Trust Me (Paris Nights #3)(59)

She whistled softly. That was just a lovely view.

All for me. She spread her greedy hands all over him. That leanness and strength. The powerful shoulders. The ridges of his abs. Everything about him radiated capability—a body that had been honed to handle any physical challenge, or threat, that could possibly be thrown at it.

Her body radiated capability, too. She lifted her chin, arching into him to show off her own body and maybe tempt him as much as he tempted her, wondering if he liked her strength and capability as much as he liked her being a cute little thing.

If he’d first gotten interested in her when she was fragile, how might he react to her actually being strong? She’d run into some men in the past who handled it badly, including her cousin, but not all of them were as obvious as Abed. Some would use words instead to undermine a woman’s strength so they didn’t have to feel weak next to her.

Jake took a rough breath and bent and captured her mouth again, hands flexing into her butt as he kissed her. He found the edge of her silky amber top and rubbed it up her ribs, pausing to cup it over her breasts and rub the silk there. Then he broke the kiss to pull it over her head.

He paused then, taking a long moment to study her, his hands closing around her upper arms to hold her far enough back that he could. She breathed in enough to lift her chest a little, glad she’d made the right choice in going with the sexy see-through black lace bra.

He was breathing deeply, and she could almost swear there was a hint of a flush across his chest and shoulders. His eyes traced her body as if it was some extraordinary, hard-won treasure. “All for me?”

She shook her head and touched his chest. “All for me,” she said smugly, sparkling up at him.

Yes, yes, I’ll just take this, thank you. And keep it. Mine, mine, mine.

She was pretty confident of her ability to fight off all other women if she had to. Hell, she’d had to hold her own against Vi half her career. Any other woman better watch out.

That little smile of his, but in his eyes there was so much heat and a vibrant, wicked happiness, as if happiness was running wild in him and the only thing keeping that smile small was a habit of containment.

“I’ll toss you for it,” he said.

“What?”

He tossed her. Gently, back onto the bed, coming above her on all fours, his eyes so wicked and alive. “Heads, I win,” he said smugly.

“Oh, hold on just one damn minute,” she said, and wrapped her arms and legs around him, making him take all her weight as she tried to grapple him off his hands and knees onto his side. “I didn’t understand the contest.”

He gave a growl of delighted arousal—she had to admit that wrestling half-naked with that powerful a body was delicious fun—and just crushed her down to the bed by lowering nearly all his weight on her. He braced on his elbows to leave her enough room to breathe. That little smile slipped into an open grin. “Go ahead. Keep wiggling.”

So she did. She wiggled her hips against his as they crushed hers to the bed, and he made a sound in his throat as if she had just strangled him. “Sure you don’t want to lose this battle?” she teased him.

And he groaned and rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. She sat astride him and pretended to pound her chest in triumph.

He laughed and grabbed her fists and kissed both of them, until they relaxed and spread open on his cheeks. She bent down and kissed him.

He snuck his hands around her back and freed the catch of her bra.

“Oh, hell, Lina.” And for a moment, he didn’t look amused at all. He looked half-frantic again, in over his head and about to drown.

“Like?” She made her tone teasing, but…well, she really did want to know.

“You are a glutton for compliments, aren’t you?” His hands closed so carefully over her breasts, as if he was afraid his calluses would be too rough on her skin. “You know damn well I think you are f*cking gorgeous.”

Her face split into a huge smile of delight. Fucking gorgeous. Yeah. She liked the sound of that. She tightened her thighs on him in reward, pressing her hips down with a little wriggle as she ran her hands down his biceps, squeezing. He gave a little rumble, one of those deep in the throat yum sounds, the kind she kept trying to draw out of him when she gave him a taste of one of her desserts.

“What about you?” She stroked her thumbs over the curve of his biceps. “You a glutton for compliments, too?”

He gave a tiny shake of his head even while his eyes held hers. “I’m confident in myself. I don’t need compliments.”

Oh, really? She was confident, too, and she loved his compliments. And when it came to her work, she was practically a black hole, sucking up every compliment offered and always wanting more. “I guess I won’t tell you how cute this little freckle is, then,” she said, touching her thumb to one that was in the crook of his elbow.

A little jerk of his arm at the touch in that ticklish spot. He controlled it.

“Or this one.” She touched a freckle just a few millimeters from the small flat aureole of his nipple. “That one’s pretty damn cute.”

“Lina…”

“Or this one.” She touched a freckle that showed just under the waist of his jeans, with his belly sucked in taut like that. “This one, you have to admit, is adorable.”

“You are such a witch,” he said. As if he loved it. As if he couldn’t get enough of it.