I wrapped the condom in a couple of Kleenex (Dotty didn’t need to be dealing with the sight of that) and put it in the trash. I washed up and took a wet washcloth and dry towel back to the bedroom with me.
“Hey,” Jane said as I sat down on my side of the bed. My side. Like we had “sides” already. Like I hadn’t been sprawled right in the center of this lush bed the nights I’d stayed here.
But yeah, I’d take a side for sure if it meant sharing my bed with Jane.
She had her back to me, lying on her side, the line of her curves playing like the most erotic roller coaster ever.
“Hey,” I said. I laid the warm, wet washcloth on her bared shoulder, and draped the towel over her hip, on top of the sheet.
She reached up and pulled the washcloth in front of her. “Thanks,” she said, and the hand and the cloth disappeared under the sheet.
God, I wanted to be the one to push that warm heat against her tender flesh. But I let her do it. Losing your virginity against a wall in a bout of emotional—okay, angry—sex might have been more than any girl could handle in one day without the guy pawing at her afterward because he just couldn’t get enough of her.
But again, this wasn’t any girl. And my guess was that Jane could handle just about anything.
“Why’d you pick out a Corvette?” she asked. She put the used washcloth on the floor on the other side of the bed. The towel was next to disappear under the sheet. The movements she made drove me crazy with want, and I slipped under the sheet and pulled the duvet (or whatever Dotty had called it) up to cover my newly burgeoning woody.
It didn’t work; Jane’s eye went right to it when she rolled over onto her back and looked over at me. A brow quirked, but she didn’t remark on it. Just repeated her question, which I’d been too horned up about the thought of her under that sheet to answer. “Why’d you pick out a Corvette?”
“What do you mean?”
“You picked it out, right?”
I tried to remember what I’d said that first day, and if I was giving anything away by telling her how it had gone down.
“It’s okay. I know you would have done it. Grayson wouldn’t want to be bothered with choosing a model—beyond saying it had to be American-made. And my father… My father just wouldn’t have given a shit.”
Yep, that was pretty much exactly how it had gone down.
“You picked it out, right?”
“Yes,” I said. I reached out and laid a hand on her hip. The towel was underneath her mostly, but part of it was lying over her hip, and a bit of her stomach.
Caro had nothing but the best of everything—including in her little-used guesthouse—and the towels were big, fluffy and soft, but they felt like burlap next to Jane’s smooth skin.
I rolled onto my side to face her, keeping my hand gently on her, as if I didn’t want to scare her off.
She stayed where she was, on her back, looking up at the ceiling. I’d left the light on in the bathroom and the door about halfway open. The beam of light cut across our bodies around waist level. I raised the duvet up higher on her side, letting it rest just under her breasts.
Those babies should never—ever—be covered up at all, but I could deal with the sheet. When she’d breathe, the sheet would rise and fall on those sweet tits with just a hint of her nipples jutting against the white, crazy-high-thread-count cotton.
Nothing had ever tasted sweeter than having them in my mouth.
“Stop staring at my boobs and answer the question,” she said, though her eyes were closed.
I smiled, maybe because she couldn’t see it. “You’re a Corvette, Jane, all the way.”
She stilled for just a second before a grin crossed her face. “You mean because I’ve got great curves and am fast?”
“No, though you’ve got great curves.” I moved closer, and my hand edged up her body, off the towel completely (thank God) and over those great curves. I cupped one of her tits in my hand and flicked my thumb across the nipple, it already pebbling and hardening at my touch.
“And I’d hardly say fast. It’s been eight weeks. Twelve since Betsy’s wedding.”
She didn’t ask eight weeks since what. She knew it was that day with Yvette. The day she’d sat in front of this huge place and told me about coming there as a kid with her mother.
The day she’d pissed me off and I’d kissed her senseless.
Well, that actually could have been any day in the past eight weeks.
