“Don’t be.” His gray eyes found hers. “It was worth it.”
Warmth stole through her. “That’s quite a compliment. Especially knowing how long it’s going to take you to clean that off.”
“I’ll manage it. It was my idea in the first place.”
Yeah, it was. And she was having severe fantasies of doing it all over again, especially with him hanging around all half-naked and such.
Weren’t you not going to go there?
Oh, that’s right. Sleeping with Luke was supposed to be a bad idea, wasn’t it? Complications she didn’t need, et cetera.
“Marisa,” he said in a low voice. “If you don’t want a repeat of what just happened between us, you should probably keep your distance for the rest of the night.”
She probably should. She should probably keep right away from him. In fact, screw moving in with him. If she knew what was good for her, she should be keeping as far away from him as she possibly could.
She’d promised herself that there would be no more mistakes, and getting involved with Luke would definitely be a mistake. After all, he wasn’t looking for a relationship—at least that’s what he’d said.
Then again this was only sex, wasn’t it? And they’d crossed the line before. Twice now, in fact. So logically another couple of times wouldn’t hurt, right?
“Well, I could do that, I guess,” she said, unable to tear her gaze from the impressive width of his chest. “But we tried that before and it didn’t work. So maybe we need to test your method of control a little more. You know, take charge of it. See if we can’t…uh…wear it out, so to speak.”
He went still and she could see the tension in every one of those impressive muscles. “This better not be a joke.”
“It’s not. Believe me it’s not.”
Luke moved, reaching for her, his hand cupping the back of her head, drawing her in close for a hard, unexpected kiss. “Wait for me upstairs then,” he said. “I have to clean the car first. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Her heart racing, anticipation burning in her blood, she turned toward the door that led back up into the house.
It would be okay. It was only sex. Nothing more.
Chapter Nine
“Hey, where are you going?”
Marisa’s arm snagged around his waist as he tried to move from the black leather couch where they were lying. He stopped moving. “Your clothes are all over the floor.”
“That’s okay. They can stay there awhile, can’t they?”
No. They couldn’t. He had to go and pick them up, fold them. His sense of order had been disturbed and he wouldn’t be able to lie here and concentrate on her if he didn’t clean them up. But he couldn’t say anything about his compulsions, at least not the truth.
“I don’t like mess,” he muttered, pulling away her arm and getting off the couch, going over to where her clothes lay on the carpet. His were already folded and put neatly on a nearby chair. He picked up her jeans and put them with his.
“Hmm. I’m not sure how this living arrangement is going to pan out in that case. I’m not the tidiest girl in the world.”
He glanced at her. She lay on the black leather of the couch like a sleepy cat, all feline grace and sensuality. Her chin was propped on her hands, blond hair a wild tangle around her head. Or maybe not a cat. Maybe a thoroughly debauched princess.
Perhaps he should have thought this through better, the implications of having someone else in his house. Because he’d never lived with someone else. Not after he’d left home. Never wanted to live with anyone, to be honest, because it made keeping his condition a secret next to impossible. His needs were very specific and now the thought of having someone else around to observe him was…threatening.
Especially her.
He’d told her the truth when he’d said she mattered, which made it even more imperative he keep the OCD under wraps. Luckily having her here would help with the worst of the checking behaviors so he could manage them discreetly. And as for the rest, he’d manage those as well. He’d been doing so for a number of years and no one had ever found out. No reason for them to now.
“I have things the way I like them,” he said. “I’d prefer it if people didn’t mess up my space.”
Marisa grinned. “You know having a kid is going to blow your mind, right? Toys and vomit and cereal in the carpet. Crayon on the wall and—”
“Stop.” A strange sense of anxiety set in, his control slipping with each word she spoke. He tried to get a handle on the emotion, but had only marginal success.