Branded as Trouble (Rough Riders #6)(83)

And she thought he’d lost his sweet-talkin’ ability. The man could make her wet and weak-kneed with just words.


He blew in her ear. “I think I behaved admirably by not shoutin’ out your name when I came all over your hand. I think I oughta be rewarded.”


“You were rewarded.”


“Hmm. Maybe I oughta reward you.”


“I’m listening.”


“You fulfilled one of my fantasies, so turnabout is fair play.


Tell me, sugar, what’s one of your unfulfilled fantasies?”


“The first one that pops to mind?”


“Uh-huh.”


“I’m with a man, who has a really big—”


“Indy,” he warned.


“Kitchen. A man who knows the difference between simmer and burn, a man who can whip and stir, steam and cream. A man who keeps his promises of heating things up.”


“I get it. I’ll teach you to cook. But you so aren’t getting any cock…tail shrimp tonight, if you waste all that dirty talk in the grocery store.”


“Oh, don’t you worry. There’s plenty more where that came from.”


“That’s what I’m countin’ on.”


Three days later, India was cleaning up the kitchen at Colt’s house, when he shouted from the living room, “Indy, you okay?”


“Almost done. You need anything?”


“I’d take a soda if you’re offerin’.”


India wrapped tinfoil around the leftover pieces of her first chicken dinner and shoved the plate on the shelf in the refrigerator.


As she reached for a Diet Pepsi, she accidentally knocked over the can of whipped cream from the back.


Heh heh.


The laugh track from the TV echoed. She vigorously shook the can and kept it behind her back, hiding it behind his recliner after she entered the living room.


Colt glanced up and bestowed the wicked grin that was hers alone. Cheeky man.


India leaned over and set the soda on the end table. As she straightened up, he snagged the ends of the dishtowel draped around her neck and hauled her on his lap.


He swallowed her tiny shriek with a kiss heavy on seduction.


She found herself plastered to him as he lowered the recliner completely horizontal.


“Mmm,” he murmured against her throat, “much better.”


“What are you doing?”


“Don’t you want to mess around?” He brushed warm kisses across her lips. “Because I could kiss you for hours. Here,” he briefly let their lips connect, then nibbled a path to her ear, “and other places.”


“What other places?”


“Lemme think. Right here.” He opened his mouth where her neck curved into her shoulder and sucked until she whimpered.


“And here.” That agile tongue circled the hollow of her throat and rained wet kisses down to the top button of her shirt.


“Anywhere else?”


“Oh yeah.” His deft fingers began to unbutton her blouse. He didn’t say a word until the material flapped open to reveal she wasn’t wearing a bra. He groaned and filled his hands with her breasts. Squeezing, rasping his thumbs over the nipples until they contracted into tight, aching points beneath the hoops.


Colt watched her face as he touched her. Gauging her reaction to better torture her next time. She let him think he was in charge, but she couldn’t stop a smirk from forming.