It flitted through his mind that Serena had never once cooked for him, always expecting to be taken out to restaurants or getting professional caterers in if she threw a party. Daisy wasn’t in the princess mould. She hadn’t put any of the tradesmen off-side with her. No getting up their noses with uppity airs and graces. She’d carried out her job here in a very diplomatic fashion.
Quite possibly cooking him dinner was a diplomatic action, as well, nothing to do with welcoming him home. Don’t assume anything, Ethan cautioned himself, a wave of cynicism overriding the pleasure. She could be buttering him up to get something else from him—the good, old bartering trick. He wasn’t going to fall for it. This time everything would be on his terms, exactly how he wanted it.
He resumed his approach to the back door, watching Daisy through the glass, his heart jolting again when she turned around after closing the oven door again. She looked lovely. No trace of the teenage appearance tonight. She was all woman. Some smoky make-up accentuated the bright chocolate of her beautiful eyes. Her lips were a stunning, glossy red. The upper swell of her breasts gleamed above the low neckline of her dress—a red-and-white dress—its saucy skirt swirling around her legs as she stepped quickly out from behind the island bench, her feet strapped into sexy high-heeled sandals.
She had shed the little brown sparrow image.
It had always been a deceptive image. He’d known it all along.
The lioness was out and prowling.
Desire kicked so fast into Ethan’s groin, his whole body was instantly invigorated—the earlier fatigue gone and forgotten. A few quick strides and he was sliding open the glass door, enjoying the slight shock on Daisy’s face as she stopped and stared at him. Caught, he thought, grinning with exhilarating triumph as he closed the door behind him and tossed his car keys on the dining table in passing, moving straight to the woman who could no longer escape him.
Daisy was stunned anew by Ethan’s physical impact on her. Her heart started galloping. An electric tingle raced around her veins. Her stomach contracted. Weird little quivers ran down her thighs. She forgot to breathe. The welcome home speech she’d rehearsed flew right out of her mind.
He didn’t give her any time to remember it. He picked her up, hoisted her over his shoulder, and was out of the kitchen and heading for the staircase before she found breath enough to speak. ‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked, coming out of shock enough for her dangling hands to find some purchase on his trouser belt and try pushing herself up.
‘Taking you to my cave,’ he replied with relish, keeping her thighs pinned to his chest with one arm and patting her bobbing derrière with his free hand. ‘Did I ever tell you I loved this bottom? Sexiest bottom I’ve ever seen on a woman. It’s been taunting me ever since we met. I think I’ll eat it.’
Eat it?
‘Dinner!’ Daisy squawked, realising the balance of her weight made it impossible to change his hold on her. She batted his bottom with more vigour than he’d used on hers. ‘I cooked dinner for you. It’s going to spoil.’
‘No. I switched off the oven. We can eat later. This hunger demands satisfaction first. Hit me some more. I like you being feisty. It’s very exciting.’
She did out of sheer exasperation. ‘I wanted you to appreciate my efforts.’
‘I do. Red suits you. It’s your true colour. Full of fire.’
‘I meant the food I prepared!’#p#分页标题#e#
‘Won’t be wasted. We’ll work up an appetite for it. Sex, food, wine…’
He was charging up the stairs, completely undeterred by anything she said. Part of Daisy was enraged by the indignity of being carried like a sack of grain, yet another part was excited by the rush of primitive physicality. Ethan was having his way with her and there was a kind of relief in having him act so fast. Though what was the act going to entail?
Eat her bottom?
She squirmed and thumped his some more. ‘Don’t think you can do anything with me, Ethan Cartwright. I won’t be your sex slave.’
‘You could try it,’ he blithely suggested. ‘You might like it.’
‘I won’t let you tie me up or do weird stuff like that.’
‘Frightened of losing control, Daisy?’
Fear welled up in her as she recalled wondering if he was a control freak. ‘You’d hate it, too,’ she cried.
‘Don’t worry. I’m not into bondage. I want to feel your hands on me. Your hands tell me what you’re feeling more eloquently than any words.’
She smacked his taut buttocks again. With relish. ‘Then that should tell you I’m feeling mad at you for treating me without any respect.’