Shopping for an Heir (Page 43)

“Like riding a bicycle,” she whispered, letting him go. “Except no fish.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She shut herself up by kissing him, and within seconds, he was the one doing the kissing, her breath quickening, her blood racing through her, moved by the proximity to him. He was here, in her arms, and she was in his. They were together, finally.

Finally.

He pushed up against her, his erection an invitation, wild heat pooling between her legs, the need for climax rising up in her like a plea. She didn’t just want the release that came from any orgasm.

Joining with him, coming with him was what she wanted desperately.

Him.

“Take me to bed,” she murmured against his ear. He kissed her neck, letting a low growl fill the back of his throat, her body primed for the sound. Unbuttoning his shirt, she rushed, the hurried ache too keen, too great, to wait one minute more.

She needed him, needed to feel him inside her, over her, to have him everywhere at once so she could remember what it felt like to be wanted so badly, to be understood so thoroughly, to let yourself go with abandon and trust until you obliterated the boundaries between one body and another.

He moved her gently off him and stood.

She reached for him, lacing her fingers through his.

And led him to the one place where they could put the past where it belonged.

And where the future could roll out before them, naked and vulnerable, completely fresh and stunningly real.

Chapter 11

“You totally slept with him,” Kari said as she pulled Suzanne into a hug, the mixture of Kari’s perfume, ground coffee, and delivery truck exhaust combining to make Suzanne hold back a tickling sneeze.

They were in Kari’s favorite new coffee shop, a place whose only redeeming quality seemed to be the baristas, all extremely hot men who looked like male models.

“I did,” Suzanne admitted. “How can you tell?” It had been three days since Gerald had spent the night in her apartment, and while they’d both had work issues interfere, a steady stream of texts made it clear that their night together had not been an anomaly.

“Because you look like you finally unclenched.”

“Hey!”

“You asked.”

Ignoring her, Suzanne peered at the coffee menu. An Americano sounded good. Black coffee on an empty stomach was great fuel. Given her ten a.m. meeting with Phelps, she needed all the reinforcements she could muster.

“How’s the coffee here?”

Kari was tracking a guy who looked like a lumberjack, minus the beard. Tailored flannel clung to his abs, so tight Suzanne could see the eight-pack under the tartan.

“Who cares?”

“I do!” She started to take out her wallet and approach the counter. Kari put her hand on her wrist.

“I got this.”

Reluctantly, Suzanne put away her money. That was code for This is a mystery shop.

“They are all so young,” Suzanne said, nearly clucking her tongue. When did she turn into one of the church ladies from her small town back home in Minnesota? Years of military life left her with a fine appreciation for the muscled male form. No need to get shameful about it.

“I know.” Was Kari licking her lips? “Eye candy.”

“You’re objectifying them. You claim to be a feminist.”

“I can honor the beauty of the male form and still uphold women’s rights.”

“You’re a horndog.”

Kari’s silence spoke volumes.

One Americano and one mocha frappuccino abomination later, they sat at a long slab of heavily-varnished oak, precariously teetering on tall aluminum stools that were clearly designed by someone with a torso like taffy. Or Gandalf.

Even Suzanne, a relatively tall woman at 5’10”, couldn’t find balance.

“I think they designed these to be so uncomfortable that you drink your coffee quickly and leave.”

“Who would want to do that?” Kari asked, her eyes on one of the workers watering plants, reaching up with a watering can, his shirt pulling out of his waistband and exposing tanned joy in skin form.

“Cut it out! We’re here to talk about my sex life for once.”

“That’s right! You had sex! How was it?”

Suzanne blushed.

“You—you’re blushing! Suz, I didn’t know you could do that! He unlocked some blood source inside you, like a spell in a paranormal television series. Ian Somerhalder is about to come walking through the door.”

“How romantic. Thinking about Gerald made me blush.”

“He made you human! No more ice queen.”

“I am not an ice queen!”

“Not to me. But to guys, you sure are. Remember my brother?”

Suzanne felt all the blood drain out of her face.

“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. I mean, he was nice and all, but he wanted me to talk about being a submissive wife.”

“Oh, hey, I’m not judging. He’s a little nutso. But,” Kari added, perking up. “He’s really doing well selling probiotics through multi-level marketing, and he and Junie are about to have their fourth child!”

In four years.

“Great! There’s someone out there for everyone.”

“I sure hope so.” Kari eyed Mr. Tartan.

“And for some of us, there are someones.”

“Mmm hmmm.” Kari was in Scottish lumberjack land.

“Quit drooling,” Suzanne ordered.

“It’s my job to watch them!” Kari smirked.

“Mmm hmmm. So, I spent time with Andrew McCormick yesterday,” she announced.