Mail-Order Brides For Christmas - Frankie Love Page 0,73

very soul. I take a big gulp of my cocktail, my heart suddenly pounding. I definitely wasn’t prepared for that.

“What did you make us?” he asks, hanging up his jacket and strolling to the table. I sit opposite him and we dig into the pasta and salad (a pint of ice cream I found in the freezer will serve as dessert). “This is good,” he says after a moment.

I raise a brow. “You sound surprised.”

He laughs. “I just didn’t know you were a chef as well as a rock star.”

My lips curl into a mischievous smirk. “I have many hidden talents.”

“Like what?” he asks immediately.

I pause for dramatic effect and grin into my gin and tonic. When I meet his gaze, his eyes are dark again, and his expression can only be described as hunger. Needing. Like he’s ready to leap across the table and devour me. I nearly spill my drink, and when I raise the glass to my mouth, my hand is trembling slightly. Something in our dynamic has definitely changed. Something very sexual has definitely appeared.

Well, I think. Game on.

“A lady can’t divulge all her secrets at once,” I say, taking a long sip of my drink.

“Tell me some of them, at least,” he replies with half a grin.

I notice him scratching at his collar and realize a talent I can share. “Come here,” I say, beckoning with my index finger.

He gets up without asking why and stands in front of me as I swivel my chair away from the table. For a moment, looking up into those unbelievably blue eyes, it’s difficult to remember why I asked him over in the first place. I realize, too, with a hot flush across my chest, that my face is currently dangerously close to his crotch. I stand up hurriedly. Is that a smirk I detect flickering across his lips?

Slowly, I lean in close to him, before my fingers gently rest on his collar. I can feel his heart beating steadily below my hands. “Is this bothering you?” I ask.

“You being so close? Not at all,” he breathes.

I giggle, shaking my head. “Not me,” I say. “The collar. You were tugging at it.”

“It’s not the most comfortable,” he confesses.

“Let me take a look at it.”

He raises an eyebrow, but before I can offer further explanation, he’s unbuttoning his shirt. When he takes it off, it takes all my willpower not to stagger back. He’s even more muscular than I realized, all bronze skin and gloriously defined abs. I’ve never been this close to a halfway-naked man who takes such good care of his body, and I feel my heart lurch its way into my throat. My fingers are desperate to trace his muscles, and to feel his skin against my own.

Instead, I swallow, hard, and take the proffered shirt.

“This is good quality,” I say, rubbing the fabric between my fingertips, “but obviously not the right fit for you.”

“Are you a tailor, too?” he asks.

I grin. “I make all my costumes that I wear onstage. I’ve been sewing since I was little because my Grandma Carrie taught me.” I survey his frame like a professional tailor. “Let me make your next suit for you. This probably was too tight across the shoulders, right? And this could be adjusted down the back. Speaking of which …”

Before I can chicken out, I kneel in front of him. He looks down at me, and I watch the muscles in his jaw work. I brush my fingers close to his inner thigh. “You’re not hanging right in your pants,” I say, my voice sounding oddly strained. It’s hard to hear myself; all I can focus on is the thunder of my heart in my ears growing faster and faster.

“Is that so?” he growls, his voice far lower than usual.

Holding my breath, I move my hand until, hardly believing my own boldness, I’m delicately tracing the growing bulge in his pants.

I look up at him, and any restraint is gone.

Matt hauls me to my feet in one fluid motion and crushes his mouth to mine. His lips are full, perfect for kissing, and immediately make me dizzy with need. I wrap my arms around him and gasp when he does the same--his arms are so muscular, so strong. I relax into his embrace even as our kisses grow more frantic. He wraps my curls around his hand, gently holding my head steady, and I nearly whimper into his mouth. I’m a dominant woman in the