He did this so he could claim a lock of hair and curl it around his finger.
At his touch, a slow, but strong tremor crept through my body and detonated in my hoo-ha.
Good God, we were in danger of having spontaneous sex on the patio of Binkley’s.
Maybe we shouldn’t have more special date nights.
“This isn’t working,” I declared.
Gabe’s eyes moved from my legs to mine.
Yep.
That lazy, heated possession was still there.
And yep.
I felt that in my hoo-ha too.
Gah!
“What’s not working?” his deep rumble rolled toward me, relaxed, content, and a repeat of the yep, hearing it, I wanted to pounce on him.
“I’m not sure we can get through this three-hour meal without having a quickie in the bathroom,” I said under my breath.
Slowly, a cocky, devilish smile curved his mouth.
I watched it, never having seen it before, instantly enamored with it, and snapped, “You’re not helping.”
“Sometimes, waiting is good,” he said.
“When?” I asked. “When, oh Sage One, is waiting ever good?”
“Christmas morning wouldn’t be Christmas morning if every morning was Christmas morning,” my wise, well-educated, possibly genius boyfriend replied. “It’s Christmas morning because you have to wait a whole year for it.”
“Well then,”—sadly but perhaps opportunely losing his fingers in my hair, I bent forward to grab my next work of art in order to consume it— “shall we see if that’s correct and wait a year to have sex again?”
“No,” he said, his voice vibrating with manly humor, possibly because he thought I was funny, possibly because he knew no way in hell could I wait a year to get his cock inside me again.
I sat back, popped the morsel in my mouth, allowed the tour de force of flavors to explode on my tongue while chewing, and I swallowed.
Then I decreed, “You need to be less hot.”
He chuckled richly (so, so loved that sound) and recaptured a lock of my hair.
“You’re not being less hot, Gabriel Stark,” I warned.
“Not sure I can dial that down, cupcake,” he returned. “Any more than you can dial down the gorgeous. You don’t hear me complaining about that dress and how you did your hair tonight.”
I didn’t miss his look of naked lust when I’d walked out of my bedroom earlier, all ready to go out on our special date.
It was a million times better than any whistle Kevin had given me.
I knew Kevin was into me. In his warped way, he maybe even loved me.
But let me tell you, the difference was significant, having a handsome, confident man take you in after you’d made an effort, and not say a word, but still communicate eloquently how much he appreciated it.
Inwardly preening at this memory, I took a sip of my cocktail and watched as my man’s gaze drifted to the fire in the outdoor fireplace.
