My fingers twitched again.
My already hard cock jerked beneath the sheets with anticipation. I never did morning sex with one-night stands… but I could make an exception just this once.
My cock jumped again and I groaned. The need to bury myself in something moist and warm was slightly overwhelming. Damn, last night hadn’t sated me at all.
She shifted in her sleep, her thigh hooking over my legs and resting there. I began to draw slow, deliberate circles over the bare skin of her waist. Inching closer as I moved to the waistband of her pajamas…
My eyes snapped open.
Pajamas.
I was not in bed with some one-night stand.
I was in bed with Charlotte.
I froze, wondering what the hell I had been thinking. My God, if I hadn’t realized what I was doing, I likely would have started fingering her!
What the hell was she doing draped all over me like a blanket? When we went to bed last night, I made sure to stay way over on my side of the bed. Away from her. At first, I was worried she might think that was odd, but she didn’t seem to think it was strange at all. ‘Course, I should have realized that her and my brother probably didn’t get it on every night when she came to bed wearing those ridiculous satin pajamas.
Pants and a shirt.
Did she really sleep like that all the time?
Yep. And judging from the inside of Max’s drawers, so did he. What the hell was this, Leave it to Beaver?
The thought of wearing a long-sleeved satin shirt to bed made me want to turn in my man card to the first man I saw, so I compromised by wearing the pants (Thank God they were blue; I would have drawn the line at some damn girly color) and a white T-shirt.
If Charlotte noticed the change in my nightwear, she hadn’t said. Which means she probably hadn’t noticed. She didn’t miss anything.
And she was definitely a lawyer.
I learned that at dinner last night… along with a bunch of other useless information.
Some of the things I learned are as follows:
1) Max drank red wine with dinner. (I was having beer withdrawals.)
2) Max and Charlotte hadn’t been out to dinner together in months.
3) They were both workaholics.
4) Her hair looked stupid in a bun
5) She didn’t know where the flash drive was.
So much for using last night’s meal as my first round of investigation.
As far as I could tell, she knew nothing about a flash drive. She didn’t even seem to realize Max was having trouble at work (Trouble being his co-workers wanted to kill him).
Frankly, I was ready to write her off as no one useful at all, but something held me back from that.
Because amid all the useless information and boring dinner conversation, I picked up on something. Something that had me interested.
Charlotte was jumpy. The way her eyes would scan the restaurant, the street, the hallways in the apartment building… it told me that she was afraid of something.
But what?
I thought about coming right out and asking her, but I wasn’t sure if I should.
She kind of acted like she didn’t want me to see her fear.
Oh, Charlotte, what is going on in that pretty head of yours? My hand moved with the thought, gently brushing over her hair, my fingers tangling a little in the soft strands.
I froze.
I didn’t stroke women’s hair.
Ever.
The action must have seemed foreign to her as well because she woke immediately and, judging from the way her body tensed, our little sleeping position was not a regular kind of thing.
Was she frigid or something?
Wearing her hair in a tight bun at the base of her neck, a black suit, and pumps to dinner and a pajama set to bed… maybe she was lousy in bed. Maybe she was one of those women who hated sex. Maybe my brother had been miserable in this relationship and was looking for a way out.
An image of her red toenails flashed into my mind.
Frigid women didn’t pain their toes red.
Did they?
She tilted her head back, her cheek brushing over my pectoral muscle, causing my nipple to harden into a firm pebble. There was a little bit of surprise in her eyes. “Morning,” she said, her voice husky from sleep.
“Hey,” I murmured, my fingers spasming on her waist. She bit back a gasp.
It gave me an idea. A fun one.
I was going to find out if women with red-painted toes could be frigid or not.
I stroked the area of her waist that was bare, just below where her shirt had ridden up. Her skin was smooth and warm, soft to the touch, and I stroked it again. She watched me with a wide stare, not looking away, as I grew bolder, dipping my fingers downward, brushing over the hip bone that jutted out softly and down, caressing over the soft flesh of her belly and drawing a circle around her belly button.
I heard her swallow, a thick movement, along with a soft intake of breath.
I was affecting her.
Inching just a little farther south, I played with the waistband of her satin pants, slipping just beneath them, like I was thinking—like I was planning… on going lower.
I felt the beat of her heart against my side. It was racing, thumping heavily in her chest. Leaving my fingers just inside her pants, I glanced at her. I caught her hazel stare with mine and a small wave of tenderness filled me.
It was a feeling I wasn’t really used to and I shut my eyes against it. But even as they closed, I could still feel her. I could feel the satin of her skin, the pounding of her heart. Without thought, I leaned down, placing my lips against her hairline, breathing in that fresh and calming scent.
I allowed my mouth to linger, to graze her forehead as I pulled back. Her hand tightened on my waist and then began to move, sliding upward toward my chest and settling right above my heart. Her fingers twisted in the soft cotton of the shirt, and I swear it was like an open invitation to her waiting lips.
I RSVP’d to that invitation instantly.
Moving swiftly, I rolled over her, pinning her body into the mattress, and swooped down, claiming her mouth with mine.
An electric jolt of satisfaction cracked through me like a lightning bolt in a storm. I increased the pressure, pushing us together even closer, taking in the feel of that heart-shaped mouth, rubbing my lips over hers, creating a delicious friction between us.
She groaned lightly and I swept my tongue insider her mouth, slipping past her teeth and brushing against the roof of her mouth. The palm of her hand flattened against my shoulder, pulling me even closer.
I kissed her, our lips melding together, and I didn’t break contact—not even for a second. It was as if our lips were two magnets that couldn’t stand the pull another second.