Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(25)

He harrumphed. “You’ve been in the wrong boats.”

“Next.” I glanced at the screen. “Describe the perfect foreplay.”

“What’s foreplay?”

I looked up at him and blinked.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, laughing. “God, you should see your face. The perfect foreplay, hmm. I mean, it’s different every time. As opposed to whatever twenty-something two-pump chumps you’ve been with, I think I’m very patient and generous. I try different things and see what she responds to.”

“Like what?” The words were out before I could stop them.

His mouth hooked up on one side. “Just . . . different things. With my hands. Or my mouth.” He took a sip of his wine. “My tongue.”

I couldn’t stop staring at his lips on the rim of the glass. Beneath his sweater and my blouse, my skin was damp with heat. I struggled to breathe quietly.

“Now you,” he said. “Describe the perfect foreplay.”

Your hands on my thighs. Your tongue on my throat. Your lips so close to mine, but I won’t kiss you. I won’t kiss you.

“Ellie?”

I focused on his eyes again—those deep blue eyes knew what I was thinking, I could tell—and then took another drink. “Pass.”

He chuckled, his expression triumphant, like he’d won a round. “Next question.”

“If I had a hot sister, would you let her seduce you?”

“Hm. Is your mom an option?”

I glared at him, even as that dream about his hot dad jumped into my head.

“Relax, I’m kidding. Yes, I’d let your hot sister seduce me. But I’m not even asking you about my brothers.”

“Why not? How do you know I wouldn’t let the twins seduce me? They’re twenty-one, right?” I gave him a coy smile. “I might even let them seduce me at the same time.”

Gianni’s chiseled jaw fell open. “That’s not funny. You’d let those assholes seduce you but not me? They’re not even in your approved age range.”

I shrugged. “They didn’t tease me the way you did. And they don’t bug me every day at work.”

He reached for my phone. “Let me have a turn choosing the questions.”

“Fine.” I opened a bag of barbecue chips and started munching on them. “You know, these chips pair surprisingly well with this wine.”

He leaned over and stuck his hand in the bag, shoving a chip in his mouth. “You’re right, they do. We should have an event where we pair gas station snacks with good wine. Like, you save on the food, splurge on the wine.”

“Yes!” My glass was empty, so I got up and went over to get the bottle from the counter. After pouring myself a generous refill, I brought it over to the bed and refilled Gianni’s glass too. Setting the bottle and my glass on the table, I reached beneath the sweater and untucked my blouse from my pants. “Hey, close your eyes.”

He looked up from my phone. “Why?”

“Because I want to take my dress pants off. They’re not comfortable.”

“You said I couldn’t take off my pants.” He pointed at me. “That’s a double standard.”

“Fine, then take yours off, but turn around and face the other way.”

“Works for me.” Gianni got off the bed and dug a pair of jeans from his duffel bag. After tossing them on the bed, he faced the bathroom and unbuckled his belt. Then unbuttoned his pants. Then lowered the zipper. Then peeked over his shoulder at me. “Are you going to stand there and watch?”

Embarrassed, I spun around and faced the kitchenette. Hurrying, I removed my dress pants, tossed them aside, and grabbed the red and black plaid blanket off the foot of the bed. Wrapping it around my lower body, I snuck a glance at Gianni as he tugged up his jeans. The hem of his dress shirt covered his butt, so I couldn’t even see what kind of underwear he had on—or if he wore underwear at all. What if he was a commando kind of guy?

I quickly faced the kitchenette again and waited, my heart beating fast. After I heard his zipper, I asked, “Are you decent?”

“Yeah. Can I turn around now?”

“Yes.”

We faced each other at the same time, and when he saw me wrapped in the blanket, he started to laugh. “Ellie, that sweater covers way more than a bathing suit, which I have seen you in a hundred times.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I got back on the bed and pretzeled my legs again, keeping the blanket tucked around my lap. “Okay. Ask me your question now.”

He looked at the phone. “What did you think of sex the first time?”

I drank some more wine. “I thought it was overrated.”

“You did?” He laughed. “I thought the opposite. I was like, ‘how the hell does anyone ever get anything done?’ It was all I could think about.”

“I think I was expecting it to be like the movies. Or like in a romance novel. You know, a lot of bursting and exploding,” I said dramatically. “Cries of passion. Moans of ecstasy. Instead it was more like . . . grunt, grunt, snap, crackle, pop. I wondered what all the fuss was about.”

Gianni snorted with laughter. “I sincerely hope things have gotten better since then.”

“They have.” I grabbed my wineglass and brought it to my lips. “Mostly.”