“Hey there, partner of mine. How you doing?” Nico’s accent was extra thick, a liquid amber heated gaze directed Gigi’s way.
Bugger. Her faux boyfriend had been hit by the love bug and was a closet Friends fan, who knew. And now was fluttering long thick eyelashes her way and gifting her a sultry look that definitely belonged on the cover of one of her Great-Great-Aunt’s erotic novels. And the spike of heat arrowing down herspine was nothing but a perfectly normal human reaction, as she wasn’t fooled that he actually meant that look.
A look that even now was heating up, how was that possible? Stepping to the side smartly as Nico reached for her. Good Goddess, he was Casanova in truth, making a soothing sexy sound to gentle her as once more he tried to reach for her. She was going to need two hands to fend him off, setting Canary down and backing away, grabbing a discarded mannequin’s arm, holding it up to keep Nico at, hah, arm’s length.
He continued to stalk her, lips twisted upwards in a sexy come hither smile, amber eyes pools of inviting liquid and now, he was unbuttoning his shirt. Seriously, could this day get any worse?
Her gaze flicking over to Canary, who was sniffing at something on the ground. No, not something, a pile of cherub excrement, the bright blob glittering still, casting off shimmering little lights. “Canary. Come here. Don’t touch it. Oh, Heavens, don’t eat that!”
Within two seconds Canary’s entire frame, from the tip of his nose to his tail glowed what could only be described as red hot crimson, pulsing twice, his little eyes bulging suddenly, right before he exploded in a puff of crimson dust.
Well, damn, of course things could always get worse.
Chapter Eleven
By Saint Medard, the Patron Saint of Storms at Sea, Nico was boiling hot. He had to get out of these clothes, and then divest sweet Gigi or hers. The two of them would make a nest out of all the torn silks and satins shed by the weird mannequins and they would make love for hours, days.
Love?
He didn’t do love, did he? Except this was the one and only gorgeous Gigi DeWitt he was talking about here. He needed to get closer to her, touch that velvety soft skin, uncover those lithe curves, worship every square inch of her.
Oh, finally, his shirt was off, except that in no way helped. He felt like he was on fire. Needing more clothes off, boots next. Glancing down at his left boot, something about that, something he needed to remember. Yet he couldn’t grab hold of it. Gigi’s scent tantalising his senses, sending his already supernova ready cock up another level, almost bordering on painful.
Get naked. Get Gigi naked.
Priorities man.
Toeing off one boot, even as he tried to unbutton his trousers. Grrr, somehow the button almost seemed like it had melted. Bloody Hell. Struggling with it, trying and failing to tear it open, even with his super strength.
All the while Nico was aware of the ache in his jaw. His teeth clamped as tightly together as he could manage, nothing was getting out of there, not one single word. But why was he doing that? He didn’t like the ache. And he had so much to say to Gigi.
He should be seducing her with his words first, then maybe she might help him with his trousers. Yeah, words. No. Yes, he needed to tell Gigi how her breasts reminded him of perfect dewkissed melons harvested from the southern fields of Carborca. Ripe and ready to be plucked and tasted.
No. No!
Another uncomfortable jab speared Nico’s gut. For a moment his head cleared. Do not talk about Gigi’s breasts.
A wave of heat slamming through him. Of course not, he should start with her eyes. Tell her how they reminded him of the dark purple shimmering night skies above the sand dunes of Egypt during a full moon. Mysterious. Captivating. Hypnotic.
Yes.
No!
His teeth were unclenching. Words bubbling up from the deepest secret part of Nico. No. He was stronger than this. Nico refused to be a moon-sick calf. Except the words were coming, Saints help him. “I find your work ethic really commendable.”
“Pardon?”
He’d surprised her with that one. Women liked surprises, didn’t they?
“And the success of your Emporium. It’s really admirable, given that over sixty-one percent of first time food industry establishments fail within the first three years.”
Gigi felt like she’d just been slapped. Where was the fawning? The Pepe le Pew seduction routine? Nico had just been struck by cupid’s arrow, he should be tearing his clothes off and making wild lust based declarations and promises.
Well, she’d put a stop to the tearing off of clothes. So that was on her. He’d divested himself of his shirt too quickly, but she’d had a moment to remove several elements from the buttons of his trousers, and magically wielded the button fly closed. Problem was, a barefoot, bare chested Nico was still a lot to deal with.
He had really nice arms. And those defined abdominal muscles of his were entirely too lickable. Hah, exactly who was the one who’d taken a hit from cupid’s arrow?
It would be wrong to take advantage of Nico in his current state. Didn’t mean she couldn’t look and marvel at the results of good genetics and the hours Nico spent running and swimming.
