THE next morning I padded into the kitchen on bare feet to find Gideon pouring coffee. I could say the smell of java is what added a spring to my step, but it was the sight of my husband, freshly shaved and dressed with his vest hanging open, that did it. I loved seeing him a little undone.
He looked me over as I went to him, my heels rapping on the marble, his face impassive and his eyes warm. Did he get the same kick when he caught sight of me ready to tackle my day? I doubted it. I was convinced men just saw hot . . . or not.
Wrapping my fingers around his wrist, I led his hand around me and up the back of my skirt to cup the undercurve of my buttock.
A smile teased the corners of his lips. “Hello to you, too, Mrs. Cross.”
He snapped the back of my garter against my thigh. I jumped at the sting and gasped as warmth spread outward from the spot.
“Hmm . . . you like that.” He smirked.
My lower lip stuck out in a pout. “It hurt.”
Gideon shifted to lean back against the counter and pulled me between his spread legs, both of his hands lightly gripping the back of my thighs. He nuzzled his nose against my temple and massaged the place that burned. “I’m sorry, angel.”
Then he snapped my garter on the other side.
I arched in surprise, my body aligning with his. He was hard. Again. A low moan escaped me. “Stop it.”
“It’s turning you on,” he murmured in my ear.
“It hurts!” I complained, even as I rubbed against him. He’d woken me with soft kisses and provocative hands. I had thanked him in the shower with my mouth. Still, he could go again. I could, too. We were addicted to each other.
“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” His fingers slid between my thighs and found me warm and ready. He groaned. “Christ. What you do to me, Eva. I’ve got so much to do . . .”
God, he felt good. Smelled even better. My arms wrapped around his neck. “We have to go to work.”
He yanked me up to my toes, grinding me against his erection. “We’re playing with these garters later.”
I kissed him. I put my open mouth over his and devoured him, my tongue touching his. Stroking it greedily. Sucking.
Gideon’s hand fisted in my ponytail, holding me in place as he took over the kiss, f**king my mouth, drinking me in. In an instant, I was hot, my skin humid with perspiration.
His lips were firm yet soft against my own, his grip angling me just the way he wanted, his teeth scraping gently across my lower lip. The taste of him, flavored delectably with a hint of rich black coffee, intoxicated me. Drunk on him, I clutched his hair in my hands, holding on, my toes flexing to push me closer. Always closer. But never close enough.
“Whoa.” Cary’s voice broke me out of the sensual spell Gideon had cast. “Don’t forget we eat in here.”
I started to pull away from my husband, but he held me tight, allowing me only to break the kiss. My gaze met his. His eyes were sharply alert beneath heavy lids, his lips softened and damp.
“Good morning, Cary,” he said, his attention shifting to my best friend as Cary joined us by the coffeemaker.
“For you two, maybe.” Cary opened the cupboard that held the mugs and pulled one out. “Sadly, I’m too tired to get turned on by the show. Not making me feel too optimistic about the rest of the day.”
He was dressed in skinny jeans and a navy T-shirt, his hair skillfully arranged in a trendy pompadour. I pitied the single Manhattanites who’d see him out and about that day. He was such a striking man, both physically and in the false confidence he exuded.
“Do you have a shoot today?” I asked.
“No. Tat does, and she wants me there. She’s got morning sickness and shit, so I’m going to be around to help her out if she’s not feeling well.”
I reached out and rubbed his biceps in sympathy. “That’s awesome, Cary. You’re the best.”
His lips twisted wryly as he lifted his steaming cup to his mouth. “What else can I do? I can’t get sick for her, and she’s got to work as long as she can.”
“You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Gideon’s hand stroked up and down my back, offering wordless support. “If you’ve got the time, Cary, I’d like you to be there for the appointment with the designer who’s renovating our place on Fifth Avenue.”