Page 31 of The Billionaire in Her Bed
She gave his shoulder a playful push. “You have a one-track mind.”
He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. “Is that a complaint or a compliment?”
She nudged him toward the sofa. “Sit down and shut up, and maybe you’ll get lucky.”
“What about the popcorn?”
“I figured we’d skip that. Nothing kills the mood more than kernels stuck in your teeth.”
“Can’t disagree with you there. I’d suggest a glass of wine, but we’re on baby duty.”
If her ovaries weren’t toast already, they were now. Apparently maturity and a sense of responsibility were her new aphrodisiacs. “Charise usually keeps iced tea and bottled water in the fridge.”
“Iced tea sounds great.”
To her, too. Eli made himself comfortable on the couch while Brooke did a quick check on Jaden—still out cold—then got their drinks and popped the DVD into the player.
“Ready?” She grabbed the remote and settled down next to him.
“For anything.” He put an arm around her and scooted her closer, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
She pointed the remote at the TV and pressed play. The opening credits scrolled across the screen, andJingle Bell Rockblasted through the tinny TV speakers. She frantically lowered the volume. “Don’t want to wake the baby.”
Eli trailed a finger down her arm from her elbow to her wrist, a casual gesture that spoke volumes and sent an avalanche of tingles racing through her body. “We sure as hell don’t.”
Brooke sat back, resting her head against his shoulder, and tried to concentrate on the movie. No easy task, with his hand idly tracing a path up and down her arm and his breath stirring the hair at her temple and his heart beating a steady tattoo she could feel through her sweater. Not to mention his rock-hard thigh pressed against hers.
She reached for her glass of tea on the military-style foot locker Charise had cleverly converted into a coffee table, hoping it would cool her down and stop her from climbing onto Eli’s lap and straddling him. Letting him help babysit wasn’t her brightest idea, on par with the time she brought her mother’s one-of-a-kind sapphire-and-diamond bracelet to school for show-and-tell. He was so close, and he looked and felt and smelled so good. Like cedar and sandalwood, a heady combination. What had made her think she could keep her hormones in check around him, even with his stupid shirt on?
She drained her glass and put it back on the makeshift table. With a groan, she stretched out her legs in front of her, flexing her toes in her boots.
“Long day?” he asked.
“You can say that again.”
His hands moved to her shoulders, kneading the tight muscles of her back and neck. “That bad?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” She wasn’t wading into that minefield. Talk about a mood-killer. Ten thousand times worse than a few harmless kernels of popcorn wedged between the incisors. She closed her eyes, let her head fall back, and groaned again. “Damn, that feels good.”
“That’s the general idea.” He fingered the neckline of her cardigan. “It’ll feel better if you lose this.”
“Be my guest.”
She held her arms out, and he peeled the sweater off. He laid it over the back of the couch and put one hand on either side of her spine, massaging in parallel lines all the way down her back to the top of her buttocks. Then he slid his hands back up to her neck, over her shoulders, and down her arms to her fingertips, his touch light and teasing.
She shivered, her girl parts jumping up and down and doing flips. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“I dated a girl who was a physical therapist for the Rangers.”
“I’ll bet she got you free tickets, too.”
“On occasion.”
“Nice fringe benefits.”
His voice deepened, and he put his lips to her ear. “She’s got nothing on you.”
Without warning he bent, picked up her foot and pulled off her boot.
