“It must be tough.” As I walked up a few steps that led to what I guessed was a dining area, I spotted a small basketball court to my left, and a little smile curled my lips. “I mean, to have your picture in the lifestyle-and-entertainment section on a weekly basis.”
“I knew it would happen when I made the transition from drunken partier to businessman, but eventually they’ll find someone new to take pictures of. At least they don’t go out their way to follow me.” Stepping aside, he motioned to the outdoor dining area that overlooked the pool and basketball court. Between a stone island and a blazing fireplace sat a four-person table. It was already set, with champagne in a stainless bucket in the center and two silver domes covering the dinner plates on either side. “My housekeeper set this up not even five minutes before we got here, so it’s still hot.”
“Should I give you my panties now, or wait until after dinner?” I teased, but I was incredulous at how much effort he’d put into all this.
He held out the chair closest to the fireplace for me, and I sat down. “If you touch your panties,” he said, grabbing a couple beers from the fridge beneath the island, “you’ll be eating while my cock is inside of you.” Then, like he hadn’t just taken away my ability to properly form thoughts, he opened both beers and removed the lid from his plate, revealing a simple meal of mussel linguine.
Following suit, I shook the silverware out of my napkin and bit the inside of my cheek. “Do you threaten all your dates like this?”
“Never. Even I have reservations about exposing my dick in restaurants.” At my raised eyebrow, he explained, “I don’t bring women here.”
My hand froze around my fork midway to my mouth. “And why am I here?”
“Because I can’t get you out of my head.” Taking a bite of pasta, he leaned back in his chair and watched my expression closely from across the table. When I swallowed hard, he rubbed his thumb over the part of his nose that had been broken in the past and then pointed to my plate. “You should eat.”
I closed my mouth around a forkful of pasta, shutting my eyes as the flavor assaulted my taste buds. I’d been so busy at work today, I hadn’t eaten lunch, and this was divine. The moment I finished chewing though, I heard myself ask, “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why can’t you get me out of your head? Why bring me here? Why do you want me?”
Continuing to eat, he tilted his head like he was strongly considering my question. Was he going to answer me? I scooped another bite of pasta into my mouth, and then a few more, my boot tapping impatiently against the stone patio.
“The first time I laid eyes on you, Lizzie, I wanted you. Do I need a reason, other than when we touched, I felt more in those five seconds than I ever felt in my entire goddamn life?”
I remembered the electricity between us, the way his fingers had tightened as our skin parted, and my own hand tingled. When he saw that I was holding it close to my chest, he nodded. “That’s why I want you. Now, eat your food, beautiful.”
*
I’d barely lowered my silverware to my empty plate when Oliver scooted his seat from the table. “Thank you for dinner,” I said. “It was amazing.” Following his movements with my eyes, I watched as he stood and grabbed the untouched bottle of champagne and the thin glass flutes by our plates.
“Like I told you a few weeks ago, I’m a man of my word.” His deep voice held an edge of promise, and a shiver of heat rushed through my veins. “Time for dessert, beautiful.” He motioned his head for me to follow him, then started toward the pool.
Moving slowly so as not to trip on the stone steps and make a complete ass of myself, I trailed a few steps behind him, not pausing until we stood face-to-face beneath the waterside pergola.
Which doubled as a bedroom.
Somehow, when he brought me through here less than an hour ago, I hadn’t noticed the teak hanging bed centered between the pillars. How the hell I had missed it was beyond my comprehension, but it looked remarkably comfortable—a plush mattress covered in honey-colored Egyptian cotton sheets and a variety of bolster and throw pillows that complimented the overall vibe of his hacienda-style house. “And you say you don’t bring other women here?” I thought I whispered under my breath.
Obviously he heard me, because a moment later, one of his hands rested against my ass and the other on my chin as he forced me to look up at him. “I fuck in hotels.”
“You don’t have to lie to me,” I gently chided, ignoring the blatant hypocrisy of my words.
He bent his face closer, touching his forehead to mine and catching my breath. The tip of his nose brushed roughly against my own, and he held my face possessively. “I’m not lying. I want you, Lizzie, and I’m about to have you. I’m not going to stand out here arguing about who I’ve had before you because it’s a waste of energy for both our mouths.” Exhaling harshly, he tongued my upper lip, tilting my world on its axis one deliberate lick at a time.
“Tonight, you’re mine. That’s the only thing that matters,” he said before breaking contact with me to light each of the two outdoor lamps on opposite ends of the trellis.
With my heart jammed somewhere between my throat and ribcage, I was silent as he introduced light other than the moon’s glow to the area. Walking around the bed slowly, I brushed my fingers along the thick manila ropes securing the mattress in place. “Damn,” I whispered softly, only to be startled a second later by the sharp pop of the champagne bottle opening.
Setting the bottle beside the glasses on the compact bedside stand, a slow grin crept across his face. “Close your mouth, beautiful.”
Patience was definitely not a virtue of Oliver Manning’s because a moment later, he closed it for me, getting rid of the space between our bodies to slant his lips hungrily over mine. Plunging his tongue inside, he tasted me like I was his last meal, licking and sucking. “You smell so sweet,” he murmured between hot, wet kisses. “That perfume, Lizzie.”
I kicked off my boots one at a time, smiling gratefully at him when he steadied me. “I’ve been thinking about switching to a new scent,” I teased breathlessly.
“Never,” he growled, expertly removing my shift dress in one swift motion so that I stood before him in nothing but a black lace demi bra and a tiny thong. I felt a twinge of regret that I’d chosen underwear I’d purchased specifically for work—for Gemma’s work—but his slow nod of appreciation lessened the bite. “The perfume is non-negotiable.”
Alternating between suppressing a grin and holding my breath, I drank in the sight of his incredible muscles as he stripped out of his boots, jeans, and t-shirt until nothing but a pair of designer boxers separated his body from me. God, who the hell was this woman staring at him? This couldn’t be Gemma—the woman who’d spent the last few years prancing around in bras and panties without so much as managing a flush. This woman, Lizzie, she was an entirely new creature. A creature completely enthralled by the gorgeous, built man who was seconds away from getting to her core.
But this had been a long time coming, and I was ready.
“I’d planned on doing this slowly,” Oliver started, pouring me a glass of champagne and handing it to me. I drank it lighting fast, almost like a shot, feeling the carbonation winding a bubbling path from my tongue to my stomach. My head was going to hate me for that in the morning, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was hearing what he had to say next, even if I had to coax it out of him.
“You’re going pretty slowly,” I objected slyly, but then my body went stiff when he circled around me. I heard him breathe in the scent of my hair, my skin, and I about lost it. “Really, really slow,” I added in a whisper.