He couldn’t get enough of her. The more he kissed her, the more he needed to kiss her. Her breathing had quickened, her whisper-soft moans had turned ardent.
The elevator stopped on the tenth floor, the door opening directly into his condo.
He gentled the kiss, finishing with a soft one on her mouth, then her forehead. “Lemme give you a tour.”
“Those are some dangerous words,” she whispered as he brought her into his home.
He didn’t need to bring her there, definitely didn’t need to make her breakfast, but here they were. For someone who’d been ultra-cautious for an entire year, he was hitting the gas pretty damn hard.
She eyed his Fender Stratocaster and Gibson Les Paul electric guitars hanging on the living room wall and his Guild and Takamine acoustics resting in their stands near his oversized chair.
“Beautiful collection,” she said. “Do you play?”
“When I have time,” he replied.
She walked to the windows, stared out at the river and the marina with its many yachts secured in their slips. Then, she eyed the Arlington high-rises in the distance. “I thought Addison and Hawk had a good view, but this is perfect.”
“I’m the one with the perfect view.”
She turned to face him. He stood in the middle of his spacious living room, soaking up the beautiful woman in his home.
Guilt slinked around his heart. He hadn’t allowed himself to be happy… for a while now.
Pushing out that thought, he extended his hand. “Did you pack comfortable clothes or do you want to wear mine?”
She clasped his hand, the zing traveling up his arm. “I brought a change.”
He flashed her a smile. “Look who planned ahead.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips, but she said nothing.
He led her down the hall.
“This is my office,” he said as she peered into the room. She glanced into the bathroom across the hall before they continued on. “Guest bedroom with en suite bath.” He brought her into his bedroom. “Mine.”
“Your home is beautiful,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re here, Brit,” he said. “Ladies choice. Breakfast here or at my hotel?”
She glanced around. “Here.”
“How ‘bout some eggs?”
“Love eggs.”
“Scrambled with mushrooms, onions, and peppers?”
“That sounds great.” She kissed his cheek, then tugged on a chunk of his hair. “I’ll be out in a few to help you.”
She took her backpack off his shoulder, exited his bedroom and, with a saunter that sent his pulse pumping, she walked into his guest bedroom and shut the door.
In the kitchen, he made a pot of coffee, pulled out the carton of orange juice, along with the food. He pulled up his playlists, tapped country rock, and started chopping vegetables.
Ten minutes later, she sauntered into the room, her long hair framing her face. Another hit of adrenaline charged through him. She’d dressed in a cropped sweater and tight black jeans, and he paused to check her out.
“Lookin’ hot, mama,” he said.
She sidled close.
