Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(34)

I bark out a laugh and glance over my shoulder. “That’s not pillow talk, Aaron, that’s ego stroking. And I’m not telling you all my deep, dark secrets because you gave me an orgasm. You’re going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than that if you want those.”

“I gave you two orgasms, not one.”

“You better not start keeping a running tally.” I finally find my bathrobe, in the very back of the closet, and free it from the hanger.

“It sounds like there’s a threat attached to that statement. And also like you’re not opposed to getting naked with me again, which I’m completely on board with, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering, actually.” I slip my arm into one sleeve.

“Hey! Stop doing that. Stay naked. Come back to bed.” He pats the mattress.

As enticing as it sounds, I ignore the request. I want to stay in bed and do exactly what he suggests, but I don’t know what it is we’re doing yet, and pillow talk is a level of intimacy I’m not ready for. Personal conversations are different when you’re naked—and they make me feel more vulnerable than I’d like. “I’m jumping in the shower. You’re welcome to join me.”

“You’re killing my afterglow.” I hear his feet hit the floor and smile as I pad across the room.

I manage to get the shower turned on before his arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me back into him. He tosses the spent condom in the wastebasket and burrows through my hair, one hand slipping under my robe to cup my breast as his lips find my neck.

“I’m sweaty.” I still tip my head to the side, transfixed as I watch our reflections in the mirror. I’m tall, but he has more than a head on me, and he’s so broad. It makes me feel delicate.

“You’re delicious, every inch of you,” he murmurs, his eyes lifting to meet mine in our reflection. The mirror steams, turning us into an indistinct blur as my robe drops to the floor and I pull him into the shower with me.



Half an hour later I’m clean and my legs feel a lot like they’re made of Jell-O, not that I’d tell Aaron that. His ego does not need any inflating. He leans against my counter, wearing his jeans and his T-shirt, which was hanging over the arm of my pink polka-dot chair.

Apparently, he likes to work shirtless not because he’s looking for attention but because it’s nice to put a clean shirt on at the end of the day, especially if he leaves work and goes straight to the local pub for dinner.

“Do you want a root beer?” I ask as I open the fridge, enjoying the blast of cold air.

“Sure, thanks.”

I grab a bottle of root beer for him and an energy drink for me. He nabs it from my hand before I can pop the tab. He makes a face. “Now I know why you’re like the Energizer Bunny in bed. How can you stand the taste of this stuff?”

“How can you stand the taste of that stuff?” I point to the jar of instant coffee.

“Fair.” He hands the can back to me.

“It’s best when it’s ice cold.” It hisses as I open it and gulp down a few mouthfuls to wet my parched mouth.

“You got anything to eat in here? I skipped lunch.” Aaron pats his flat, six-pack stomach.

“I think I have some lunch meat? I could make you a sandwich. Or if you can hang on for”—I glance at the clock, and it’s already four in the afternoon—“an hour, we’re having steak for dinner. You’re welcome to join us. I made fresh buns.”

“I like your buns.” Aaron waggles his brows.

I give him a look. “That was the worst.”

“You’re still smiling, so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“The worst.”

“I’ve got more lines. I’m gonna drop my best ones on you when you least expect it, and you’re gonna swoon so hard.”

“Or laugh so hard that I pass out is more likely.” I like this version of Aaron. He’s fun, playful even. “Can you wait for dinner, or do you need food immediately?”

“I can wait. What else are we having besides steak? And are you sure there’ll be enough?”

“Why don’t we go to the house, and we can check it out. If it looks like we’re short, we can always make a trip downtown and pick up extra.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

We leave the garage and head to the house. It’s slowly transitioning in my head from cottage to permanent home. We have more than enough steak, and we also have shrimp. I start pulling things out of the fridge and decide I might as well make biscuits too.

“Can I do anything to help?”

“You can spin the lettuce.” I point out the spinner and push the field greens toward him.

He makes a face, as though I’ve asked him to clean up dog crap.

“Do you have a problem with lettuce?”

“I only like the kind in Caesar salads, when the flavor is masked with dressing, bacon and cheese.”

“You have the palate of a five-year-old.”

“Lettuce without dressing tastes like dirt.”

“It tastes healthy.”

“Exactly. Like dirt.”

I’m shaking my head, ready to fire off a joke about how he probably likes to eat canned spaghetti, when I hear the sound of gravel crunching on the driveway. “Um, question.”