I wasn’t joking when I told Presley forgetting him would be near impossible. Every hookup paled in comparison, every kiss became forgettable. Something about Presley had me twisted up in knots, acting the fool, and I didn’t even mind.
“Come on.” I gave him a swift kiss and pulled him by the hand. “Let’s go to the kitchen and get reinforcements.”
He wrinkled up his nose. “Reinforcements?”
I couldn’t resist another kiss. “You’ll see.” The kitchen was, like in most brownstones, down a flight of stairs. My mother had it redone in whites and grays and pale yellows. I barely used it except for the wine fridge, which was where I headed first. I took out a bottle ofVeuve Clicquotchampagne and snagged two flutes from the countertop. “There’s cheese and fruit in the refrigerator and crackers on the counter. Take what you want.” The champagne would be a good starter. I already kept brandy on my nightstand.
Presley rummaged inside while I admired the curve of his fine ass. When he finished, he had a bag of grapes, a wedge of Brie and one of Tillamook Cheddar, and some plum jam on a plate. He stuck a box of water crackers under one arm.
“Knife? Plates?”
“There and there.” I pointed with the bottle.
Fully armed with everything we needed, I waved him over. “All right. Shall we?”
He stood in the center of the kitchen. “We don’t have to rush this, right?” A hint of vulnerability came through, and I wondered who’d hurt him so badly and why that made me so angry.
“Would you like to see the rest of the house? We can have a fire and sit in the living room.”
“Yes. I’d love that.” The relief was evident, and it made me even more determined to prove to Presley I wanted him for more than his beautiful body and luscious mouth.
“Follow me.”
I led him up a different set of stairs to the back of the house, listening to his excited exclamations over the hand-carved banisters, inlaid wooden floors, and original crown moldings. Amused, I stopped in front of a set of open French doors.
“In here.”
The twenty-foot living room boasted twelve-foot ceilings and a fireplace with a white-marble mantel imported from Italy. Next to the kitchen, this was where I felt most comfortable, so I’d shut off most of the other rooms in the house. Presley would probably be horrified that the majority of the antiques my parents owned were hidden away.
Walking around the room, his eyes bright and alive, he looked like a kid in a candy store. He set the food, plates, and cheese knife down. “This…this is stunning. That’s a Chagall, isn’t it? And those candlesticks on the mantelpiece look eighteenth century.” With reverence, he put forward a fingertip, then pulled away. “I’m sorry. May I touch it?”
I put the champagne and glasses on the marble coffee table and joined him across the room. “You can touch anything you want.” I took him in my arms. “Especially me.”
A quick upward slant and his eyes met mine, his lips curving into a smile. “That was clever.”
“I’ve been known to be. Occasionally.” I buried my face in his hair, inhaling his warmth and spicy aftershave. “Have I mentioned how much you turn me on?” I put my arms around him, and when he sighed, I slid my hands under his sweat shirt to rub his back.
Presley rolled his shoulders. “That feels good.”
“I like making you feel good.” I kissed the top of his silky head. “Let’s sit down and have a drink.”
Hand in hand, we walked to the sofa, and while he cut the cheese and set out the crackers, I popped the cork on the champagne bottle and poured us two glasses. I needed to keep my distance now, or else I’d become lost in my fantasy of grabbing Presley and kissing him until we were both senseless.
So I drank and made small talk but had no idea what either of us said. The only thing I paid attention to was the movement of Presley’s mouth and how his tongue swept over his lips to catch any stray crumbs. I wanted that tongue. Overheated, I gulped down my glass and reached for the bottle to pour another and drank that down straight as well.
“Nate.”
My gaze met his, and I blinked.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying, have you?”
A sheepish grin tilted my lips. “Uh, not really.”
“What’s on your mind?”
The direct approach had yet to fail me. “You. Sitting there looking so fucking hot.” I stood and swayed a moment before I moved to Presley’s side. I took his hand and tugged him up to standing. Again, I caught myself falling into his dark eyes, and threaded my fingers through the silky strands of his hair until my hand cupped the back of his head. “Come upstairs with me.”
Leaving the champagne and food on the table, we walked up the wide curving staircase, our fingers laced tightly together. It was as though we both needed to hold on for support. My feet moved as if on air and in slow motion, yet when we entered the bedroom, any hesitancy left me, and a sense of power and urgency flowed through my blood.
