fat raccoon they’d shooed out over a month ago. Sated, pleased, and perhaps a little dangerous.
Okay, dangerous in the sheets.
The man had skills. Who would have thought Mr. Buttoned Up would be a total animal in the shower, against the wall, and on the soft goose down duvet?
Score.
“Shower is the theme of the weekend. I’m going to be squeaky clean come Sunday,” she said, making a loopy-loop in his chest hair with her index finger.
“Huh?”
“Tomorrow is the bridal shower for my son’s fiancée. I’m doing an Italian theme, and the planner will be here in thirty minutes.”
“Are you booting me out?” he asked with a sleepy smile.
Tennyson sat up and covered her breasts with her hands. “No. Well, yes. Sorta.”
“Don’t do that,” he said, tugging her hands from her breasts. “They’re too magnificent to cover.”
He pulled her to him, bestowing a kiss on each tip. Immediately she felt like straddling him again. Both their breathing kicked up a notch. She could probably go another round, but Marc would be prompt. She knew this because he’d essentially told them that he was never late, timing was everything, and he expected reciprocation from them on this very important element of their client-planner relationship.
So she pulled back and looked down at her breasts. “Yeah, they’re good work. I had them done after I nursed Andrew. Kids are hell on the body.”
“And the pocketbook. Especially girls. Mine are still young, and it’s already started with the certain brands of shoes and clothes. Boys are easier, right?” he asked.
“Until they get to be teenagers and want pickup trucks, sound systems, and Nike high-tops. Oh, and you have to go to the grocery store three times a week in order to have anything in the pantry for yourself. Or in my case, order groceries. I’ll miss that about Manhattan.”
“Um, I think they have delivery here. We’re not totally backward. Just halfway,” he said, sitting up and looking around for his clothes.
“Still in the bathroom,” she said, pulling the soft angora throw from the foot of her bed and wrapping it around her breasts and the rest of her body. He made a sad face. “You can come by tomorrow night. My sister is taking my mother to her place in Natchitoches for a few days, and I will have lots of fancy Italian food left over. Tiramisu and brandy-soaked cakes.”
He pulled on his boxers, and she noted in the light of the bathroom how spectacular his ass really was. Hard, curved stone, like a model’s ass. She made her own “don’t put that away” sad face.
Which made him smile.
“Cake doesn’t persuade me,” he said, tugging on his shirt and running a hand through his hair. He didn’t have to smooth his hair. It was so short, it hadn’t gotten mussed by her hands in it. But he seemed very particular about looking “right.”
“Okay, well, then I’ll have Italian beer—Peroni and Ghisa—and plenty of fun cocktails.”
He pulled on his shorts, doing the automatic tuck thing, which made her smile. “Um, I don’t drink, so . . .”
“You don’t? Are you a saint? Or wait, are you a Puritan?” she joked.
“Are Puritans still around?” he asked, sticking his head out the bathroom door.
She giggled. “I don’t know, but if you don’t drink, how do you get through life?”
“Actually, I don’t drink because I see how it stops life. I’ve been sober for five years,” he said, snagging a sock and looking for the other one. She pointed to the wastebasket where it lay draped over the edge. He grabbed it and pulled it on.
Then he smiled at her.
There was power in that smile. Damn, how had she become so smitten with Officer Rhett in such a short amount of time? He was so adorable with his ramrod posture, military cut, and tucked-in T-shirt. Oh, and his rock-hard ass and abs weren’t bad, either. Not to mention those gorgeous baby blues. And his insightful texts. She didn’t want to totally objectify him, after all.
“So if you don’t want dessert or a cold one, how about me?” she asked, unwrapping the blanket and leaning back into her best bombshell calendar pose, thrusting her breasts upward, arching her back, and curving her legs back to tuck under her.
Joseph stopped tying his shoes and looked his fill. “Now that’s something I wouldn’t mind extra helpings of.”
Tennyson smiled. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
“Let me check my schedule.”
She made a pouty face, letting the blanket drop and cupping her breasts.