Sullivan grinned. “Okay. You got me.”
Ramsey looked over at him. His easy grin raised her own smile and she tugged at the shoulder harness so she could turn a few degrees sideways and study his profile. He had a clearly defined jawline and an aquiline nose that she had a hard time not tracing with her fingertip.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re not going to jump my bones while I’m driving, are you?”
“No.” A husky laugh tickled the back of Ramsey’s throat when he made a noise that sounded like disappointment. His right hand was resting on the gear shift. She brushed the back of it with her thumb before she laid her hand over his. “I’m going to wait until you invite me inside. We might make it to your bedroom, but I’m not promising.”
19
It was onlytheir clothes that didn’t make it to the bedroom. With their mouths fused, he pressed her back against the door and she had to do a little shimmy so he could lift her shirt. Her hands slid over his shoulders and down his arms. She grabbed a fistful of his T-shirt when his mouth left hers and went for her neck. She turned her head so her lips brushed his hair. Her nostrils flared when she breathed in his scent. No fancy products. Just him.
Ramsey loosened her fist and smoothed the tee over his chest before she used both hands to tug on his shirt and pull it up. Not wasting the moment when they had to separate, Sullivan did the same to her. She tossed his shirt left. He threw right.
“You’re a furnace,” she whispered, running her palms over his chest.
“Blast furnace,” he said. He caught her wrists, drew them down to his belt.
She obliged him by slipping the tongue free of the buckle and then unsnapping his jeans. Her fingers slid under the denim and traced the waistband until they met at the small of his back. She clasped her hands there, keeping him close, keeping him prisoner, while he played mouth marauder.
He nibbled her lips, her earlobe, tugged with his teeth, with the suck of his mouth. His tongue did magic things, wonderful things, sliding over and around hers, tangling and teasing and tying her into knots. He managed to toe out of his Nikes without breaking stride but she had to come up for air when he began to lower her shorts.
“Shoes.” She wanted to believe she gasped the word, maybe even that it had a sexy overlay, but she knew better. Her voice was a croak. A desperate croak.
Sullivan lifted his head. “Huh? Did you just say no?”
“Shoes,” she croaked again. “I’m wearing sandals I want off my feet. How did you hear no?”
“Must be the brain injury.” He stepped back. “Give me a foot.”
With her back still against the door for balance, she raised a leg. He palmed one wedge heel and tugged on the strappy leather ties. “Hey! Easy.” She grabbed the doorknob to steady herself.
“Sorry.” Sullivan tossed the sandal over his shoulder. “Other foot. I’ll be more careful.” He was. When the sandal landed behind him, he stepped back into her space. “Where were we?”
“You were trying to get me out of my cargos.”
“Right.”
“And your tongue…”
He waited. “What about my tongue?”
“It was making me crazy.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded, stared into his smoky eyes, and whispered, “Yeah.”
He smiled. “All right, then.”
Sullivan’s home was a renovated split-level ranch with the master and guest bedrooms four steps up, a large rec room and adjacent basement storage four steps down, and an open floor plan on the ground level that flowed seamlessly between the living room, dining room, and kitchen. Ramsey didn’t exactly get a tour, but he did provide disjointed commentary about the lay of the land as they were moving inexorably closer to the bedroom.
Her cargo shorts were draped on the railing. His jeans were lying in a bunch at the foot of the stairs. She didn’t know where he’d flung his socks, but if they were expensive, maybe he had folded and tucked them away while she was in a sex-starved delirium.
God, she thought. Please let him slide into home.
