what they wanted. And she’d be damned if she’d be the one to renege on that. Of course, if he happened to have changed his mind, she wouldn’t say no, either.
Shoving her hand through her hair again, she tugged the curls a few times, hoping it’d shake loose some of the confusion. That her thoughts would line neatly up into nice, manageable rows the way they were supposed to.
Maybe if they talked?
But she’d noticed that Blake wasn’t much of a talking kind of guy. Maybe because his mouth had been so busy doing other things. Delightful things. Deliciously wonderfully sexual things.
Whew. Alexia waved her hand in front of her face. Shower time. Hopefully the cool water would chill down her thoughts, and her body, so she could focus.
Climbing from the bed with less grace than usual, she winced at the delicious soreness between her thighs. Clearly, her gym workouts didn’t address toning hot, wild sex muscles. The few feet to the bathroom sent new tingles of pleasure through her. Her body a vivid reminder of why she was on them, she took her birth-control pill. As she reached for the spigot in the shower, she caught sight of her reflection.
Her hair was a red halo, framing a face that almost glowed with residual ecstasy. Her lips were swollen, eyes heavy. Whisker rash spread over her entire torso and lower, below the mirror’s view, like a sunburn. Proof that there wasn’t an inch of her body that Blake hadn’t kissed. Worshipped. Pleasured in ways she’d only read about.
With a shuddering breath, she flipped on the spigot, not bothering with the hot water.
Thirty minutes, and not a few shivers, later, she made her way down the hallway with a frown. Why hadn’t Blake come in? Not that she thought she was so irresistible that he couldn’t keep his hands off her for the time it took to shower, but still...
She stepped into the still-unfamiliar living room. Tension she hadn’t even realized was knotted in her shoulders unraveled. There he was at the table, reading the paper with his bare feet propped on a chair. Bare feet didn’t scream time to run away, did they?
“Hey,” he greeted. He folded the newspaper and smiled. Friendly enough, but Alexia suddenly felt as if she was under the icy-cold shower again. “I figured on letting you sleep awhile. You must be pretty worn-out.”
“That’s sweet,” she decided, belting her robe tighter and moving into the center of the room. Did she give him a kiss? Just act casual? She wasn’t sure. “But you haven’t had much sleep, either. Aren’t you tired?”
“I’m used to going without.”
For his job? Because he didn’t like to sleep?
“Why?”
He got to his feet, offered a half shrug and a smile, then reached out to pull her into his arms.
“Good morning,” he murmured just before his lips covered hers.
Alexia forgot her question—hell, she forgot her name—as his mouth took hers in a slow, decadent morning dance of delight.
“You hungry?” he asked against her lips.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah. I’m starving. I figured I’d wait to make us both something. You ready to eat?”
“Um, sure.” She stood there, a little confused, as he pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, then released her to head into the kitchen.
Food was good. It was a nice, nonsexual way to spend time together, she told herself, wandering after him into the kitchen.
Her toes barely touched the linoleum when he turned and waved her back.
“Have a seat, relax. Read the paper. I’ve got this.”
A guy who cooked and didn’t expect—or want—help? Well, well. Too surprised to protest, Alexia turned right back around and made her way to the couch. Once there, she still didn’t know what to say. He’d booted her out of her own kitchen. To cook for her. Should she be irritated or thrilled?
For a woman who prided herself on her communication skills, she was having some definite issues figuring out how to converse with Blake. Of course, the fact that she couldn’t figure out how she felt about any single thing probably didn’t help.
Might as well quit worrying and just enjoy the experience, she finally decided.
As delicious as two days of naked romping, rolling and rocking were, even rabbits had to take a break from time to time. Knees a little weak as she recalled their last naked, rolling romp, Alexia snuggled deeper into her silk robe and watched Blake scramble eggs.
What was sexier? A man in the kitchen whipping up something delicious and nutritious? Or the sight of him, jeans unsnapped and slung low on his slim, tanned hips. Oh, baby. Alexia sighed, propping her chin on her fist. The man’s body was a thing of beauty. Pure muscle, with not an ounce of fat anywhere. His shoulders were wide, his skin golden in the morning sunlight that streamed through her kitchen window.
“I didn’t even realize I had eggs in the refrigerator,” she said, her brain starting to awaken from its sexual stupor. She tore her gaze off his body to look at the counter between the condo’s living room and kitchen. Orange juice, toast, a bowl of grapes. “Did you go to the grocery store?”
“Just next door,” he said. “I borrowed some food from your neighbor.”
Then he turned, frying pan in hand, to face her. Alexia actually felt her brain sputter as it sank under the waves of sexual heat again.
“I’m sorry. I should have had something here to feed you. A guest having to forage for his own breakfast fixings? That’s a loss of major hostess points.” She felt guilty as she slid to her feet. His eyes narrowed, locked on her body, then heated. Suddenly aware that her robe was gaping open, Alexia adjusted it with trembling fingers. Her breath hitched. Her pulse raced.
She’d lost count of the number of orgasms they’d shared, the multitude of ways they’d pleasured each other’s bodies. She shouldn’t be reacting like this. So hot, so easy. Shouldn’t she know more about him before feeling so much more than desire? Shouldn’t they have spent a lot more time together, clothed, before she started wishing he’d be giving her Halloween orgasms and Christmas orgasms and oh, please, Valentine’s orgasms?
“I like cooking. Besides, you fed me dinner last night,” he said with a shrug, dismissing the guilty apology she’d almost forgot she’d issued before diving down the emotional rabbit hole of worry.
He divvied eggs onto two plates, added toast and pushed them across the counter. Alexia frowned at the unspoken command—the guy was good at that—but picked them up and placed them on the table anyway. She came around the counter to get silverware while he carried juice and fruit to the table and sat.
“I fed you leftover fettuccine and steamed vegetables out of a freezer bag,” she said with a laugh as she added forks to their plates. She pulled out a chair, but before she could sit, he grabbed her by the waist and swung her onto his lap.
Giggling, delighted, Alexia wrapped her hands behind his neck and tilted her head to the side. Her still-damp hair was chilly against her bare skin where the robe gaped yet again.
His eyes darkened to a midnight hue, narrowed with desire. She knew that look now. Knew the promise of it. Blake was demanding in bed. And in the shower. And on the balcony at two in the morning. Wherever their lovemaking took place, it was as if he grabbed inside her, took every bit of pleasure she could offer and then found a way to give her even more.
“I’ll bet eggs would taste good eaten off your belly, too,” he said, his voice low and husky against the sensitive curve where her shoulder met her throat. “Those noodles were pretty tasty that way.”
That’s what a woman got for not having a supply of chocolate and whipped cream on hand, Alexia thought ruefully. Cold noodles in gooey cheese and butter slurped off her skin.