If she made love the way she moved when she thought no one was looking, she’d start out slow and meticulous then lose her inhibitions until she left claw marks on his back. Underneath that prim and proper lady was a sensual wildcat waiting to be unleashed, and the lower half of him wanted to be the one to unleash it. The other half, the one above the waist, knew that as much as they’d both enjoy themselves in bed—and he had no doubts about that—she wasn’t one for casual sex. Since getting to know her, she’d only confirmed his first instinct about her—she deserved flowers, presents, and a man who was good for her. That wasn’t him.
The oddest thing about holding her in his arms was it hadn’t felt like the first time. And the music . . . . He’d recognized it right away. Uncle Alexander used to play it whenever the family got together for the holidays. It was from an album of old Greek folk music. Ryan hadn’t heard it in years, but he’d never forget the stories his Uncle would tell everyone about their ancestors in Greece. He’d claimed the family could trace their roots all the way back to Zeus, spurring Ryan’s imagination about the Greek gods. For years, he’d believed his Uncle’s tall tales and read everything he could get his hands on about Greek mythology, even going as far as sketching scenes and turning them into wooden carvings. One year, he’d modified them into Christmas ornaments and given one to each member of his family. He’d forgotten about that.
Ryan climbed down the ladder and closed the hatch to the attic. He’d spent an hour up there and found no evidence of water, so he had no idea how to fix the leak in the great room. This homeowner stuff was hard work.
Entering through the laundry room, he smelled vanilla and followed the scent to find its owner in the kitchen. Wearing headphones and scrubbing the inside of the oven, Portia was also wearing long yellow rubber gloves and sweats. Wouldn’t you know it? It made him hard. Bent over at the waist like that, she was at the perfect height for him to come up from behind and line her ass up to his cock.
He leaned against the wall and watched her swaying her hips to the music. Lost in her own world, she unknowingly seduced him as she provided him with a sensual preview of how she’d make love. He’d thought it hot up in the attic, but his temperature soared from her erotic dance. Beads of sweat dripped down the side of his face and his heart pounded erratically as he accepted what his body was telling him.
He wanted her.
She froze. Slowly, she peeled off each of her ugly gloves, snapping them against the inside of the oven, then removed her headphones from her ears. She backed out of the appliance and turned around to acknowledge him. Her wide eyes assessed him then narrowed.
He braced himself for the inevitable lecture about yesterday’s inconsiderate remarks. As much as he hated the whole ‘we gotta talk’ thing which women loved to torture men with, he deserved it and would gladly apologize.
Her fingers smoothed back the hair from her face. “I’m cooking dinner tonight. I hope you like chicken?” She glanced at the floor and back up at him, waiting for a response.
It was an easy “yes or no” question, yet it had thrown him as if it required a forty-page essay response. Where was the lecture? The ranting and raving about his insensitivity?
“Chicken. Sure, I like chicken,” he managed to say after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
She smiled. “Great. Why don’t you pick up a bottle of wine and meet me back in the kitchen at seven?” Her gaze traveled down his body, landing on the bulge in his pants. In his current state, there was no way to hide it.
She rested a hand on the edge of the granite counter and the heels of her feet came together so that it looked as if she had a piece of pie in between. She bent her legs at the knee and lowered and raised her body, all the while a beautiful shade of pink crept into her cheeks.
He wouldn’t attempt to persuade her, no matter how much his hormones tried to convince him to seize the opportunity. If the two of them wound up in bed, it would be a mutual decision and not a result of him taking advantage of the situation. It wouldn’t take much. She was perched on the edge of a skyscraper, just begging for him to give a little push.
A cold shower would do him a world of good right now.
He wrapped his fingers around the doorframe and held on for dear life. “Seven works. I’ll just . . . get cleaned up and go to the store for the wine. If you need anything else, let me know.”
Her eyes flashed dark and her throat worked as she swallowed. As fantasies of what he’d like her to swallow barraged his mind, he pivoted on his heels and made a hasty retreat before he did something neither one of them would regret.