Wine, Tarts & Sex

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, pushing away from the door.

“If I didn’t know better, I might think you’re actually submissive.”

“I wasn’t under the impression you were looking for that kind of man.”

“Smart-ass.”

“Just checking.” He smiled faintly as he handed her the plate. “Would you like me to feed you?”

“If I wasn’t starving, I’d say yes. It sounds like fun. But since I am, I’ll pass this time.”

It didn’t matter; he wasn’t in a hurry. He figured the kittens would prove entertaining for some time. As for Janie, she’d been working that private eye to the max. He didn’t anticipate Janie needing company anytime soon. Uncorking the syrup, he held the bottle over the plate. “Say when.”

He poured and poured, looked up in query, then poured some more.

“When,” Liv finally said.

“You like French toast with your syrup, I see.”

“It’s syrup from my maple trees. Jeez, how do you get the bacon to stay so flat?” The four pieces framing the French toast were picture perfect.

“The right pan, the right temperature, and years of practice. ”

“You’ll have to show me. My bacon is always a tangled mess.”

“But then you’re not the patient sort.”

She glanced up, a piece of bacon halfway to her mouth. “Is that a slur?”

“Did I imply I was looking for a patient woman?”

She smiled, took a bite of bacon, and said, “Good,” between chews. “Because you’re way too hot. What can I say?”

He smiled. “You’re my aphrodisiac of choice, too, babe.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he waited while she ate, feeling oddly content. As though he might have made the right choice coming out here to Minnesota. All the tension commensurate with his West Coast life had disappeared into the ether. Not that a ton of orgasms weren’t likely to prove relaxing.

“These apple slices are heavenly-all buttery and caramelly. I suppose those take patience, too,” she said with a grin.

His brows lifted ever so faintly. “Never rush anything, babe. That’s the secret.”

“You’re good at not rushing in more ways than one.”

Her smile was definitely enticing, her lips shiny with syrup and allure. “Pleasure shouldn’t be a race. It should be more like a marathon.” He smiled. “Circumstances allowing, of course.”

“And your judgment is superb in every instance,” she murmured.

He grinned. “You’re just easy to read.”

“You mean you’re not psychic?”

“With your one-track mind, I don’t have to be.” His dick swelled larger as memories of last night inundated his brain, her fondness for sex a real turn-on. Shifting slightly to give his hard-on growing room, he said with observable constraint, “Are you about done?”

Her aquamarine gaze met his from under her lashes. “Should I be?”

He found it necessary to clear his throat before replying. “That’d be great,” he said tautly.

She held out the plate.

Taking it, he glanced at the door. “I should lock the door.”

“If only. There’s no key. It’s long gone.”

“I’ll shove a chair under the doorknob if that’s okay with you. With a three-year-old around.” He shrugged.

“Be my guest.”

As he rose, set the plate aside, picked up a chair, and moved toward the door, Liv lay against her pillows watching him, feeling an extraordinary degree of satisfaction and contentment. He’d allowed her to sleep, brought her breakfast in bed, and was now about to further reward her with sex. Was she basking in the sweet clover of life or what? “You’re spoiling me,” she murmured. “All the fabulous food… and you… and him.” She nodded at his blatant erection as he’d half-turned at her words of approval. She grinned. “It’s all quite heady.”

“My pleasure.” A smile warmed his eyes. “And it’s not as though I don’t get spoiled in return.”

“This is all waaay too perfect. When does the tornado hit?”

“Cynic. Maybe life’s always good.” Shoving the chair in place, he moved back to the flamboyant bed.

Her gaze narrowed. “Pul-ease.”

“Okay, so it’s not always this fine,” he said, sitting beside her. “But what the hey-let’s take advantage of ”-his brows rose-“whatever this is.”

She was mildly unnerved by the degree of happiness he inspired. And it wasn’t just his cooking or his sexual skills. He was different from the other men she’d known. Sweeter, kinder, truly obliging, conveying pleasure with a kind of deft benevolence. “I have to brush my teeth,” she abruptly muttered, and throwing back the covers, jumped out of the other side of the bed.

“Was it something I said?” he drolly inquired.

She spun around. “I’m beginning to want you too much. I don’t like it.” Snappish, taut words. Turning away, she walked to the bathroom and once inside, slammed the door shut.

He didn’t quite know if her combatant statements pleased or displeased him.

On the other hand, he’d always subscribed to the theory that introspection was much overrated. Particularly in his dealings with women. Furthermore, his long-held belief in that principle had always served him well. So no way was he going to enter any labyrinthine web of emotional curiosity, even if Liv was more intriguing than most.

Shit always happened.

He never made plans when it came to women.

He didn’t even think of making plans.

It was safer that way.

By the time Liv returned to the bedroom, she’d had sufficient opportunity to lecture herself sternly about confusing sex with affection. As she’d brushed her teeth, she’d looked into the mirror and chided herself for being stupid. Everyone knew that honesty and openness were bad karma when it came to sexual fun and games.

What had she been thinking?

“I’m good now,” she declared, smiling her camera-ready smile as she walked out of the bathroom, wearing a robe now as though in added defense against her outrageous desires. “Forgive my lapse of judgment. I talk too much.”

“Hey-say whatever you want.”

Her brows rose in perfect arches. “Because you don’t really listen anyway?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It looked like you wanted to.”

“Unless you’re a mind-reader, you don’t know what I wanted to do.” He grinned. “Except that.” He held out his hand. “And I want you too much, too. We’re both a little goofy. No sense in making a federal case about it.”

“Exactly.” He made it so easy to go with the flow. He knew all the right moves. Better not to question how many women it had taken to acquire such practiced charm.

As her hand slipped into his, he pulled her between his legs and lifted his face. “Kiss me now that you’ve brushed your teeth.”

She grinned. “Where?”

He grinned back. “We’ll do that later. Right now”-he pointed to his mouth-“here.”

In the confirmed goofiness of their moods, their kiss was extra sweet and then not so sweet and ultimately a kind of melting ravishment that left them both breathless and wanting more.

“I’m too old to waste time kissing,” he said, panting, lifting her off his lap and jerking off his T-shirt and tossing it.

“And I’m too sexed-up.” After a night of orgasms, all her senses were heightened, her body seething for his touch, overstimulated, eager, impatient. She reached for the tie on her robe. “Nice T-shirt,” she said with a nod toward the rumpled garment on the floor.

“I found it in the back closet,” he said, standing to take off his jeans. “I like your logo.”

Her Liv Bell Wines T-shirts were promo items; she had stacks. “A friend of mine’s a graphic artist. Keep it and think of me.”