"Yes, yes it's good."
"Give me some," he said and began rubbing her again.
Her head spun and she glanced at him.
"Feed me some steak." His eyes glittered.
Feed him?
She realized he couldn't cut his own food. But still, even with his hand on her cunt, bringing her to pleasure in the middle of a restaurant, the idea of feeding him brought heat to her cheeks. Intimate, romantic, domestic. Submissive. More frightening than coming in public.
More arousing too.
She cut off a large piece of steak and swirled it in the sauce then swiveled the fork toward his lips. The moment she turned, the moment her hips shifted she realized his ploy. His hand sank deeper, pushed thick fingers straight into the entrance that opened to him.
Her hand dipped, almost depositing the fork into his lap. Her vision hazed and she forced herself to think past the sensation of his movements inside her-the palm pressed hard against her clitoris. She brought the fork to his mouth and he opened, then closed his lips over the tines and drew the meat off slowly. He chewed, his gaze flickering over her face.
"It is good."
"Can I get you anything to drink?" A voice intruded.
Charlie jumped but couldn't meet the waitress' gaze. She knew the other woman couldn't see, knew anyone looking would just see a woman feeding her boyfriend. But Conner's movements didn't stop. They grew more controlled, more deliberate as he ordered two glasses of champagne.
The waitress left and Charlie dropped her hands to the table. He withdrew from her entrance and pumped firmly over her swollen clit. Her nails curled into the tablecloth. Her body tensed, muscle by muscle. Fine motor skills, the kind required to cut, lift, direct movement long past gone.
"Look at me."
Her body obeyed and she gazed at him without focus. He rubbed harder and faster. She twitched, orgasm rising through her nerves, cresting along her senses. He slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her. Not the tongue-deep kiss she wanted but something for public. Hot enough and close enough to swallow the sound she made as she convulsed internally. Excruciating bliss pulsed out from her core, radiated into her muscles until it felt as if she'd turned to liquid.
She slumped against him and his lips left hers. The hand in her panties withdrew and his arm surrounded her again. Her breathing regulated, although her cheeks still burned.
"Champagne?" the waitress asked.
Charlie looked around the room as Connor accepted the drinks. No one glanced their way, no one had noticed. He handed her a tall glass of sparkling gold liquid.
"Cheers," he said and clinked his glass against hers.
Cheers indeed …
She lifted her glass and drank deeply. Connor's still full and cooling plate of food remained untouched. She picked up the fork she'd dropped and filled it then turned to Connor.
"Here," she whispered.
Connor's eye's flared for a moment but he ate the food she offered him.
She watched him chew. The slow movements of his jaw. As she filled the fork again another kind of longing rose in her-one she didn't care to admit.
We could protect each other.
TEN
A fucking perfect Sunday morning. Connor leaned in the doorway of Charlie's en-suite bathroom. She stood at her basin, wearing a white bra and panties, dragging a brush through the dark waves rippling almost to her elbows. He took advantage of the view-his gaze travelled over her smooth calves, luscious thighs, the round underside of her ass-cheeks peeking out from her underwear. He shifted, blood flowing to the exhausted length of his cock.
You'd think it'd be worn out by now. After the workout he'd put it through that morning-his dick should be fucking sated. But no … one look was all it took. There was a chemical reaction between them. Something instinctive. Something his body recognized the moment he'd clamped eyes on her.
Her gaze caught his in the mirror, and her movements slowed. A sheepish smile pressed her lips to the side. Her cheeks glowed pink. How could she blush after everything she'd let him do to her-or maybe the blush was because of what she'd let him do …
She picked up a hairtie and slipped it around her wrist then scooped her hair to the back of her head. He moved toward her and ran his palms down the stretch of bare skin at her sides, her raised arms exposed. Her clear laugh filled the bathroom and she leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her middle and brushed his lips across the fragrant skin on her shoulder. She dropped her hands and placed them over his where they rested on her belly. Soft waves of hair tumbled down and brushed his cheek.
Connor turned his face and nuzzled behind her ear, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. He slid his hands from under hers and stroked her hair between his fingers.
Her cheek sucked in. "We're going to be late for my aunt's party."
He studied her reflection in the mirror. She'd been a little twitchy since she'd told him about this on Friday. The same restless discomfort he'd see her display before she had press conferences. "Any reason you don't want to go?"
She didn't say anything, just pursed her lips then picked up the brush again. Connor moved to stand beside her. He squeezed a thick line of toothpaste onto his toothbrush and brushed his teeth, watching her smooth moisturizer over her face with her fingertips then add a blob of makeup. He spat and rinsed. She swirled something pink on her cheekbones with a brush.
He wiped his face with a hand towel then smeared cream from a can over his jaw. She applied color to her eyelids then a line of black to frame her eyes. He got lost watching her.
Especially when she opened her mouth and put a gloss on her lips that made them look wet.
Her gaze met his in the mirror and she paused.
Connor lifted his chin and scraped his razor from the middle of his neck to his chin. How come everything she did fascinated him? The way she moved, the way she spoke, the things she held back, the things she revealed, the little war she fought between herself and what she wanted people to see. Always, always he just wanted to sink right through and reach the real Charlie he'd held in his arms. She stepped back and smacked her lips together. Her gaze flickered to him, and gave him the same sweep of appreciation he'd bestowed on her before she turned and walked out of the bathroom.
He grinned then swiped the remaining beard off his face with the razor. He slapped on cologne and strode into the bedroom. Charlie stood near the bed, pulling the straps of a dress over her shoulders. She reached backwards for the hanging sides of the dress.
Connor moved in behind her and grasped the zipper, and slid it up smoothly.
Her back straightened under his hands and she brushed her palms down along the sides of the dress, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the loose skirt.
"Thanks," she whispered and turned.
He drank her in, needing to hold the picture of her in her pretty sundress as a snapshot in his mind. He swallowed. "How should I dress for this?"
"Just jeans and a nice shirt. Maybe that one you wore the other day to work-the pale-blue one." She tucked the hair on the left side of her face behind her ear. "That looked nice, maybe that and your grey jacket."
"Been paying attention to my wardrobe?" His lips twitched. "You liked that did you?"
She rolled her eyes a little too dramatically. "We're going to be late."
He tugged the towel from his waist and pretended not to notice her lingering look at his ass. Looked like he wasn't the only one with a healthy appreciation for an ass. He tugged on underwear and then went to the guestroom where he'd hung his clothes. He dressed and then pulled the sleeves of his grey jacket up his arms and looked in the mirror. Then it hit him.
She fucking dressed me.
Back when he'd taken on clients, he'd had to go unnoticed. Dressed for the occasion. But, Charlie had dressed him like a girlfriend. He smoothed the lapels and grinned at his reflection. Yeah, she was three-quarters taken and didn't know it.
ELEVEN
Charlie washed her hands, scrubbing sticky cinnamon residue from her fingers. She hadn't intended on staying so long but somehow she'd gotten conned into helping bake cinnamon scrolls with Aunt Bess.
As much as she had secret feels for baking the plan had been to drop off the present then get the hell out before anyone she didn't want to see showed up. And considering Uncle Frank only ranked three on that list, it was clearly the list of freaking delight …
She groaned and looked in the mirror. Connor was right now sitting at Aunt Bess' table being stuffed full of baked goods. Aunt Bess who she'd fibbed to about Connor being her boyfriend because the last thing she needed was the well-meaning family matriarch getting all paranoid about her safety.
Which would happen if Uncle Frank showed up before they left. As sister to both her uncle and her father, Aunt Bess formed a strange neutral ground that had the tendency to swing one way or the other when it suited her, or to cry Switzerland when it didn't.