“What are you thinking about?” He reached for the butter and spread his toast with it.
“Nothing.”
He looked at her for a few seconds. Really looked, but didn’t say anything. She suspected he’d also returned to their night together. Whether it had been as transcendental for him as it had been for her was another story. Doubtful. She was pretty sure he’d been with a lot of women, more than she wanted to think about. She’d merely been another notch in his belt, so to speak.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said when the quiet grew awkward, unable to remember whether she’d properly expressed her gratitude.
“Not a problem.” He took his plate to the sink, poured himself a second cup of coffee, leaned against the counter, and sipped.
She rose from her stool. “I’ll just clean up real fast and we can go.”
He let his gaze drift down her body until it rested on her cowboy boots.
She looked down at herself, still in her pajamas. “Yeah, I guess I better shower and change first.”
“I’ll do the dishes. You go get ready.”
But as she started to leave, he followed her into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and pried off her right boot.
“Remind me to get you a bootjack.” He lifted her left foot and finished the job, leaving her barefoot.
She’d put the boots on so fast when she’d spotted the photographer outside her window that she’d forgotten socks. He played with her foot, running his fingers over her red toenail polish. Then he reached for her arms and tugged her up from the bed. In a flash, his mouth covered hers.
“We’re not doing this again,” he said against her lips.
“Okay.” But it seemed to her that they were.
“Last night was a mistake.”
If he hadn’t snaked his tongue into her mouth right after he’d said it, she would’ve been offended.
“We can’t let it happen again,” he said as he reached under her T-shirt and unhooked her bra.
“Why not?” she whispered, though she could think of a dozen reasons off the top of her head, starting with the fact that sleeping with her crisis manager’s son, while breaking up the marriage of her former colleagues, was probably in poor taste.
“Colossally bad idea.” He slipped her bra off, leaving her in nothing but her sleep shorts.
“Agreed,” she said, and began undoing his belt.
She was taking too long because he shooed her hand away and undid the buckle and the buttons on his fly by himself. He didn’t even wait to get his pants all the way down, just tugged her shorts off, pushed her against the dresser, spread her legs wide, and entered her from behind.
She let out a sort of scream-moan and he froze.
“Ah, jeez, did I hurt you?” He started to pull out.
“No, no.” She pushed her bottom against him in a wanton plea for more.
He moved inside her. Slow at first, which drove Gina crazy. It was good—wonderful—but not enough. The need inside her had grown to fever pitch. She ground her butt against him in a not-so-subtle message to pick up the pace.
Sawyer moved her to the bed, bent her over the footboard, and took her harder. Deeper. Faster. It was the most adventurous she’d ever been with a man, but Sawyer made her feel safe. And uninhibited. Sexy.
Despite the way she’d been branded on television—the chef with theabbondanzacleavage who made tasting her own dishes look like oral sex—she’d never felt particularly sensual.
Not until Sawyer.
He reached around and worked her with his fingers. With the other hand, he fondled her breasts while continuing to thrust inside her. He did it over and over again until a multitude of sensations washed through her like a tidal wave, making her body shudder and clench with exquisite pleasure.
A few more strokes and she felt a subtle change in Sawyer’s body. He jerked, threw his head back, and shouted out her name.
