Wicked Games

“I am sorry, Kinsey.”

“For what? Not telling me yourself? Or for going off and leaving me?” When he didn’t say anything, she decided to let it go. She didn’t want to spend their time together in an inconsolable, emotional state. And something in his pained expression told her she wouldn’t like hearing what it was he had to say.

Blinking away the threat of tears, she carried her wine and the platter of chicken to the table. When she returned for the glaze, she found Doug pouring it into the gravy boat she’d borrowed from Sydney, and her heart tripped at how at home in her kitchen he seemed.

“It’s going to take a lot of getting used to. You being gone and all that. Especially since you’re turning out to be quite handy. I’m sorry I never knew this before.”

His grin was amazingly wicked. “I have talents you can only imagine.”

“Is that so?” she asked, wishing she still had her wineglass there because she really, really needed something to do with her hands. As it was, she was having a hard time not slipping them underneath his sweater and shirt. She wanted so badly to get close to his body.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely so.”

“Well, then. Do you care to share what you know?” she asked, settling on toying with a strip of peeled cucumber skin. “Or are you keeping your skills secret?”

Doug slowly lowered the gravy boat. He stood where he was for a very long moment, his hands flat on the countertop as if he wasn’t at all certain what he was doing or why.

But as Kinsey looked on, he came to a decision. She saw it in the tensing of his shoulders, and in the way he finally tossed back his head, blond hair flowing, like a stallion having selected his mare.

The analogy made her laugh, or would have if the look he gave her didn’t make her feel as if he was considering the best way to mount. And even though that was what she’d wanted, where she’d wanted this evening to go, she couldn’t deny the sting of surprise at the speed with which they’d progressed.

He turned and walked toward her, determination in his step as well as in his bright gaze. Once he stood directly before her, he set both hands at her waist. She moved hers to his biceps, a placement that allowed her to feel the flex of muscle an instant before he lifted her to perch on the edge of the tiled island.

Her hands found their way to his shoulders as he stepped fully between her spread legs. His hands still at her waist, he cocked his head and gave her a smile that had her wondering why they’d never taken the time to get to know each other more deeply.

That smile raised a myriad of questions. And his eyes were as bright as green lights. “My kitchen skills are pretty much limited to dessert. And as great as the chicken smells, I’d rather start with what I know best.”

She responded with a bit of a grimace. “I didn’t remember to make dessert.”

“Trust me, darlin’. What I have in mind is better than anything you could’ve whipped up.”

It was a good thing she wasn’t easily taken in by a sweet-talkin’ man. “You say that without having tasted any of my cooking.”

“Yeah, but I’ve tasted you.” And then he moved forward and pressed his lips over the hollow of her throat.

She leaned her head back to give him better access, wrapped her legs around him and hooked her heels at the base of his spine. Her fingers dug into the tight muscles of his shoulders; he was more tense than she’d imagined, and she began to knead the hard knots.

“Mmm,” he murmured, his lips creating a soft buzzing tickle on her skin. “You have no idea how good that feels.”

“It can’t feel half as good as what you’re doing with your mouth.” He’d moved down her collarbone, pushing aside the loose neckline of her fluttery top, kissing his way along the bared skin.

He nipped at the edge of her shoulder and growled. “It would feel a hell of a lot better if you’d lose this top.”

She couldn’t get it off fast enough. It was less a necessary piece of clothing than it was a tease that had accomplished its purpose.

And now Doug could easily get to the rest of her, which he did immediately, pulling the thin strap of her knit camisole down one shoulder and working his way beneath the hem with his other hand.

He surrounded her—his hands, his mouth, his clean and subtle scent. The breadth of his chest, which blocked any movement she might want to make. She didn’t want to move anywhere at all, except closer to the beautifully exquisite sensation of his touch.

His skin was on her skin, and all she could think about was the night they’d both been drunk and only half aware of being on the veranda at the house on Coconut Caye. His hands had been all over her then, beneath her clothing, in her hair, inside her body in ways she still imagined vividly when she went to bed alone.

With his hands now on her rib cage beneath the curve of her breasts, she thought again of that previous contact, realizing her memories were nothing compared to the bliss of the real thing.

He was deft in the way he teased her, making sure she enjoyed his touch. He tested her reactions, his mouth whispering his kisses along with his words. Both thrilled her beyond belief.

“Is that good?” he asked, his lips drawing on the skin just beneath her shoulder. “Do you like that?” he added, before she could do more than softly moan. “What do you want me to do?” As if his tongue wetting a line along the upper curve of her breast wasn’t enough. “You’re so beautiful. Soft. Sweet. Like silk. And you smell so damn good.”

She whimpered because she couldn’t help it. Her shoulder was bare, the strap of her top long since having fallen to her elbow. He took hold of the edge of the material and began to peel it from her breast. His other hand cupped her other breast fully, his palm circling over the very tip of her budded nipple.

And then her top was around her waist and both breasts bared. Oh, but she felt reckless in such delightful ways, reckless enough not to give thought to anything but the physical joy of the moment, and to the man offering her this pleasure. Doug leaned down, his eyes wide, his gaze locked wickedly on hers, and took her into his mouth.

She remembered everything then, every detail of the way he knew how sharply to tug, how sweetly to kiss, how softly to curl his tongue around her nipple. He’d learned so many things about her in that one dark night of sea breeze and sex, and he remembered. He remembered.

When had any man ever remembered, ever paid the sort of intimate attention needed for such perfect recall? Kinsey moved her hands to her sides, bracing her weight on the counter. She scooted her lower body closer into his and tossed back her head. Eyes closed, she kicked off her shoes and slid her heels up and down Doug’s backside, feeling all that taut resilient flesh beneath his very GQ attire.

The sensations of slipping and sliding, of being tongued and tasted, the reality that dinner was going to have to wait…She wasn’t sure anything she’d ever felt had been so perfect, any man she’d ever known this amazingly right.

When he moved his mouth to her other breast, she knew that having him now mattered more than waiting to be certain, than wondering if she was making a mistake she’d regret not having the resolve to avoid.

She threaded her fingers into his thick hair. “Doug?”

“Hmm?” he breathed against her skin.

She shivered. “The food is going to have to be reheated anyway….”

He slowed his very attentive movements, finally looking up, his eyes bright, his hair falling dashingly over his forehead, his mouth red and wet from the kisses. He kept his hands on either side of her rib cage, holding her there as if he expected her to bolt.

As if she wanted to be anywhere else.

“What’re you saying here, darlin’?”

She met his gaze candidly. “Just that dessert sounds really good right about now.”

He closed his eyes, as if to assure himself he wasn’t living a dream, then looked back at her with an expression defined by one simple word.

Hot.

“Kinsey Gray, you have made me a very happy man.”

The very words a girl wanted to hear. “I expect total reciprocation.”

“Trust me, darlin’. You’re about to be the happiest woman alive.”

3

KINSEY GRAY HAD BEEN responsible for the best time Doug had ever spent naked with a woman, and he doubted that she had a single clue.

His fault completely, because he’d never said a word, and he should have. Damn it, but he should have. His excuse wasn’t a good one, but it was real and it was honest and it was the only one he’d been able to come up with.