Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(59)
They’d come to her apartment for a purpose, one she’d made clear. But now that the prospect of so much intimacy, so much literal and figurative nakedness, loomed before them, did she worry he might judge her and find her lacking in an entirely different way?
“Umm . . .” She wandered toward the kitchen area. “Are you hungry? We could eat lunch, if you’d like. I have some leftover pizza. Some leftover fried rice too.” Her shoulder lifted, and she opened the refrigerator and scanned the shelves. “Sorry. I haven’t done much cooking since the move. Not that I cooked much before then, either.”
He wasn’t going to get a better opening than that.
She didn’t move from the refrigerator as he walked up behind her. Not even when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, looping them just above her waist. Her body was still within his embrace. Stiff, although she didn’t move away.
After a few seconds, she relaxed, melting into him the way she had earlier.
Ducking his head, he rested his chin on her round shoulder. “I like to cook. Which is good, because my job means I have to be careful about what I eat. How I exercise too.”
And there it was. He might as well have been holding a piece of her stone countertop. No surprise there.
“April . . .” He pressed a quick kiss to the newest bruise on the side of her neck. “After those doughnuts this morning, I’ll probably eat nothing but protein and vegetables for the rest of the day. I can’t have leftover pizza or fried rice. I’m not especially hungry anyway. But—”
She was closing the refrigerator door and twisting out of his arms and moving away from him, and he didn’t try to stop her. He just kept talking and hoped she was still listening.
“—I don’t expect anyone else to eat or exercise the way I do. It’s a part of my job. That’s all.” He gestured to the shiny refrigerator. “So if you’re hungry and want pizza, have pizza. If you want fried rice, have fried rice. If you want to eat more doughnuts the size of your head, or another of those croco—”
“Cocroffinuts,” she muttered, finally meeting his eyes again.
“—whatever the fuck those things are, you should do it. Despite the very real risk that more caffeine might actually make you levitate.” He tried to infuse each word with every bit of sincerity he could muster, every bit of reassurance. “What I eat or don’t eat is irrelevant.”
He shouldn’t know why she’d turned cold in the cab after their day at the museum. But he did know, and before they fell into bed together, she needed to hear the truth.
His body was a tool for his job. He intended to keep it strong and durable and flexible. If the attention he had to pay to food and working out would trigger anxiety for her or make her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t get past, then they both needed to know that now.
She’d paused several feet away from him, leaning a hip against the countertop. Behind those adorable glasses, her brown eyes were narrowed. Assessing.
It wasn’t enough that he was telling the truth. She had to believe it too. He intended to project earnestness and credibility using every trick in his actor’s playbook.
He kept his stance open under her scrutiny, his hands relaxed, his gaze steady in return. Before her, he stood calm and stalwart, the very exemplar of trustworthiness.
Another long pause, and then she inclined her head and took a small step toward him. “Fair enough.”
The sudden release of tension weakened his legs, and he propped his butt against the countertop for extra support as he cast her a sidelong glance. “You mentioned lunch. Do you want to eat something?”
For the first time since they’d arrived at her apartment, a wicked edge turned her smile sharp. Predatory. Jesus, he’d run past SFX fireballs on set that weren’t as hot as April with that particular expression on her face.
Best of all, her expression meant he’d done it. He’d navigated a verbal minefield without a script or character guiding his words—him, of all people—and that gorgeous incendiary device of a smile was his reward.
“Not food.” Another step closer. Another. “In other matters, I could be persuaded.”
His breath whooshed from his lungs.
April, her red-gold hair spread over his thighs as he arched into her hot mouth and trembled.
That particular image had brought him to orgasm numerous times over the past week, almost as often as when he imagined the sounds she’d make as he licked her, how she’d buck in his hold and toss her head as he held her in place, how she’d tighten around his fingers when he sucked her clit, how she’d pulse and moan as she fell to pieces under his mouth.
Just an hour ago, though, his cock had strained against the zipper of his jeans at the genesis of an entirely different fantasy. That one he could make happen, if she was willing. Right now, in her kitchen, with daylight pouring through her windows.
He held out a hand. “Come here.”
No hesitation. Her fingers intertwined with his, and she didn’t pause or protest when he turned her and tugged until her back pressed against his chest. The counter behind him was hard and cold, but he barely felt it anymore. Not given the heat and softness in his arms.
The pressure of her generous ass against his growing erection turned his eyelids heavy. Especially when she did exactly what she’d done on that sidewalk earlier. Tipping her hips, she rubbed up and down slowly, a caressing taunt.