he stared down at that pretty ribbon lacing up the two halves of fabric. The panties were a metaphor for Jane herself, he decided. There were two sides to her: the steely governess and the soft woman. Both laced together and tied off with a sturdy yet feminine bow. The whole shielding the vulnerable, unknown heart of her.
Then Griffin groaned, realizing he was intellectualizing again. Once more he was letting Jane into his head and under his skin when he only wanted her against his skin. When he only wanted inside her body. "Get ready," he said in a dark voice as he gave a ruthless pull to the ribbon. "I'm going to make you see stars."
Her hair was soft here too. When he opened her with his thumbs, he discovered her pretty flesh went from shell- to fever-pink as well. He stared down at her as he traced the petaled contours and then circled the wet opening he'd explore next.
"Griffin," she said, sounding strangled.
"Hush." He toyed gently with her clit and heard her breathing hitch. "Patience," he said. "I'm getting there."
Still wanting to tease her, his thumb pressed the little button again. Then he placed two fingertips just inside the entrance to her channel. And Jane, stubborn, intractable, infuriating Jane, shoved her body down the sheets and took those fingers deeper. Took him to the palm.
Like that, took her own orgasm.
He watched her face as she rode it out, the sweet surrender to bliss that caused her dark lashes to sweep across her cheeks and her tender mouth to tremble. Then her body calmed, and he watched her eyes open. "Hey," she said.
His mouth was too dry to speak. With one hand she stroked his shoulder. With the other, she reached for the condom. He swiped it away from her. Then he kissed her, thinking that maybe this was the answer. Maybe he shouldn't go forward. Maybe it should be good-night now, and he wouldn't let this go any further.
But her hands were insistent and her mouth greedy on his. He found himself donning the rubber, then sliding inside her. "Aaah." God. Soft. Hot. Sweet.
Her legs clamped over his hips. He let his weight drive him deeper into her, and she tilted her hips again. He knew where this was going. He knew what she was doing.
But he didn't object this time. He just swept her up into the rhythm, and when he felt her reaching, when he was hanging on by a single thread, he put his hand between their bodies and found hers already there instead. It was her own touch that nudged her over before he could protest.
As she contracted around him, he felt the pleasure gather in his belly. Just as he took off, he lifted his head to take in Jane's flushed cheeks, swollen mouth, silver eyes. Then his squeezed shut as release pulsed, pulsed, pulsed through him.
When he came back to himself, he was flat on his back. A boneless Jane was lying across his chest. He didn't shift away, even though he generally didn't like being tangled with a woman in the aftermath. He always figured it was because of the nine months he'd shared the confined space of a womb with his twin.
He lifted his head from the pillow to see if Jane was sleeping. She must have felt his movement because she turned her cheek, their gazes meeting. Her eyes were sleepy. "Thank you," she said, her voice drowsy. "That was nice."
Nice? "Oh, yeah?"
"Mmm." Her lashes drifted toward her cheeks. "Nobody's ever tried to put me first."
On a soundless groan, he dropped his head to the pillow. Nobody had ever tried to put her first.
Would he ever get that - her - out of his head?
CHAPTER TWELVE
SIPPING AT ROOM service coffee, Griffin listened to the sound of the shower and calculated how long before he'd be back to real life - his other real life - in Beach House No. 9. If Jane didn't stop to dry her hair and he put her own caffeine in a to-go cup, they could be in secure environs in approximately seventy minutes, he guessed.
He couldn't get out of the hotel suite soon enough.
His glance caught on the tumbled pair of sandals he'd slipped off Jane the night before. Pooled just a few inches away was the silky fabric of her dress. From there it was just another heartbeat before a memory of those ribbon-and-wishes panties made his palms itch.