“I compared myfavoritepink bits to lobster claws.” He grabbed for her hand and kissed the back of it.
Favorite. Again, that word. She didn’t know exactly what he meant by it, but it thrilled her to hear it on his lips.
“My girl’s all hard exoskeleton and pinchy parts,” he said smugly as he let her go and stretched out on the bed, his hands linked behind his head. God, he was hot. That long, lean body, that pretty face, that gorgeous cock.
Still, she couldn’t just let this new information go without a response. Turning her fingers into a claw shape, she pinched his side, then rolled off the bed when he yelped and grabbed for her.
“I’m gonna go prevent a UTI.” She jerked a thumb toward the bathroom, grabbed the robe that had gotten kicked to the foot of the bed, and skipped off. Once her bladder was empty and she was washing her hands, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was grinning. Glowing.
And she must’ve still been riding some kind of orgasm high because as she stood there, she eased the robe open and examined herself in the same mirror that had sent her spiraling earlier, trying to see what Leo saw. Her nipples were stiff and pink, her labia still swollen and flushed too. Not just from arousal either; she was pretty sure she had whisker burn from Leo’s weekend stubble.
She’d never felt sexier.
She grinned at her reflection as she belted the robe, shaking her fingers through the roots of her hair to fluff it up. There was no way she could look any more thoroughly fucked by the man she…
By the man she was feeling perfectly ordinary feelings for. Nothing unusual. Nothing scary or rushed. Nope, nothing to see here at all.
She swiftly retied the robe and pressed the backs of her hands against her cheeks, willing her flush to subside and her lips to lose the dopey grin. Leo was waiting for her on the other side of the door, and she had no idea whathewas thinking. So she tossed the door open with a flourish, determined to push that postsex rush of feelings aside.
“Care to tell me when you started hanging out at the Playboy Mansion?”
She struck a dramatic pose in his poison-apple-green robe, and he groaned.
“It was a gift.” He gestured helplessly at scorpions embroidered top to bottom on the satin. “Jessie thought it was hilarious a few Christmases ago.”
She did a little twirl, the ends of the robe fluttering around her calves. “It’s giving me ’70s rock star on quaaludes. It’s giving me Mrs. Havisham. It’s giving me—”
She cut off with a squeak when he rolled off the bed and grabbed her midtwirl, pulling her against his lovely bare chest. “It’s giving me ideas about untying that belt and pulling it off you.” He ended the threat with a nip to her ear.
She dropped her head against his shoulder. “I can’t wait to see it on you,” she said, teasing him.
“Take it off again and you can.”
She smirked. “Okay.” She loosened the belt and let it fall to the floor, but it would be a few more hours before either of them was in a position to put any clothes back on.
* * *
“So this iswhere you really live.”
“What do you mean?” Leo stacked his empty plate on top of hers and set them both on his nightstand, then brushed the sandwich crumbs from the sheets, tucked her under his arm, and snuggled them against the pillows.
“I mean that outside of this room, no part of this house feels like you,” she said. “But in here, I see you.”
She hadn’t noticed right away—she’d had lots of other things on her mind initially—but once she’d been able to take a breather and examine her surroundings, she’d discovered little bits of Leo everywhere.
“I hate to break it to you, but none of this furniture is mine.” He reached over his head to grip the massive wooden headboard behind them.
“Wait, this old-world walnut bedroom set isn’tyours?” She slapped her hands to her cheeks in faux chagrin. “My mistake.”
Since she was already sitting up, she slid off the mattress to do a circuit around the room. It was huge, like most primary suites in places like this tended to be, and the walls and floor were beige and brown.
“The rest of the house is this”—she flicked a finger at the elaborately carved footboard—“but this stands out.”
She stroked the edge of a colorful woven blanket that he was using as his comforter. If she had to guess, he’d bought it locally during his time at POR.
“These, of course.” She walked to the dresser, which held a handful of framed photos: Leo and his sisters. Leo and his parents. Leo midconversation with an indigenous family she assumed lived in one of the villages he’d worked with in Brazil. Leo grinning with a group of POR workers in front of a lush green jungle background.
On the opposite wall was a framed photo of a kind of squarish mountain. She’d never seen anything like it before, but she could guess who in this room had. “Yours?”
