Her heart seized a little, and she followed his gaze out the window. “That doesn’t mean much. It’s been going off and on for the past couple of days.”
“True.”
For a guy whose return to his normal life depended on the weather, Alex didn’t sound like he cared much. In fact, she’d lost some of her urgency as well. Instead of checking the phone compulsively, she had just picked it up this morning once. She noted with some surprise that it was already Friday. How could he have fallen on her doorstep only five days ago?
Alex shifted her a bit so he could pick up the chipped mug on the small table next to the chair. He drank deeply and smacked his lips. “How come your hot chocolate tastes so good?”
“Told you, it’s a secret ingredient.”
“Whiskey?”
“Kind of. A shot of Bailey’s and crème de menthe.”
He gave a rumble of appreciation. “Here, last sip. You drink it.”
“You can have it.”
“No, it’s so good. You barely had any.”
She drank when he tipped the mug to her mouth, warmed by the drink and the simple gesture. She had the feeling that he would have drank a vat of the hot cocoa if she had it, but instead he made sure she enjoyed the last lingering taste.
When every drop was drained, he placed the mug back on the table and kissed her gently, sharing the hint of chocolate and mint. Languor stole through her body. When their lips separated, she leaned against his chest, the book forgotten in her hands.
“You’re a con artist. That’s why you hate cops.”
She smiled, used to his teasing and so relaxed she couldn’t do anything but tease back. “Yes. I defrauded people of their millions and retired to a snowy cabin. Mexico is so passé.”
“You’re smart. You know no one will ever find you here.” He shifted her hair aside, left down at his request, pressing butterfly kisses against her neck.
“Alex,” she said, only half-protesting. “I have chores to do.”
“So pretend I’m a chore.” He massaged her belly. In an instant, her baseline of relaxed arousal flared into full-blown, gimme-gimme-want-it-bad lust. “I’m kind of getting a bit of a complex, babe.”
She hated being called a babe.Got that, vagina? It’s not a turn-on.“About what?”
“You’ve been in the driver’s seat when it comes to sex with us. I just want it clear, it’s not always going to be like that.”
“You make it sound like I dress up in black leather and carry a whip.” At his silence, she twisted around. “Um, does that turn you on?”
“Of course not.”
“Ooooh, yes it does,” she teased, and nuzzled his neck. “That sounds like a fun fantasy. Maybe we can try that one out?”
He tilted his head farther back in silent acquiescence. Genevieve nibbled her way up to his jaw line, loving the way he smelled like her homemade soap and tasted so earthy, like a man. Mostly loving his shortened breath when he spoke.
“You in leather sounds awesome. You kind of have that Xena thing going on. Have you ever had a lesbian experience?”
Genevieve shook her head. Sometimes following his train of thought took some doing. “What?”
“You know, everyone thinks Xena and Gabrielle got it on. Not that I’m into girl on girl.” He paused. “Much. Not obsessively at least.”
“I have not had a girl-on-girl experience.”
She kissed him and managed to shut him up for a second. When she came up for air, though, he spoke. “Would you want…?”
“I don’t know how this went from me being a dominatrix to a lesbian fetish.”
“It’s not a fetish. I don’t mind you being the bad dominatrix who I get to punish.” He waggled his eyebrows.
