Heated Rush - Leslie Kelly [40]
These were all details they could have talked about over dinner last night, in the typical, second date, get-to-know-you manner. Instead, they’d laughed about the program mix-up, speculating on the wealthy woman’s reaction to getting Jake the paramedic rather than the international businessman. He’d harassed her into tasting caviar, though not escargot, and she’d intentionally asked for a doggie bag, just to see how he’d react.
She should have known. Sean had at first grinned, then raised an arrogant brow and barked at the waiter when the guy had been snitty about it.
Through all that, they’d somehow skipped over all the basic chitchat, as if already so comfortable with one another, none of it had mattered. Until now, when they realized it did, at least as far as her family was concerned.
The conversation continued in that vein for a few minutes, until he matter-of-factly asked, “Do you sleep in the nude?”
“What?”
“It’s a fair question.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said, part of her dying to tell him and part of her knowing she’d rather show him, instead. “My family is not going to ask you what I wear to bed, because my father would probably toss you out of the house if you answered.”
“Old-fashioned.”
“Very.”
“We have a lot in common.”
“Next question?”
“You didn’t answer the last one.”
She glared. “Next question.”
“What size is your bed? I didn’t even get a peek into your room yesterday.”
Groaning as she realized the serious part of their conversation was over, she leaned across her desk and badly answered him. “It’s big. Queen size.”
And usually very empty. Wally generally slept sprawled out, taking up three-fourths of the mattress, leaving Annie clinging to the edge.
“I probably should see it,” he said, sounding entirely innocent for a man trying to maneuver his way into her bedroom.
Maneuver? So not necessary. Given how she’d been feeling about him—hot and attracted the first night, frankly interested the next, and comfortable and amused now—all he’d probably have to do is ask.
They’d spent more than an hour together, talking, laughing, flirting. This so counted as a date.
“Don’t you agree that I should at least…take a peek?”
Inside her chest, her heart did that funny fluttering thing again. And her thighs clenched. “Why?”
“Well, we’re dating, aren’t we? I’m a gentleman, and I’d be sure to escort you to your door. So it’s likely I’d have at least gotten a glimpse at your bedroom.”
“You get along with Wally. That’s proof that you’re in my life.”
“Back to the previous question then. What do you wear when you crawl into that big bed with just your cat for company?”
Unable to resist, she told him in a throaty whisper, “A red silk nightie.”
Lie, lie, lie. She usually wore a long T-shirt to bed. But she at least had a red nightie. She’d bought it at an after-Valentine’s Day sale last winter, determined to have worn it for somebody before the next time the fat baby with the arrows flew around.
Maybe it’ll actually happen. Now. Tonight.
A muscle flexed in Sean’s jaw, and his eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. That, and the almost inaudible hiss of his indrawn breath, was his only reaction. “Long or short?”
Mmm…she suspected he was very long. He certainly had felt that way pressed against her yesterday. And he most definitely had been in her erotic dreams of the night before.
Annie’s breaths merged together, tripping over each other as they rushed from her lungs. She’d forgotten about the dreams until this minute. Now they were replaying themselves in her thoughts in full, glorious Technicolor, reminding her that she’d awakened at four in the morning, her body quivering as an intense orgasm shook her from her sleep.
Annie swallowed, trying to force the images away. At least long enough to answer the question he had really been asking.
The shadow of a smile on his lips told her