
Under normal circumstances, she would have appreciated the compliment, but the situation was serious. She’d done things. And she’d said things. She’d knelt on the floor, just there, and told him, “I’m going to make you come.” Who said that? Seriously, what kind of cheesy, low budget soft-core porn line was that? Not only had she gone home with a guy on a whim and completely lost control with him, but she’d also done it with a player on the team she now owned. And now that ownership picked the absolute perfect moment to strike her as stark reality when she was standing naked in that player’s kitchen.
She was pretty sure this was what a heart attack felt like.
“I need a phone! Oh my god, I left my phone at the office. I was going to grab it on the way back from the reception. They’re going to think I’m dead, I never have the stupid thing more than four feet from me!”
“Landline’s on the wall,” Chris said, rising to his feet.
For just a moment, Maggie’s panic became secondary to her sex drive. Chris looked just as good in broad daylight as he had the night before, tight skin rippling over every hard muscle in his body. He seemed as comfortable naked as he was clothed because he wasn’t in a rush to cover himself. He walked past her, to the kitchen, where he pulled a cordless phone off the wall and placed it in her hand. It took her a minute to remember what she had wanted to do with it.
“You want me to make coffee?” he asked, already pulling opening cupboards.
“Sure,” she replied noncommittally as she haltingly punched the numbers into the phone. It took her two tries to get the order right, she was so used to just hitting the speed dial. If she didn’t have such a good head for numbers, she would have been screwed.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Molly’s sing-song greeted her over the line. Wherever her assistant was, someone was listening to loud pop music.
Maggie plugged her ear with her finger to drown out the noise of the coffee grinder. “Where the hell are you?”
“In a cab across the street from Chris Thompson’s building, with Starbucks and a change of clothes.” Molly paused for dramatic effect, then, in mock suspense, gasped, “Why, where are you?”
Maggie flexed her fingers open and closed and fought to keep her annoyance from her tone. “You know where I am. Bring the clothes up.”
