Page 85 of His Girl Hollywood

Irritated, she shoved him off of her, pushing herself up on her elbows. “I spend the entire night hoping nobody figures out that I’m not wearing any underwear, and this is what you’re thinking about before we make love.”

Her nipples perked up, her irritation flushing her skin a delectable pink color. He made a mental note to peeve her more often. She was irresistible when she was annoyed. “Well,” he drawled, pressing a kiss to the peak of her left breast. “Maybe it can wait until morning.”

“I would hope so,” she muttered.

“But I need to ask him for six weeks’ leave for us both. I plan on taking a very,verylong honeymoon.”

He rested his chin in the space between her breasts and met hergaze. Her mouth was twisted in a scowl, but he could tell she was trying hard not to smile. She pulled the pillow from beneath her head and whacked him with it. “Why, you, you, you—”

“Consummate lover? Adonis? Perfection in the male form?” he called out, his voice muffled beneath the pillow.

He peered out from beneath the pillow to catch her rolling her eyes before she broke into a laugh. “I was going to say incorrigible tease.”

He blew a stream of air from his mouth, trying to move a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes when the pillow hit his face. “All right, fine then, don’t ask me where I plan to take you.”

He rolled off of her and flopped onto his back, staying still and waiting her out. Finally, her curiosity won out, as he’d known it would, and her fingers stroked at his shoulder. “Where are you planning to take me?”

“Well…” He rolled onto his stomach and looked at her. Her beauty took his breath away, but he couldn’t resist teasing her again. “I don’t think we need to leave this room, do you?” He raised his eyebrows and waggled them, eliciting a deep-throated laugh from her that shot straight to his cock.

One thing he’d always loved about her, before he’d actually known that helovedher, was her ability to go toe-to-toe with him. She was his equal in every way. No, she exceeded him. And it was the most attractive thing he could imagine. She raised her eyebrows in the mirror of his own face, assuming an air of skepticism. “Prove it,” she challenged him.

And he did. The rest of that night, and every night thereafter. He proved the only thing he’d ever actually needed to prove—that he loved Arlene Morgan, cherished her really, and he would do everything in his power to remind her of that fact on a daily basis. As she, in turn, reminded him.