“Come here,” he orders, and while I am not a person to take orders, there is something about being told what to do by this man in this situation that is ever so enticing.
I close the two steps between us and he doesn’t make me wait for my reward. His hands are back on my hips and his eyes meet mine. “You really are beautiful, Aria.” His lips touch my belly, that simple touch darting sensations through my entire body, forcing my lashes to lower. My throat is dry, my nipples tingling. Every part of me is alive because of this man. I am not sure I have ever been this alive.
Suddenly, I’m on the bed, on my back, and he’s tugging his shirt over his head. My fantasy of kissing and licking his tattoos is in the forefront of my mind, but it’s hard to think when he is touching me and kissing me all over. I have a moment, just a moment when my mouth is on his arm, on one of those musical notes etched into his skin, but it doesn’t last. We are all over each other and soon his pants are gone, and we both roll the condom over him.
We are side by side, his hand on my backside when he presses inside me. I gasp with the feel of him so hot and hard, with the sensation of him driving deep. And then his fingers are in my hair and he tugs my head back, his lips lingering over my lips. “I swear, woman,” he murmurs, “you’re a drug and I’m addicted.” Already, his mouth is on my mouth, a slow burn between us that is wild and wicked one moment and sultry the next.
And when it’s over, when we are both trembling and crashing into each other and the soft pull of the mattress, the late hour, and the night, it’s not over at all. Kace and I snuggle under the blanket together and we don’t even need words. We come back together, our bodies close, my head on his shoulder.
And I sleep.
I sleep better than I have since my last peaceful day in Italy, the last night my family was whole.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I wake in Kace’s arms, and it’s not long until we’re in the shower together, and I finally do what I have wanted to do since I discovered those tattoos on his belly. I dare to press him into the corner. I dare to take control.
The heat in his eyes says he doesn’t mind, not one bit. “What are you doing, baby?”
“What I’ve wanted to do since I discovered all your tattoos.” I go down on my knees and my gaze lifts to his as I kiss one tattoo and then lick it. He laughs a low, rumbling laugh, that hums with arousal.
“That’s what you’ve wanted to do?”
“Oh yes,” I say. “Very much so.”
Hard muscle flexes beneath my palm as my mouth travels each and every one of those musical notes etched in his skin, all the way down his belly. By the time I’m there, he’s hot and hard, his cock jutted forward, now at my shoulder, and I can’t neglect any part of him. I wrap my hand around him and lick the head.
His lashes lower, the lines of his face as taut as every muscle in his body and soon I am licking a whole lot of everything, everywhere. He speaks of money as power, but I believe right now, on the floor of this shower, there is power in making this man moan, to have him lost and completely out of his own head.
When I’ve taken him over the edge, he pulls me to my feet and I’m the one in the corner, his hand stroking over my wet hair, tilting my face to his. “I wear a condom, baby. I have always worn a condom but for you, with you—I want you to go on the pill.”
For me.
With me.
I don’t hesitate. I don’t overthink. At least in that steamy, wet moment, I decide right then that maybe this is all sex, and sex would be better without limitations. Maybe he doesn’t even care about my secrets because this is lust. And if it’s all lust and sex, why shouldn’t I enjoy the ride? “I’ll call my doctor Monday,” I say, and my reward is him on his knees, and my leg over his shoulder. No, my reward is the quake of my body that he owns with such fierceness that I can barely say my own name when it’s over. I certainly cannot stand without his help. And he loves it. He holds me up and then pulls me under the water, where he soaps me up and promises me coffee followed by queso. It’s a pretty perfect way to start a day.
Much later, with me in a robe and him in just a pair of sweats, we are sharing coffee on a loveseat on the patio off the living room. Our plans for the day include a trip to a Mexican restaurant he swears I’ll love, and exploring downtown.
“Have you ever been in love, Aria?” he surprises me by asking.
I add cream to my newly poured coffee. “Not even close.”
“Not even close?” he presses.
I shrug and sink back into the cushion, facing him. “I dated here and there,” I say. “I believe I had my family business on my mind perhaps a little too much.” I leave out the part where my family business is far more complicated than my store.
“And your brother? Is he married?”
“He has a revolving door of women, but I’d be surprised if that man ever got serious with anyone.” I set my cup down. “What about you?”
“I’ve never looked for love. It’s never called to me, at all. I’ve had agreements with a few women to basically be fuck buddies, one of which went on too long for all the wrong reasons, and ended really fucking badly.”
Any curiosity I have about that woman is ended with realization and the slap his words delivers. We’re fuck buddies. Despite just having that thought in the shower, or rather using that thought to empower myself in the shower, I am now bleeding a little inside. I’ve gotten attached and did so ridiculously fast. I’m like a kid in her first real man-candy store. I got high on the sugar and he’s the candy.
He takes my cup and sets it down, scooting closer, cupping my face and tilting my gaze to his. “No. We are not fuck buddies. That’s not what I want from you.”
I’m confused and I don’t like it. I’m tired of being confused with this man. “Then what do you want?”
“All I know, baby, is I’m addicted. And if I’m honest, yes, I want to fuck you all the damn time, which is why I asked you to go on the pill. But I also want more. I want to kiss you. I want to have coffee with you. I want to talk to you. I want you with me and I have never wanted so damn much with another woman.” He stands and takes me with him. “And if you want those things too, then I want you to go get dressed so we can go get our Mexican food.”
My stomach chooses that moment to growl and loudly. We both laugh and it’s pretty clear. I’m going to lunch with him. I’m going a lot of places with Kace that all lead to one place: to that honesty thing. I have to tell him who I am. Just not this weekend. When we get home.
***
The Mexican food is wonderful and we sit and drink margaritas and munch for a good two hours. Afterward, we walk the downtown Austin area, enjoying the city in the mild October Texas weather. Before we know it, it’s nearly four, and time to head to the hotel to get ready for the evening. We’re just getting back in the car and he’s opened my door, when I realize I have a problem. “Kace, I don’t have anything to wear tonight,” I say urgently. “I have to stop by somewhere, anywhere. There were a couple of dresses in the things you bought me, but I don’t even know if they fit and none are formal.”