Baddest Bad Boys(61)

And she could more than handle making love with him…forever.

She straightened her shoulders, took a seat at the counter, and faced her biggest challenge. Bravado would have to do what her aching soul couldn’t.

“Hey,” Mac said by way of acknowledgment. He’d made coffee, and what looked like pancake batter lay pooled in a bowl near the stove. He poured her a mug of coffee, set it in front of her, and went back to the stove.

“Thanks.” She took a life-affirming drink, and watched him, impressed by the easy, agile way he moved around the kitchen, his every movement fluid and economical. As if this morning-after was like every other morning-after. Tommi’s hands tightened around her mug, and she twisted her lips. Mac picked up the bowl and stirred the batter, managing to look irritatingly, excitingly masculine in the process. “Multiple orgasms and he cooks, too. What more could a girl want?”

He glowered at her. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Talk about sex on an empty stomach?” She eyed him from over the rim of her mug, ignored the way her stomach fluttered looking at him. His hair still damp from the shower, he wore soft overworn jeans, and an even softer black cotton sweater. Even with angry lines etched on his forehead, he took her breath away.

“Don’t play the hard-nosed harlot. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh? What does suit me, Mac? Other than my birthday suit, of course.”

He looked as if he had a mouthful of rivets. He opened his mouth, closed it. He took an obvious deep breath before he said, “You want anything besides pancakes?”

She laughed so she wouldn’t cry. “Ah…the deft, oh-so-masculine approach to the emotionally charged moment. Change the subject.”

He was around the counter in a flash, and she was yanked from her stool in the flash after that. “I am not changing the subject. I just have no idea what to say.” He looked away from her, and when he looked back, his eyes were stark. “Because I don’t know what the hell I feel. Okay?”

8
Tommi, speechless, could only stare into the frustrated face of the man holding her up against his chest, so close to his face she could smell the peppermint on his breath.

He loosened his grip but still held her, his voice quieter when he said, “And your lousy pretense at playing the wicked witch of the north doesn’t help. You got that?” He glanced away, looked as if he wanted to tear out his own tongue.

When her heart found its rhythm, Tommi found her voice. “I got it, Mac. Now can I have my arms back?”

He let go of her arms as if they were electrified, and his eyes met hers, hot, startled. “Jesus, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No. Reid did.” She rubbed her bruised arms, looked up at him, unsure what her eyes were saying. “I don’t think you’d ever do that.”

His gaze met hers squarely, and he raised her chin with his knuckles. “No, I wouldn’t.” He used a thumb to stroke her cheek, fixed his eyes on hers.

She saw the heat settle into his glance, heard his breathing heighten, felt the need emanate from his lean body. Her own body’s quivering answer.

No, Mac would never hurt her…

Not physically, anyway.

She pulled her face from his grasp, ignored the charged air sizzling between them, the invisible tug of his powerful masculinity.

He stood tall in front of her, a wall of male energy and self-assurance. “We will have that talk. But not now. Now we’re going to eat. And we’re going to keep our hands off each other for the next few hours.” He grimaced. “Which, you should know, won’t be easy.”

She looked down at him, the thickness of his erection evident behind the soft denim.

“Then, when this lousy rain lets up,” he went on, “we’ll go to the hot spring.” He leaned down and brushed a feathery kiss over her mouth. It made water of her knees. “Where I will commence my efforts to surpass all that has gone before.” He paused, then added, “After that…we talk.”

Tommi stared at him, thought about holding her ground, but wasn’t sure where it was. “Who put you in charge of the agenda?”

“You don’t approve? I could have sworn it was you who wanted sex in the hot spring. I remember your instructions as very specific—and explicit.”

He had her there. Still…“This is getting confusing, Mac. I don’t know if I—”

He shook his head, touched her mouth. “Right now, you don’t have to know, and you don’t have to think—about anything.” He took a step away, put his hands in his pockets, but kept his eyes on her. “We’ve ended up here with a few days to spend together.” He paused, for a moment looked uneasy. “Me? I entered into this arrangement of ours with certain assumptions. Maybe wrong, maybe right. I’m betting you did, too. Now I’m suggesting we use the rest of our time together to test those assumptions.”

She eyed him, looking curious but guarded. “That’s more words than you’ve strung together in all the time I’ve been here. Very…boardroomish.”

He didn’t smile. “I like to approach problems logically.”

“Me being the problem?”

He took a moment to mull over her question. “Yes.”

“And I should be flattered by that?”