Mitch’s fingers were still working the dress, quickly and efficiently figuring out the complicated mess in a quarter of the time it had taken her. He lifted his head and pierced her with a look of such unadulterated heat she went weak. “Thank you,” she said.
“I’m coming over tonight.”
At his near growl, a shiver of a thrill shot through her. “I’m busy.”
“Doing what? Devising new ways to torture me?”
“No. I…have to wash my hair.”
Slowly he shook his head. “We need to talk.”
“Talk?” Okay, she could do that. Maybe. Probably. “That would be okay, I guess. Just talking.”
“Yeah. Among other things.” And then he walked away, leaving her clinging to the counter for balance in a world where there was no balance to be had.
10
WHAT HAD HAPPENED to casual? Everything was supposed to be casual! But Mitch had no illusions as he drove to Dimi’s town house that night and sat on his bike, staring at the lights, staring past the place to the lake and the dancing of the moonlight across the whitecaps.
He’d come for sex.
Talking not required.
He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d changed his mind and decided he had to have her, but it was a foregone conclusion now.
Even though he’d be leaving for Los Angeles in less than a week. He was ready to go.
After this, that is. After he went inside and hauled Dimi into his arms and gave them both what they’d been panting after for weeks.
Yeah, then he’d feel better.
Sure of it, he got off the bike and headed up the path. He faltered twice, but then figured with any luck Dimi would come to her senses, remember her asinine no-men rule and not let him within ten feet of her, anyway.
DIMI STOOD inside her kitchen, cooking with a frenzy she knew to be sheer panic mingled with wild hope. She set a Hershey’s kiss on top of a sugar cookie, gluing it there with frosting, taking the extra time to lick the knife.
She set the useless knife on the growing stack of other useless knives and grabbed a clean one out of the drawer.
Her last one. How had that happened?
She refused to admit or dwell on the fact that she’d taken twenty-three licks of frosting or exactly how many fat grams that might equal.
She also refused to allow herself to look at the clock again, as she’d been looking every ten seconds or so, driving herself crazy. But she peeked, anyway, pretending to be checking on Brownie, who was fast asleep in her hut.
Seven o’clock.
Surely if Mitch had meant it, he’d have been here by now.
But what if he showed up, looking all rough and tough, wanting to talk, among other things?
Just remembering the kiss they’d shared was enough to have her sucking in a shaky breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed that way, so intimately it had been like making love. And if he kissed that good, she could only imagine how good he’d be at all the other stuff, the stuff that most guys were in a hurry to get past just to get to the end.
She had a feeling Mitch wouldn’t be in a hurry to get past anything.
She pressed a hand to her racing heart and spread chocolate frosting all over her blouse. But that’s what she got for creating cookies and thinking of Mitch at the same time.
Shaking her head, she bent to her task once again, carefully spreading frosting over the next cookie. A knock came at her back door.
She dropped the knife and went very still.
Knock, knock.
She nearly jumped out of her skin. She went to the back door and put a hand on the knob. No need for this heart-pounding anticipation, not when it was probably just Cami wanting some cookies.
“Dimi.” The voice coming through the wood was deep and husky and almost unbearably familiar.
Not Cami.
She jerked her hand from the knob, then reached for it again. Then stood there frozen.
“Dimi? Can I come in?”
Yes. No. Yes. “I don’t know.”
He made a small sound, one of understanding, amusement. Desire.
It was the last that had her fisting the knob again. Shaking, she opened the door. “I thought maybe you were Cami. You know, for food. And then I thought, no, Cami wouldn’t be showing up this late, not when she has Tanner, and so all these cookies are going to go to waste. Or into my stomach, neither of which really appeals, and-”
Mercifully, he shut her up by stepping inside, sweeping her into his arms and covering her mouth with his. His lips were as firm as his body, which was pressed so satisfyingly to hers. As he’d turned her world on its axis, she had to clutch at his shirt for support, but still, thankfully, he kissed her.
And kissed her.
When he finally pulled back, he looked down and smiled. “You taste like chocolate.”
Dazed, she could only nod.
“Cookies, huh?” As if he hadn’t just kissed her stupid, he grabbed one off the counter and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm, good.” His eyes darkened when they lit on her again. “Not as good as you, though. Come here, Dimi.”
“I don’t mind a little sticky.”
“Good, because your shirt is a mess. I’m sorry about that. I’ll be right back.”
When he looked at himself, at the shirt she’d personally smeared with frosting, she took the chance to bail. Down the hall she ran, like a chicken, shutting herself in the bathroom.
She’d been in a hurry that morning, so it was a mess. Makeup was scattered across the countertop. A box of tampons, not in use at the moment, was precariously perched by the sink. So was her shower cap, for those miracle mornings when washing her hair wasn’t a necessity. She’d left the toilet lid up and the cap off the toothpaste, reminding her what Cami had always claimed.
She’d make a better husband than a wife.
Which was convenient, really, because no one wanted her as a wife.
The mirror above the sink reflected a rosy-cheeked, glassy-eyed, wet-mouthed, incredibly ravaged-looking woman she hardly recognized. “What are you doing?” she asked that woman.
“What we’ve been heading toward since that very first day.”
Mitch. He’d pushed open the door she hadn’t locked and come up behind her, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
“I’m…very busy,” she said.
“I can see that.”
His chest brushed her back. Her heart beat even faster, and was joined by a tightening from deep within. Lust to the tenth degree, she figured. Then he touched her hair, ran his fingers through the long strands in a way that made her want to stretch and purr like a cat. He eased the heavy mass aside and bent, putting his mouth to the incredibly sensitive spot beneath her ear.
Her knees wobbled, and she grabbed the porcelain sink for all it was worth. “Mitch-”
His hands found her hips, eased them to the juncture between his so that she could feel exactly what was
