“Okay, that’s a plan. Now, I haven’t been home in a while so we have a choice for dinner. Heated up canned clam chowder or Chinese delivery.”
“Is that a choice?” he asked.
“Right,” she murmured. “Chinese delivery.”
He let her go with one arm, pulling her around to his side and walking her into the gigantic space that was the front of her house. “You got menus?”
“Yes,” she answered, moving from his hold to head to a drawer.
He stopped at her bar. “I get it if you feel like Chinese. But don’t you have a personal hibachi chef, you know, after he slides one of these motherfucking huge marble slabs off to get to his grill?”
She threw him a look, her eyes still light, her lips tipped up.
“Or maybe you can call your pizza maker to duty. Your wood fired oven outside or what?” he pushed.
She turned away from her drawer and came to him, tossing a menu across the vast expanse of thick, gorgeous, expensive-as-all-hell countertop.
“You should count yourself lucky you’re handsome, tall, built and a very good sex partner or your smartassedness would be problematically aggravating.”
“Sex partner?” he teased.
“Look at the menu, Sebring.”
“Smartassedness?” he kept teasing.
“Menu,” she ordered.
“Problematically?”
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
He started grinning.
“Baby, get over here,” he ordered through his grin. “Haven’t kissed you yet. I’ll look at the menu after I do that.”
She rolled her eyes back to him. “And again with the lucky when you’re equally problematically domineering.”
“You’re not getting over here,” he noted.
“I’m engaged in trying to figure out why I have to get over there when you’re perfectly capable of coming to me.”
“Because you’re used to rambling around this palace and I’m not. I need to conserve my energy for the tour you’re gonna give me after we order Chinese.”
That got him another upward curl of her lips.
He’d take it. Gladly.
She also got her ass to him, came close, pressing her front to his side as she rolled up on her toes, tipping her head back, and he rounded her with his arm.
She offered her mouth. He took it.
And when they broke, she stayed close and advised quietly, “The ginger chicken and Mongolian beef are superb. And the Peking pork isn’t bad either.”
“I’ll order it all. Chinese leftovers never suck. You want egg rolls?”
“Yes.”
“Soup?”