A Weekend of Misbehaving - Carmen Falcone Page 0,24
I get kind of riled up every time I sleep in a new bed.”
“Tell me more. Does that happen often?”
She shifted until her back pressed against the mattress. Carefully, she made sure her limbs didn’t touch his, even though his posture was a lot more relaxed. “That I get riled up?”
He scooted just a notch closer, and her heart set into an untrustworthy race. “No. Sleeping in a new bed.”
Why did his rich accent have to make it sound so dirty? “Why, do I detect a hint of sexism there?”
A hearty chuckled filled the air. “I’m just curious.”
“Well, I’m a healthy woman with an okay sexual life. I mean, I don’t sleep around, but I have a little pink book I can go to if I need.” Yeah, a book that had a one-inch layer of dust on it. But she decided to keep that info to herself. Let him think she was a skankilicious goddess. Who cared?
The bed seemed to shrink.
“Interesting.”
She turned to her side and realized she was dangerously close to him. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she had to swallow a couple times to clear her dry throat. “How about you? Aren’t you supposed to be the hot Italian stallion?” she asked, even though she had never seen him with a woman. Sure, he probably dated at least a couple times, she conceded; after all, he had asked her to babysit a few weekends when he wasn’t out of town. But unless he was having an affair with his secretary, good ol’ Mrs. Goodwin, the man was super discreet.
He drummed his fingers on the mattress. “I’ve been busy.”
Who in the world was too busy to screw? She studied the outline of his hand, powerful even in the dimming light. “How long?”
“Long,” he said, his voice strained.
She clenched her legs together in a vain effort to suppress the pounding pulse from spreading everywhere. Too late. She touched her chest to ensure her heart was still in its place, the beat so strong it could have jerked away from the confines of her weak flesh.
Shoving the sheet to her side, she drew in the bubble of oxygen around her and let it out carefully. What was going on? Could she be dreaming if she hadn’t even fallen asleep? “I’m sure there are some women who wouldn’t mind being in your little black book. Make a list.”
He outlined the collar of her pajama top and, lord, her nipples perked up. “After I compile such list, what do you advise I do?”
“Well, you act on it.”
Don’t move. Whatever you do, just lie still.
A part of her—the dutiful daughter, sister, and aunt—urged her to assume an Egyptian mummy position or just play dead like he was some sort of grizzly bear. But her resolve diminished with every passing second. The remaining distance nearly dissipated between them.
“What if I want you to be on the top of my list?” He whispered into her ear, and the scent of his skin and the breath fanning her earlobe destroyed any common sense she may have left over. “Or better, on the top of you?”
She wanted him so much. She had fantasized about him, touched herself thinking of him, and even dated someone, wishing it were him. Out of all the things she had denied herself in life, could she do this? Deny this gorgeous specimen of man, this delicious sex on a tall, long stick?
Chapter Five
“Tell me. How does one make it into your little pink book? Is there a selection process? An interview, maybe?” His fingers slid down her neck, causing her to bite the inside of her cheek. His hand was just like she had imagined when she had masturbated in her bathtub—strong, warm, masculine, but not rough.
She leaned in to his touch, her own fingertips tingling with need. The throb between her thighs galloped fast and furious, and if there ever had been a moment she would come from a slight caress, this was it. And Lorenzo Baldi was the cause. Damn him. “I favor hands-on auditions. Though, since you’re so rusty, I understand you might not be up for the challenge.”
“Oh, I’m up for it,” he said with a playful drawl. He moved his hand into her pajama top, and, God, he went straight to her heaving breasts, cupping her so luxuriously that a couple of her buttons popped instantly. He murmured something low in Italian, and this time there was no disguising her coarse moan.
She