What You Need(64)
“Wrong.”
“Blues.”
“Wrong again.”
“Show tunes.”
“Piss. Off.”
She laughed. “Okay. Obscure hipster coffeehouse emo crap only played on a recorder that was handcrafted in Peru?”
I shook my head.
“I give.”
“Rock.”
“Prove it.” Lennox set down her paintbrush. “Best rock song ever recorded.”
“Easy. AC/DC ‘Back in Black.’”
She snorted. “Wrong. Guns N’ Roses ‘Welcome to the Jungle.’”
“I’d agree that’s the third best song . . . after ‘Back in Black’ and ‘Kashmir.’”
“‘Kashmir’ is overrated. ‘Whole Lotta Love’ is way better.”
“Whatever. Where’d you learn to love rock music?”
“My mom. She mostly listened to eighties hair metal bands and seventies arena rock. What about you?”
“My parents. The first night they met my dad actually told my mom ABBA sucked and then forced her to listen to ‘real’ music.”
“Do you ever listen to ABBA?”
“Not that I’ll ever admit to.”
“Hmm. We’ll have to swap iPods. Our musical tastes are in tune.”
Impulsively I curled my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss. “I’m ‘Crazy on You.’”
“Back atcha, ‘Magic Man.’”
I kissed her again.
The table of eight-year-olds next to us broke out in a chorus of “Eww! Gross!”
“That’s our cue.”
“I’m done anyway. It’ll look better once it’s been fired, but—ta-da! This is for you.” Lennox turned the mug around. The lettering read, WHO’S THE BOSS?
What a sweet thing. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Let me see yours.”
“Not here, baby. Think of the children.”
“Omigod, you are such a perv!” She clapped her paint-spattered hands on my cheeks and kissed me hard. “I like that about you so, so much.”
*
We played chess. In front of a roaring fire. Sipping wine. With classical piano music playing in the background, because Lennox was a smart-ass that way.
She thought the whole thing was an attempt at seduction and warned me that our “first foray into fucking” wasn’t going to be clichéd.
I don’t think I’d ever laughed so much as I had with her.
But then sometimes I’d look at her and let her see in my eyes all the dirty, kinky things I planned to do to her when the time was right.
She went into the kitchen and rinsed the wineglasses.
I followed her, moving in behind her at the sink. I pulled her shirt down so I could kiss the back of her neck. I loved the sound she made when I put my mouth on her there. I loved to feel the gooseflesh beneath my lips. I loved to absorb her shudder of pleasure when I sank my teeth into the curve where her shoulder became the nape of her neck. “Lennox. I want you in my bed tonight.”
“Is that a command?”
“No. It’s a request. I liked sleeping with you last night. And that’s all that’ll happen tonight.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. If I gave up the perfect opportunity to make love to you in front of a roaring fire on a snowy night in a cabin in the woods with wine and soft music . . . then I won’t settle for a quick tumble.”
“All right. But I do plan on sleeping naked to test your resolve.”
“Naked? But what if there’s a fire?”
Lennox sidestepped me and pointedly looked at my crotch. “There’s already a hot spot in your pants, Brady. Maybe you’d better put it out before you come to bed.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lennox
‡
It wasn’t my idea of fun, getting up at six a.m. on a Sunday.
Especially not when I’d been enjoying having a warm male body spooning me. Then firm—yet soft—lips trailing down the nape of my neck and across my shoulders, while rough-tipped fingers lightly caressed my arm, my hip, the length of my thigh before moving in to stroke my belly and tease my breasts.
It was heaven.
It was hell.
A hell I’d willingly signed on for when I’d given control to Brady.
By the time he’d gotten me so worked up I was squirming against him, he softly kissed the curve of my jaw and retreated. “I’ll shower down the hall.” Then he vanished.
That’d been an hour ago and I was still . . . annoyed.
“You’re grumbling, baby. What’s going on?”
“I’m tired.”
“Close your eyes. It’s two and a half more hours until we reach the Cities.”
“Aren’t you tired?”