“I think we need to talk.”
He didn’t move or even flinch. The tension stretched between them to the point where the silence was almost funny, given the fact that they were both completely naked. Almost but not quite. “I guess I should tell you right up front I’m probably one of the few guys in the world who isn’t terrified by that sentence.”
“And I think I should tell you I won’t be bullied into having a relationship with you.” She tried to soften the statement with a smile, but the shock on his face told her she missed the mark. Still, she had a point to make, whether he liked what she had to say or not. “I get really touchy when people make presumptions on my time.”
His eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware you felt you were being bullied. I apologize.” He inclined his head in a sort of old-fashioned show of deference. A lump rose in her throat, and her chest ached. He gestured to the stairs. “If you aren’t interested in having dinner with me, then we’ll get dressed, and I’ll drop you at home.”
Her grip on the rail tightened. So did the knot in her stomach. Deep down inside, she didn’t want to go home to a frozen dinner and her laptop. She wanted him to ask. Nicely. Ask her out like a real date, not pick her up at a bar, take her home, and make her see stars. “You didn’t ask if I wanted to,” she pointed out.
“Wanted to?” He looked truly perplexed, then completely panicked. “I didn’t ask if you wanted to what?”
Millie saw the flash of horror in his eyes and raised her hand to his cheek. “No, not that. I fully consented to the sex, Ty. What I’m saying is, you didn’t ask if I wanted to have dinner with you.”
“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked with cautious precision.
She leaned in and caught his mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. His eyes were hooded as she pulled back, but the embers in them flared. “Yes to the food,” she said, nipping any other ideas he might have in the bud. Taking his hand, she curled her arm until their clasped palms rested square in the small of her back. “Funny. Suddenly, I have the worst craving for Thai…Ty.”
Chapter 11
Ty made a point of focusing on the wineglass he’d placed on the countertop in front of her. If his gaze strayed a few inches down, he’d get an eyeful of long, lean thigh. If he looked up, he’d start obsessing about how few buttons Millie closed on the shirt she’d commandeered from his closet. She’d picked a bottle of white from the cooler built into the bar setup. Ty wasn’t a big fan of sweet wines, but Millie insisted the Riesling would be the perfect complement to the spicy duck and shrimp pad Thai they’d ordered, and he wasn’t about to argue with her. The woman had one toe on the starting line, and she was waiting for him to slip up so she could beat a path on out the door.
He filled another glass for himself, then toasted her. “To ground rules.”
Millie looked up from the array of cartons she was opening. Her eyes widened with appreciation, then narrowed as she wound her fingers around the stem of her own glass. “You’re awfully gung ho about these rules.” She touched her glass to his, then quirked an eyebrow. “How do you know you’ll like them?”
He fell back against the opposite counter as she dished up their dinner. Squelching the urge to yelp when the cool granite made contact with the bare skin above his waistband, he crossed one leg over the other and drank in the details of her. Smiling into his glass, he took the obligatory sip to seal the toast. “I don’t have to like a rule to play by it.”
He’d already proven his willingness to adapt, so Millie suggested they shower while they waited for supper. Unfortunately, she also insisted they do so separately for the sake of expedience. A waste of time and water, as far as he was concerned, but she obviously wanted a little space, and he wasn’t about to push her.
Looking at her now, he was glad she’d suggested the short hiatus. The breather had allowed him time to gather his wits before facing her again. Good thing, because she looked so damn good he was about to take a bite out of her. Her skin was rosy. He caught a whiff of his soap on her skin each time she moved. Her hair was damp. Dime-sized splotches darkened the fabric where water had dripped on her shoulders, and one intrepid streak pointed the way to the crest of her right breast. Lucky drop.
Of course, all he could do the whole time he was in the guest bath was picture her in his shower, her hands splayed on the tile wall as water spewed from the multiple jets to rush over her slender curves. He could picture her nipples—red, ripe, and hard as cherry pits. Soap suds running down the shallow valley between her breasts and tangling in the tight curls between her legs. Yeah. He spent a fast three minutes under a cool spray getting the cleanup job done as fast as he possibly could without resorting to jacking off.
Now, he was scrubbed up and partially clad in a pair of sweats, but his thoughts were anything but clean. He wanted to get whatever was bothering her out in the open so he could take her back to his room and mess her up again as soon as possible.
“I think the occasional hand check is an important part of any effective defense,”
