“Well, then?”
“Twin beds,” she reminded him.
He groaned. “We’ll manage.”
“Jordan, you’re over six feet tall and I’m not exactly petite. If you think I’m sleeping in a twin bed with you, you’re nuts.”
“Who’s talking about sleeping?”
“Okay, doing anything with you in a twin bed. One of us is bound to topple to the floor.”
At the image she’d created, he felt a chuckle begin deep in his throat. “Exactly how energetic, are you?”
She blushed to the roots of her hair. “Jordan!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll help you straighten up in here.” He reluctantly lowered her to her feet. Before she could even move, he was tossing things off the bed and onto the floor. To his sincere regret, she was trailing along behind him, picking up each item and folding it neatly before tucking it away in a drawer or closet or laundry basket.
“Do you have to do that now?” he demanded impatiently.
“Jordan, you have waited years to get me into bed. In fact, for years, you didn’t appear the slightest bit interested in getting me to bed. Can’t you wait a few more minutes so it will be perfect?”
He found the equation between tidiness and perfection a bit disconcerting. “As long as you don’t decide to start ironing, too, I suppose I can wait.” He caught her gaze and held it. “And just so you know, I did think about getting you in bed back then. I just figured your father or mine would aim a shotgun straight at my backside if I did. I thought I was displaying admirable restraint in treating you like a lady.”
She grinned at him, obviously pleased by the discovery that she had the upper hand over him in this. In fact, she looked downright smug all of a sudden.
“Go downstairs and find some candles,” she ordered every bit as imperiously as her daughter might have.
“It’s still daylight.”
“Twilight,” she corrected. “It’ll be dark soon and I want candles.”
He sighed. “Anything else?”
“Bring back the wine, too.”
“Got it,” he said, heading out the door.
“And some flowers,” she called after him. “Lots and lots of flowers.”
He poked his head back into the room. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“What?” she inquired with a look somewhere between pure innocence and very feminine satisfaction.
“Tormenting me.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes, dammit,” he shot back, but there was little venom in his voice.
He actually found her playfulness another delicious surprise. The delay was tantalizing. As if he didn’t already want her badly enough, his body was practically throbbing with need now. There was no way she could possibly have any doubts at all, after this, about how hungry he was for her. Torment was a small price to pay for reassuring her on that point.
To even the score just a little, though, he took his own sweet time to gather up the candles, flowers and wine she’d requested. Let her stew a little, too, he thought as he finally made his way back upstairs. If the sexual tension mounted another notch or two, they would probably burst into flames on contact.
Back upstairs, at the doorway to the room, he came to a screeching halt for the second time that evening, stunned by the sight in front of him.
She had used the time very efficiently. Not only was the mess cleared away, but she had somehow managed to shed her wedding gown and exchange it for a filmy white negligee that skimmed over her curves, revealing details about her body he’d only imagined before. Her back was to him, the fading light from outside just enough to enhance the intriguing vision before him.
“Dear heaven,” he murmured, stunned into immobility. His throat went dry.
Turning to look at him over her shoulder, she gave him the kind of soft, knowing smile women had been bestowing on infatuated men for eons. It sent a shudder of pure desire sweeping through him.
“I thought you were beautiful before, but I was wrong,” he said in a strangled voice. “You are magnificent.”
Surprisingly, the comment drew a look of uncertainty. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I do,” he insisted, hastily setting flowers, wine and candles on the nightstand beside the bed and reaching for her. “You are magnificent.”
She came into his arms without hesitation, fitting her body to his with an eagerness that turned his breathing ragged. Her anxious fingers worked at the studs on his shirt. As it came open, she pressed hot, quick kisses against his bared chest. The touch of velvet soft lips and warm breath sent his pulse spinning wildly.
“Whoa,” he murmured. “Slow down, sweetheart. We have all night.”
He glanced into her eyes then and read more than desire there. He detected once again that uncertainty and realized that until he claimed her in a rush of uncensored passion, she would be filled with doubts. About him. About whatever seeds of uncertainty Paul had planted in her brain with his shabby treatment of her.
There would be time enough later for long, slow, deliberately sensual seduction, for discovery. There were years ahead of them for lazy caresses and deep, passionate kisses. Thousands of nights lay before them, nights of sultry breezes and whispered exchanges as they learned intimate secrets about each other’s body.
When her trembling fingers reached for the button on his pants, he helped her, shucking them off along with his briefs, after kicking aside his shoes.
Pulling her tightly against his hard, anxious body, he tumbled carefully onto the bed with her. He rolled her on top of him as they fell, exulting in the natural fit of soft curves and hard angles.
He never took his eyes from hers, not when his hands skimmed over her full, sensitive breasts, not when her hands reached for his aroused manhood. He saw the moment when her eyes darkened with passion, saw the instant of surprise when he fit his body to hers, entering her with a hard, fast stroke that had her gasping and her hips lifting to meet each thrust.
And he
