Rou, Creed’s black lab, scampered over and dropped her bottom down, her little pink tongue stuck out in anticipation, and her tail swished over the hardwood floor with a pretty-please tilt of her head.
“I know, Rourou, it’s time for your run.”
“She’s okay for the time being,” Creed called from the canopy bed.
At that moment, Creed looked ridiculously like the cover of a historical romance novel. With his hands laced behind his head and his toned chest muscles on full display, the sheets draped around his hips, his goody trail pointing its way to the treasure below.
The delicate femininity of rose-covered fabrics pieced together into a wedding-knot quilt juxtaposed with Creed’s lascivious grin and the crook of his finger; yes, Auralia could see doing a little role-playing in a setting like this. The Duke of New Orleans ravishing the ingénue might be fun.
His grin widened. “Whatever it was you were just thinking about, the answer is yes.”
“What if I were to tell you that you reminded me of the story of Little Red Riding Hood?”
He quirked a brow.
“The quilt across your lap, the lace canopy overhead. The wolfish grin.”
“And in this case, you would be coming with your goodies to see me?”
Auralia struck a sexy pose.
“Come here, Little Red Riding Hood,” He leaned forward and snatched her wrist, “so I can eat you.”
Auralia laughed as she let him gently tug her onto the bed. She crawled forward and knelt across his lap.
For them, it was feast and famine. Not by design, just the way things shook out.
Sadly, this last visit was coming to an end; she had to book her flight to Ukraine before she got her fill. Was it possible to get her fill? Probably not.
With a hand resting on his pec, Auralia bent for a kiss, “I like it when I’m dessert.”
Creed chuckled as he dropped his hands to her hips, curling them into her flesh as he dragged her forward, tucking her against him so his hard-on was in the perfect place.
“We need to talk,” Auralia said as her blood thrummed.
“Listening.” Creed leaned forward and traced soft kisses up her clavicle until Auralia pushed him back.
“Seriously. Talk.”
Creed sat up, and the heat in his eyes cooled. “End of the line?”
“You’re heading out with Strike Force today. You’ll be there, working. I’ll be there, working.”
Rou, not to be left out of the plans, dashed over to the bed and jumped up to be with them.
“Rourou’s going to be there.”
Creed’s gaze searched around the room with a bemused smile, tweaking the corners of his mouth.
Victorian wasn’t their style. With few choices, she took what was available. And that shouldn’t be meaningful, but somehow it was. She wanted to be completely authentic in this conversation, and yet, it felt like a movie scene, like play-acting.
This was just too darned important for anything but candor.
“Gator is Bayou blessed. Part of me thinks he already knows about us. But when we’re in the same general space, his sixth sense is going to light up like the fireflies at dusk. If we don’t tell him first—well, it’s just a complexity that I don’t want in my life.”
“We agreed,” Creed said.
“Look, if I had my druthers of falling in love with a stranger or my brother’s childhood bestie, I’d take the stranger every time. You know this. You also know I’ve always enjoyed being around you. I have always thought you were a good person. And you have never let me down. And that was all good enough. If only you hadn’t asked me for that dance at Gator’s wedding. I’m blaming you for this turn of events and all the complications that come with it.”
