“I’d just like to stay here another minute or five.”
“Didn’t ask what you wanted. I’ve got things to do. I’m not going to hang from a goddamned ladder sweating for the rest of the day.”
Mia rested her head on the rung near his hand. “I don’t like being scared. I’m usually a very brave, daring kind of woman.”
He waited.
She didn’t move.
“Mia?”
“Give me a min—”
Angling his head, Cruz kissed her. No points for finesse, but several points for distraction. The position was awkward; the angle of his head almost jettisoned him off the ladder with her. But it did the job. Her fear tasted sweetly of lemonade as her tongue met his—fear evident in the caution when usually she’d dive in headfirst.
Her lips clung as he shifted his head. “When you kiss me my toes curl.” Her voice was husky.
Her foolish trust rocked through his nerves and irritated the piss out of him. I’m here to kill you, woman. Be fucking afraid.
“Let your toes curl on terra firma,” he told her, unmoved. “Left foot. Right hand. Get down in the next sixty seconds and I’ll let you tie me to the bed tonight.” The lie tripped easily off his tongue. He didn’t bother trying to figure out why the bull made him feel like shit.
It would make for an excellent alibi. Except he’d already decided to keep his fucking hands and dick away from her. Again. If she’d just stop watching him with hot blue eyes when she thought he didn’t notice, and if he could just fucking stop thinking about the erotic things she did with her mouth, and the way her sleek body felt under his . . .
If her expression over breakfast earlier hadn’t shown him she was remembering that first night in graphic detail, her rosy blush as she set her plate down on the center island had. It had taken everything in him to maintain his mild expression and not grab her, strip her, and screw her hard and fast.
No. More. Fucking.
Concentrate on the business at hand.
Brazil.
Her chuckle was strained, but she did move. “You’re on.”
• • •
With a tall glass of cold tea sweating on a coaster next to her, Mia highlighted portions of the booklet that had come with the Sensual Pole Dancing video, which was on Pause on her laptop as she read. She had “a secure pole, determination, and the desire to let go of her inhibitions.” All of the above, and then some, thanks to Cruz.
While she highlighted, she enjoyed the low, constant roar of Marcel’s lawn mower out on the front lawn, and the hum of the vacuum cleaner upstairs as Daisy cleaned. The little boy stood near the water, throwing sticks—she presumed at the alligator. She stood for a moment to see if he was in any danger. His feet, in tiny worn, faded blue tennis shoes, were at least eight feet away from the water’s edge. The gator was nowhere in sight.
Satisfied that he wasn’t in imminent danger of being eaten, Mia sat and resumed studying. Head on his paws, Oso lay panting under the table. Absently she rubbed his back with her bare foot; his sleek fur felt soft against her skin. He gave a loud groan.
She grinned, remembering the silky mink being stroked against her skin; she knew how the dog felt. She reached down to fondle his ear, as she’d seen Cruz do. “You’re a very handsome boy, you know that?” He nuzzled her hand, and her heart melted a little bit. “Maybe Cruz will let me buy you when he leaves. Would you like to come home to San Francisco with me and live in a big house? The garden’s pretty. I think you’d like running on that big lawn. You could chase the peacocks.”
She’d never had a pet. When she was growing up, her father had made abundantly clear that the multimillion-dollar purebred horses in the family’s racing stable weren’t pets, his hunting dogs weren’t allowed in the house, and her stepmother was highly allergic to cats, dogs, ferrets, parakeets—anything that squawked, purred, or barked.
And now she was so busy with business-related social events that she’d never ever considered a pet an option. Somehow Mia couldn’t quite picture Oso fitting into that other life.
She needed to make some changes when she got back home.
She played the next bit of choreography and shook her head at the contorted position of the instructor, who was entwined, upside down, around the pole. Frankly, the contortions the woman’s legs were in looked painful and not in the least bit sexy. Years of yoga classes might aid in this new endeavor, but Mia was pretty sure her body didn’t bend that way; and, unlike the instructor in the video, she doubted her ability to smile while in any of those uncomfortable-looking positions. She hit Pause and found the corresponding text in the booklet.