Laid Bare - Lauren Dane [18]
“Is that a good something else or a bad something else? Because it’s pretty ridiculous that a man only looks better as he ages, but women not so much.”
With two strides he was there, just inches away from her in that sexy top and short, flowy skirt of hers. Her legs were still sexy, as were her bare feet.
“Good.” He traced a fingertip over the curve of each breast where it heaved out the top of her shirt. From his angle he caught the shadow of her nipples and the memory of the rings shot straight to his cock. “You look amazingly sexy, Erin. Beautiful.”
“Mmm. Good answer.”
The silence between them wasn’t awkward; it was fraught with sexual tension, and he let himself revel in it. He’d be inside her that night, so why rush? Why not just enjoy it?
“Margarita sounds good.”
She licked her lips and turned, the skirt flaring enough that he got a good view of her pert ass in some pink boyshort-style panties. God, he loved those.
“Are you hungry?” she asked as she salted the rim of the glass and poured the margarita over ice.
“You remembered.”
“What?” She smiled at him, putting the glass on the bar before him.
“That I like margaritas on the rocks.”
“Of course.” She shrugged.
“Yes, I’m hungry. You’re quite the cook, by the way.”
She put a covered pan in the oven. “I wish I could say I’m usually more on the ball, but when I’m writing, I lose track of time. I put together some enchiladas earlier. They just need to heat. Why don’t you sit down there and keep me company while I pull together everything else?”
He hopped up on a stool and saw her guitar in a case near the open doors to the balcony.
“You mentioned writing. Writing music? I heard you made it big out in LA. Are you still doing that?”
“Yes. ‘Big’ is a matter of perspective, I suppose.” She shrugged. “I write for Adrian; he’s still in the biz. He has a house on Alki with a studio. We record together there.”
“Do you still tour and stuff?”
Her face froze. He was a cop for many years, enough to know when someone had been shaken by a question. She licked her lips and then breathed out. “No. But Adrian does. He gets groupies camped out at the end of his driveway and stuff. I just write music and do studio work. I like it better that way. No groupies camped out. I can walk down the street without being recognized. I like my privacy.”
There was a bigger story there, but he’d wait to hear it later. He’d only been back in her life for hours. “So the café is like a sideline?”
“It’s a nice way to keep myself working, leaving the house every day.” She shrugged as she began to shake a bottle of dressing for the salad she’d just prepared. “We can eat on the balcony; there’s a table out there, but it’s getting a bit windy. Or in here, where it’s not.”
He laughed, and she cocked her head.
“What?”
“I’d forgotten how much I liked your laugh.”
“As compliments go, that’s a good one. How about in here? You have some view.” He helped her carry plates and silverware to the table she’d indicated.
“I like it up here.”
She sashayed off and returned with a plate of fresh fruit and cheese. He’d liked to watch her ten years ago but had always told himself to stop. Now he sat and openly ate her up with his gaze.
That afternoon when he’d left her café, he’d run around town finishing up his errands—stopping by to check in on his parents, going to the hardware store. The whole time, he’d come to grips with his situation. He wasn’t going to run from what he felt anymore. From what he was.
All those years ago he’d walked away and left what had made him joyful—when he wasn’t miserable that he liked it. He’d denied his sexual need to dominate women ever since, had starved a whole side of himself and lived half a life.
Although she had no idea, she’d given him small respite in the dark when he’d closed his eyes and fantasized about her. Erin, her hair in his fist as he’d held her in place and done whatever he wanted to her beautiful, willing body.
Here, now in her condo with the evening sun dancing over the water,