The apex of her legs pulsed against his belly button, and he shivered. From desire or the cold of the water, he couldn’t say.
He clutched her tightly to him, kissing the top of her head. The clouds had faded from periwinkle, pink, and orange to dark purple and gray. Within ten minutes, it would be dark.
“We should go in,” he murmured against her ear. Her chin was nestled into his shoulder, resting in the hollow above his collarbone. She nodded gently, and he floated them backwards toward the shoreline, dragging their combined bodies against the tug of the current. When he got to where the water barely met his hips, he gently set her down and they walked to the sand holding hands. When they reached the shore, she pulled him back toward her, stood on tiptoe, and gave him a kiss that he felt all the way down to his toes.
Every part of him wanted to scoop and carry her up the rampto his deck, and then bring her straight to his four-poster bed. But he wanted to wine and dine her first, to make his intentions clear before making love to her. He couldn’t let her think that she was another notch in his bedpost.
Because for the first time in his life, he wanted so much more.
Chapter 22
Livvy ruffled a towel through her damp hair, trying to soak up the excess moisture. She looked at herself in the mirror of Flynn’s impeccably tiled bathroom. Her lips were cherry-red, bee-stung from his kisses, and they contrasted with the pale white of her skin, made even paler by the cold of the water. Her hair was a mess, a curly, black mop zigzagging about her head. The soft press she had so perfectly coiffed with Judy’s help had shrunk back to her natural springy curls.
She looked around the bathroom, but there wasn’t a hairbrush in sight. Just an enormous mermaid mosaic spanning the entire back wall of the shower, no doubt made from the same tile that decorated the rest of the house.
The mermaid was sitting on top of a rock, her back to the viewer, and Livvy marveled at how much longing she could see in merely the angle of the mermaid’s head. This entire house was a work of art curated meticulously by Flynn.
“Need any help up there?” Flynn called from downstairs.
“No, coming!” She gave herself one last glance in the mirror and sighed. Her hair was going to be messy, that was all there was to it. She double knotted the tie on the white terry-cloth robe Flynn had lent her. It was so oversized that it dragged along the floor, and she had to pull and drape it over her arm like a train.
She emerged to find Flynn waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing a pair of striped pajama pants, no shirt, and an apron. It made her giggle.
He took one look at her getup and swung himself into a deep bow. “My liege,” he said with mock seriousness.
She played along, lifting her chin high and descending the tiled steps slowly, holding on to the wrought-iron railing. She came to the bottom step, and he reached out and grabbed her, swirling her around before he set her down and proffered his arm. “My lady, your banquet awaits.”
He led her through the kitchen and back out to the deck that was now swathed in darkness. He’d lit the candle on the table, and the little flame flickered like a miniature lighthouse guiding them along the shore to their romantic rendezvous. He pulled out her chair and let her sit. Then, he poured her a glass of red wine before filling his. It was not, she noted, the one she had brought. The label was written entirely in French.
She took a sip, letting its rich, oaky flavor coat the inside of her mouth. It was heady and rich, with an aftertaste of something peppery. It was the best wine she’d ever tasted. “Flynn, this is…poetry in a bottle.”
“It’s a 1928 Châteaux Haut-Brion Bordeaux,” he announced as he took a seat across from her.
She almost spit back into her glass in shock. She didn’t know anything about wine, but she knew that name. And that anything under that label was expensive. She cringed. “Please don’t open my bottle of wine.”
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I feel like an idiot.”
He grabbed her hand and raised it to his mouth, grazing herknuckles with a kiss. “You were being thoughtful; that means more than an expensive bottle of wine ever could.”
She smiled and leaned back in her chair so she could take in the scene before her. She sipped another mouthful of wine, savoring the velvety sensation of it against the inside of her mouth. While she had been drying off, the sky had turned from a dusky purple to a deep royal blue, the stars just beginning to wink out. It was still quite warm, but a chill was in the air, and she drew the robe a bit tighter around her, curling her legs beneath her to sit cross-legged in the chair.
“God, how is that possible?” Flynn asked.
She cocked her head. “What?”
“That you look even more irresistible like that, sitting there with your feet tucked beneath you and your hair a mess.”
She self-consciously raised a hand to the mass of her black curls.
“Don’t you dare touch it. You should wear it like that more often. It’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever seen.”
She bit her lip, reaching for her fork, and took a bite while he watched her expectantly. “Good?”
Her eyes fluttered with pleasure. “Delicious.” Never had a plate of pasta tasted so wonderful. It was warm and rich in flavor, bursting with the acid rush of fresh tomatoes, delectable fresh herbs, and a curious blend of spices. She twisted her fork around a mound of spaghetti and shoved more into her mouth, hardly caring what she looked like.
Flynn chuckled. “You know, before tonight, I never knew you had such an enormous appetite.”
