Pregnant by the Rival CEO(18)

He smiled. “You’re so cute when you’re deflecting.”

“What do you mean?” Even perplexed, her heart flitted at the mention of cute.

“You’ll do anything you can to take any and all focus off of you.”

She twisted her lips, trying not to fixate on his—the swell, the color, the memory of the way it felt when they were on hers. Why wasn’t he kissing her again? Was he going to wait until she started things? “If I do, I never noticed it. It must just be my personality.” She wished she could’ve come up with a sexy answer to the question, but there were too many urges to manage, like the one that told her she’d be a lot happier if he wasn’t wearing that sweater. Or those jeans.

“I just find it interesting. Your brother is the complete opposite.”

If Anna knew anything, it was this—if he didn’t kiss her in the next two seconds, she would go off like a grenade with the pin pulled. “Let’s leave Adam out of this. In fact, let’s pretend he doesn’t even exist.”

“Are you flirting with me by describing my Utopia?” His eyes toyed with her. He was reveling in every second of their game.

Her mouth went dry. That kiss in the garage hadn’t quenched a six-year-old thirst. It left her wanting more. “And what if I am?” She popped up on to her toes, gripping his shoulders to steady herself. “What if I did this?”

She closed her eyes and went for it—her lips met his, in a kiss that made it feel as if she was no longer standing. There was a millisecond of hesitation from him before his tongue sought hers. Every atom of her body celebrated in a chorus of delight and relief. She shifted her forearms up on to his shoulders, dug her fingers into the back of his thick hair. His lips—soft and warm and wet, became more eager, seeking her jaw and neck. His arms wound tightly around her, pulling her against him, nearly lifting her off her toes.

His hand snaked under the back of her sweater, conveying what she’d been so eager to know—he wanted clothes to come off as badly as she did. His fingers fumbled with the bra clasp, which was so adorable. He was so smooth. It was nice to know he couldn’t make the entire universe conform to his will.

“Here. Let me,” she muttered. Now flat-footed, she lifted her sweater over her head then clutched it to her chest. “Everybody’s gone for the day, right?” It would be so like her to undress while the gardener was watching.

He laughed, a flicker of appreciation crossing his face as he plucked the sweater from her hands and tossed it onto the foyer bench. “Yes.” Leaning closer, he poked his finger under one of her black satin bra straps, popping it off her shoulder. “It’s just you and me and this big house.”

His words didn’t merely prompt a rapid wave of goose bumps—they were about to become a permanent feature of her complexion. She bit down on her lip. If this was going to happen, it would be good. She reached behind and unhooked her bra, but left it for him to take off. “Tell me you want me to stop.”

“Tell me you want me to stop.” He kissed the curve of her neck—the most sensitive spot, the one that made her want to squeal with delight.

“No stopping. Please, no stopping.”

He didn’t tear his gaze from her as he slid the other strap from her shoulder. He dragged the garment down her arms slowly. His vision sank lower. “You are too beautiful to have anything less than exactly what you want. Tell me what you want.” Gripping her rib cage with both hands, his thumbs caressed the tender underside of her breasts, as he lowered his head and gave one nipple a gentle lick.

The gasp that rose from the depths of her throat sounded like a lifetime of frustration being cut loose. She dropped her chin to her chest when he did it again. She loved watching him admire her this way, knowing that she turned him on. “I want you. Right now.”

“Upstairs,” he muttered.

Before she knew what he was doing, she was off her feet and in his arms, feeling tiny, like she weighed nothing at all. He marched up the stairs and she clung to his neck, desperate to kiss him again.

The hall to his bedroom seemed to stretch for miles. Neither of them said a thing. Their heavy breaths carried the conversation instead. They reached their destination, a grand room with vaulted ceilings and windows overlooking the grounds. He set her down gently on the enormous four-poster bed, smiling.

He lifted his sweater over his head. The soft, evening light showed off the incredible contours and definition of his chest and abs—perfectly smooth, no hair except for a narrow trail below his belly button. His shoulders were far better than any item of clothing had ever suggested. Not even the motorcycle jacket did them justice—square and broad, begging for her touch.