Talking Dirty With the Boss(48)

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” Kind of. It was a little worrying how completely she’d let herself go, now that she thought about it. How completely she’d let herself go the last time he’d taken her, too. But perhaps the best way to approach that was not to think about it.

Luke had turned away and was now going about picking up her discarded clothes. He handed them to her as she slid off the Ferrari’s bonnet.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he held up the little lace thong she’d been wearing. “This one is ruined.” It was. The lace up one side of it was torn through.

Wow. He really had been desperate.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, seeming suddenly uncomfortable. “I don’t know what happened.”

Marisa smiled, taking the scrap of lace from him. “Don’t be sorry. And as to what happened? Us. That’s what happened.”

The tension in Luke’s expression didn’t ease. He frowned as she pulled her jeans up, stuffing her ruined panties back in her pocket and turning to get her T-shirt.

Perhaps he was worrying about the paintwork on the Ferrari, because boy was there a mark. A great big, Marisa-shaped mark. He was going to be pissed when he saw it.

His hand touched her back, fingers trailing down her spine. “Oh,” he murmured. “You have marks here.”

She went still. “You should see the car.”

“Did I hurt you?” His touch was so light, so gentle, she shivered.

“No. But you might have to spend some time polishing the bonnet.”

“I don’t much care about the bonnet right now. Are you sure these don’t hurt?”

She turned. Sure enough he wasn’t looking at the car but at her. As if she mattered more than the car. More than the mark on his precious paintwork. It made her chest tight.

“No, they don’t hurt.”

His frown had deepened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Of course. Why? What’s wrong?”

“I…lost control there. And…” He hesitated. “Things can go wrong if I’m not in control.”

The look on his face made her chest tighten further. As if something bad had happened instead of incredible sex. “What things are we talking about here?”

His gaze flickered. “I mean that it’s probably not going to make our situation any less complicated.”

It was instinct that had her reaching out to cup the side of his cheek, her fingers brushing along the line of his jaw. “I’m fine, Luke. Nothing bad happened, okay? Only the most amazing orgasm ever.”

He said nothing, only stared at her, his expression enigmatic. Then his gaze dropped to the T-shirt she held in her other hand. “You can’t wear that, either.”

“Why not?” Then she spotted the grease stain on the side of it. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll…” Her voice trailed off as Luke took a step back from her and pulled his own T-shirt off and over his head. Then she found herself enveloped in cotton as Luke put it over her and tugged it down.

“There,” he said. The frown had vanished, replaced by a look of satisfaction. “Can’t have you going upstairs naked. Too many windows.”

The T-shirt was way too big for her, but it was so warm. And it smelled of him, the fresh, clean rain scent she’d begun to associate with him. She’d used to wear Alistair’s stuff all the time, pulling it on in an attempt to get closer to him somehow. Afterward she’d thought she wouldn’t want to wear a guy’s clothes ever again—it was too sad and desperate.

But this was different. Luke had put it on her. Like a claim of some sort.

And that’s not desperate?

Marisa shoved away the thought. No, she liked wearing his shirt. It wasn’t a big deal and it didn’t mean a thing. Especially if it meant she got to see this kind of view.

Who’d have thought the uptight man in a suit would be built like this? Oh, you couldn’t argue with the width of his shoulders but the body underneath… He was all tanned skin and sharply defined pectorals, and the muscles of his abdomen… Her fingers itched, wanting to touch.

His gaze darkened. “Upstairs,” he ordered. “Or else you’re going to find yourself on that bonnet again.”

“Hey, I’m not the one flaunting my gorgeous body.” She grinned, stepping away from the car, clutching her items of ruined clothing. “I guess you’ll probably be wanting to clean that, too.”

His gaze lingered on her for a long moment, before moving past her to the large mark on the Ferrari’s glossy paintwork. The frown appeared again.

“I’m sorry,” she said.