He’d admitted during the tour that not only were the framed photographs of his family and his brothers that were dotted around the house the product of his little sister and stepmother interfering with his décor, but together they’d picked his bedclothes.
When I met them, I’d congratulate them on a job well done.
The sheets were a slate gray, they had a sheen, so they not only were masculine and attractive but looked expensive.
His comforter was swirls of dark blues and grays with some chocolate brown thrown in, and it was manly but smart and crazy appealing.
They’d given him euros with shams that were on the floor. And the comforter was askew because he clearly didn’t make his bed, just threw the covers back.
But on that low, contemporary, mattress-only king-size bed with its short headboard that looked covered in black python, those sheets were the shit.
I thought this during the tour.
After I walked him into his own room, I just turned to him, ready to get busy in that bed.
He put his hands to my hips and kept me walking, just backwards.
Toward the bed.
And all of a sudden, I felt weird.
I didn’t have hang-ups about sex.
I did, back in the beginning. A woman didn’t grow up in the house I grew up in and not have hang-ups about sex.
I left two days after my nineteenth birthday, and although I’d gone back, I never looked back, and after I found a few good lovers who guided my way, I found my way past that.
But there were women (and men) who would say I could stand to take off a few pounds.
And it had been a while, what with Diane being killed and me going undercover in the porn industry.
Then there was me going undercover in the porn industry.
But most of all . . .
This was different.
I knew it.
This wasn’t just sex.
This wasn’t taking on a new lover.
This was Rush.
And I knew from what I’d already had of him this meant something.
And if this didn’t go well, if I did something to make it not go well, that would be very, very bad.
He was still walking me backwards to the bed, his hands smoothing over my dress at my hips, his eyes aimed there.
Okay, that was hot.
“Rush,” I whispered.
It was hotter that, at my call, his head snapped right up and his eyes, already starting to haze over with the promise of sex, snapped to attention.
On me.
“Okay?” he asked.
I could stop what we were doing, what I’d promised when I led him there, and tell him I changed my mind. I wanted to watch TV.
I could have another meltdown.
Another dead body could turn up.
Whatever.
He’d be with me, however it went down.
I hesitated a step, he didn’t, and I did this so our bodies could collide.
When they did, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
“Okay,” I answered.
Those gemstone eyes flared right before he bent his head and kissed me.
This was right before my calves hit the bed and we went down.
I rolled him, still kissing him, and straddled him.
The pads of his fingers dug into my waist.
I dove my fingers into his thick hair.
I’d been right that first night when he’d hijacked me.
That hair begged for my fingers to be buried in it.
I broke our kiss and went after his throat.
He had a beautiful throat and I’d wanted my mouth on it since I’d first noticed it.
So I took that, gliding my lips down, and up, then my tongue along it, to the dent in his collarbone.
I did this unbuttoning his shirt.
He’d worn a nice, dark-blue button-down that highlighted his eyes.
Biker date gear.
I liked it. I liked the effort he took to look nice for our date in a way he was still Rush.
But that shirt had to go.
Two buttons in, I let my mouth trail down.
Another button, and down.
His skin was warm and sleek and firm.
Another button, I spread him open and took him in with my eyes.
Swelling pecs. Fabulous quarter-size brown nipples adorning the bottoms.
I wanted my mouth on those nipples.
But I had more to uncover first.
I yanked the tails of the shirt out of his jeans.
More buttons.
Down.
I spread the shirt wide.
He didn’t have an eight-pack.
But he had a four-pack and a flat belly and nice dents at his V.
Delicious.
I kissed his navel and looked up.
Okay.
Um.
That.
The hungry look on his handsome face that still managed to seem satisfied.