Thief .(41)

Finally, she says, “Noah asked me if I still love you.”

I clear my throat. “What did you tell him?”

She sits down, sliding her feet out of the flips-flops and back into her stilettos. I watch as she bends down to tie the clasps on each one, her hair falling over her shoulder and grazing the ground. She’s buying time, trying to look busy while she thinks.

“That we’re dysfunctional and toxic!”

“We were dysfunctional and toxic,” I correct her.

She shoots me a dirty look and runs her hands along her thighs. I get the feeling she’s trying to wipe me away.

“You and I are in love, baby.” I take a swig from the tequila bottle and rest my arm on my raised knee. The liquor is beginning to burn my throat.

“No … nope.” She shakes her head. “We’re drunk,” she informs me, “and drunk people have crazy, sporadic thoughts.”

“Very true,” I agree. “Sometimes when I’m drunk, I think that loving you is sane.”

She throws a clump of sticky notes at me. I move my head to the left and they hit the wall. I take another sip of tequila.

She’s working herself into a frenzy. It’s sexy. I wait for her to start swearing and am rewarded a minute later.

“There is nothing fucking solid to fucking prove that we fucking work. We’ve bombed out like-”

I stand up, and her mouth snaps shut.

“Proof … you need proof, Duchess?”

She shakes her head. I drank more than I should have and my emotions are riding a very large tequila wave.

“Because I can show you exactly what you need.” I advance toward her and she backs up.

“Don’t you dare.” She holds up a finger to ward me off. I smack it away and grab her by the waist, yanking her against me. I lower my mouth to her ear.

“Let me do whatever I want to you for one night, and you’ll have all the proof you need.”

Her eyes glaze over and I laugh, bending my head down to touch our lips together. I run my tongue along the inside of her top lip. She shoves at my chest.

“Don’t!” she says, trying to push me away.

“Why not?” I kiss the corner of her mouth and she whimpers. ”Peter Pan,” I whisper into her ear.

“I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” I kiss the opposite corner.

She’s not as stiff as she was a minute ago. I kiss her mouth full on and close my eyes at the feel of her lips. God, I am so whipped by this woman.

“Of how vulnerable you make me.”

She opens her mouth and lets me kiss her. She doesn’t kiss back.

“I make you vulnerable because you love me. That’s the price you pay for love, baby girl.”

We are kissing softly now, pausing to speak, but never moving more than an inch away from each other.

“You have to have real feelings to make love. We made love in the orange grove.”

I back her up until the backs of her thighs are flush against the desk.

I move my hands to the hem of her dress and begin sliding them up her legs. “How often do you think about the orange grove, Olivia?”

She’s panting.

“Every day.”

I grab the backs of her thighs and lift her onto the desk. I stand between her legs and slide the dress over her head. I kiss one shoulder then the other.

“Me too.”

Unstrapping her bra, I lower my head and take a nipple in my mouth. Her whole body arches backwards and her thighs clench around my waist.

“Everything you do is sexy. Have I ever told you that?” I move to the other side … repeat the motion until she squirms.

She latches her hands in my hair, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to take her right then.

“Still the silent lover,” I say, moving back to her mouth. Her eyes are closed, but her lips are parted. “But we both know, Duchess, that I have the secret to working your vocal cords.”

Her eyes fly open. I trail a finger down her neck. She’s trying to formulate a snarky comeback, but I have her body in my hands and she can’t seem to make words.

I kiss her neck softly. One of her arms is looped around my neck, and the other is clutching my bicep. Her eyes are smoky blue. She’s listening to me seduce her with an almost eager look on her face. I run my hands down her sides and loop my fingers around the thin straps of her panties. As I pull down, she lifts her hips so I can get them off. Now she’s naked, perched on the edge of her desk in nothing but three-inch black heels.

“We’re going to keep the heels on…” I yank her thighs further apart and trace a hand up the inside of her leg. She watches my hand, riveted. I keep my lips in a straight line, but I want to grin at her obvious hand fetish. She’s had one since we were in college. My breath hitches when I touch her.