At least she had been smart enough to draw the line at Jon-Michael's invitation to occupy his bed. Not that he had suggested she sleep in it with him, but he had tried to insist she take it. He must think she had STUPID tattooed on her forehead in an ornate red-ink font. As if she would get any sleep wrapped in sheets that smelled of him.
She had slept on the couch.
Yes, sir, some of that anger would come in handy right now. She stood in nothing but a pair of panties and one of his T-shirts that she’d been forced to borrow, with Jon-Michael naked except for a pair of raggedy-ass jeans he had not even bothered to zip up. Unfortunately, anger was not in her morning makeup. Instead, she was one of those intelligence-impaired individuals who generally woke up sort of vague and happy. She yawned, still sleepy. It was simply too much effort to pretend belligerence. "Keep your distance," she said without a hint of teeth to what should have been a stern warning.
"You're the boss." Jon-Michael stepped back and dropped onto one of the kitchen stools behind him. Hooking one elbow around the chair’s clean-edged Craftsman-style back, he stretched out his legs and studied her affable expression.
He was bemused by her lack of ire. Her usual tendency was to fight him tooth and nail.
Then he shrugged it off and allowed his gaze one quick trip across her topography. It was far from pinup lush, but it sure got the job done for him. "How did you sleep?"
"Fine."
"Good. I've always found that couch sort of short."
"You’re six feet tall, Jon-Michael. I am five-six." She yawned again. "I had plenty of room."
"I suppose." He watched the slow, lazy blink of her heavy-lidded eyes, took in the flush across her cheekbones, the dark hair crazy-curling around her face, and had to clear his throat. "So. Uh, how about some breakfast?"
"'Kay," she agreed amiably and turned to the refrigerator. She opened the door, bent to look inside, and then pulled out a carton of eggs and a quart of milk. "Scrambled okay?"
Jon-Michael laughed and climbed off his stool to remove the items from her hands. He set them on the counter behind her. "No, I meant how would you like me to make breakfast."
"Oh." She gave him a sleepy, dulcet smile. "That's even better."
"Ah, man," he murmured. “You’re killing me, here.” Wrapping his hands around her hips, he lifted her onto the counter next to the breakfast ingredients. He stroked his fingers down her legs, spread her knees and stepped between them, stroking his hands up and down her thighs. "Are you always this sweet in the morning?"
She blinked at him. Hitched a shoulder. "Beats me. I wake up pretty happy."
"It is nice. Killer nice." He brought his hands up to cup her face, then leaned forward and kissed her. Gently. Sweetly.
She made a humming sound low in her throat and draped her arms over his shoulders. Her lips were soft beneath his and appreciation rumbled in Jon-Michael's throat. He opened his mouth a little over hers, but strove to keep the kiss light and friendly.
Then Hayley slid the tip of her tongue into his mouth, shooting his intentions all to hell.
Groaning, he plunged his hands into her hair, wrapping fistfuls of the bobbing curls around his knuckles and pulling her head back until her throat arched. Rocking his mouth more firmly over hers, his kiss lost all semblance of its sweet intent and became hard, demanding. And still she made that little humming noise as her lips clung faithfully to his.
What might have been minutes or his entire lifetime later, he pulled back. Staring down at Hayley’s kiss-reddened, swollen lips, he could not smooth out his ragged breaths as he took in that offered mouth, those closed eyes and flushed cheeks.
Sweet squalling Baby Jesus, the things she made him feel! He wanted to dominate her and use her hard; he wanted to worship her tenderly from the top of her head right down to her toes. With the tip of his tongue he toyed with her mouth, probing at the soft lining of her lips and watching as they opened yet wider to accept a deeper penetration. He obliged her with one slow, gliding plunge, but when she wrapped her lips around his tongue and sucked, he damn near lost it.
He pulled back and bent his head to kiss the baby-soft skin beneath the point of her chin. It felt so amazing he got hung up stringing a line of kisses long on heated suction down the length of her throat.
Loosening his unyielding grip in her hair allowed her to lift her head until it was once more upright. He untangled his fingers from curls he swore fought to maintain possession of them. Once free, he smoothed his hands over her shoulders and down the long line of her back. At her waist he gathered the loose folds of his T-shirt and tugged until the pert outline of her breasts was clearly revealed. Lowering his head, he opened his mouth over her right nipple.
"Oh!" Hayley did not hesitate to thrust her breasts forward and her head promptly dropped back once more. He alternated between sucking on and catching the sharp little point between his teeth and tugging at it. She made helpless sounds of arousal and clamped her thighs around his hips. As the cloth over her right breast grew wet her fingers speared through his hair to hold him in place.
By the time he lifted his head, her hips had instigated a slow bump and grind against the countertop. Staring at the impudent thrust of her nipple beneath the soaked cloth, he reached out and pinched its unattended mate. Squeezing and gently finessing, he raised his gaze to look into her eyes. "I want to see you naked. Now."
Luckily she seemed to have forgotten her vow he would never see her breasts again, for she actually obeyed his command and peeled the T-shirt off over her head. It fluttered to the floor and she scooped her hands beneath her breasts, pressing them up in offering. "Oh, gawd, Johnny," she said hoarsely. "Please."
A short, succinct curse escaped him and his hands clenched her hips as he lowered his head and wrapped his lips around the sweet protuberance of her left nipple. Pressing it to the roof of his mouth with his tongue, he drew on her strongly.
A keening sound purled out of Hayley's throat and he switched to her other breast, giving it equal attention. His hands slid over her hips to stroke her inner thighs. He smiled to himself when her legs spread wider with each successive brush of his fingers. She was so responsive. So, damn—his fingers brushed the damp satin between her thighs—hot.
With an inarticulate sound of encouragement, she raised her hips, pushing into his touch.
He pulled his hands away and went back to smoothing them down her thighs. Needing to kiss her again, he raised his mouth from her breast. Before he could reach his objective, however, Hayley pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the damp contour of his neck and flattened her palms down his back.
Shuddering, he leaned into her touch. Even as he tilted his jaw first one way then the other in order to offer her the greatest access to his throat, he worked her panties down her hips with deft hands. Love you. The words drifted like smoke through his brain, but this time he was smart enough not to say them aloud.
Hayley’s hands moved around to his chest. She stroked it, tunneled her fingers through its light fan of hair and tugged. Then she rubbed her hands down his abs. Leaning forward, she kissed his mouth as she her fingers slipped from one ridge to the next in a downward trajectory. A moment later her hand delved into the open fly of his cutoffs.