Page 37 of One Night Stand After Another
“Don’t look,” he whispered. “See if you can guess which one it is.” He lifted himself high enough to grab the box and offer it to her. She took it from him, set it on her belly, and kept her eyes closed as she selected a truffle and put it in her mouth.
This time would be slow, he promised. But then he lost control again, driving her hard. She whimpered, breaking against his lips.
Okay, the next time would be slow. He wasn’t an animal.
He moved over her, grabbing a truffle and slipping it into her eager mouth. As he slid into her body and stroked, slowly, so slowly, he took her mouth in a tender kiss. She tasted like chocolate, bourbon, and pistachios.
His favorite.
Her softness beneath him, the sweetness of the chocolate mingled with the warm scent of woman, and the way her hands caressed his back, moving over him with more than desire, with something that felt like affection, undid him. He loved bringing her pleasure, loved feeling the synergy between them that told him they were on the same page, sharing this experience.
He ate up every sign of her arousal. Her wide pupils ringed with deep, velvet blue. Her parted lips, every breath a soft moan that he felt in his cock. The way her body welcomed him, wet and ready to ease his way. He couldn’t hold back anymore, but he didn’t have to.
She tightened around him, and he thrust deeper into her softness, watching her come apart and losing himself with her.
Chapter Twelve
“I’m dead, aren’t I?” Clara groaned. “I thought this road trip was going to be fun, but now I think you’re trying to kill me.”
Zane silenced his alarm and snuggled closer behind her, cupping her breast. “But what a way to go, my love.” He said it before he thought about it, but it felt right. He took a slow, controlled breath and hoped she didn’t notice. It had been two days. No one fell in love in two days. “I’ll order coffee, and you’re going to hate this idea, but a cold shower in the morning works wonders. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“Because you’re a masochist,” she mumbled into the pillow.
If he did anything else with his morning wood, they’d fall behind schedule. Frankly, the idea of driving all day wasn’t as thrilling as it had been when they’d started their adventure. It would be way more fun to order room service and have breakfast in bed. Or go out. He’d surprised her with a hot dog last night because it was the quickest option, but the pizza in Chicago was not to be missed.
A brilliant idea hit him, replacing his plan for making Omaha, the birthplace of the Reuben sandwich and seven hours away, their next stop. “Hang on.”
He rolled so he could grab his phone from the charger. “Let me check something.”
She made a sleepy noise of assent.
He hadn’t been all that jazzed about driving through the flat parts of the country, anyway. He checked flight schedules just to make sure it was remotely possible. Then he consulted his notes app to see what he could tempt her with on their new route.Perfect.
He tossed his phone onto the bedside table and wrapped his arm around her again. “Let’s fly. We’ll miss the Grand Canyon, but we don’t really have enough time to appreciate it. Maybe another time.”
She looked over her shoulder, one eye open. “Hmm?”
“You have all those flight vouchers, right? You might not have been able to use them to get from Buffalo to Los Angeles, but what about Chicago to Denver?”
She rolled to face him. “What’s in Denver?”
“Mountains.” He grinned. “A great hotel. And maybe a little place called The Slip Stitch Café that does a half-day crochet camp for pros.”
Both eyes blinked open. “I’m not a pro.”
He stroked her warm thigh. The scent of her—of them—wafted out from beneath the covers, making a cold shower an even more unappealing prospect. “You could sleep in. We could have breakfast. Explore the city a little. Get a pizza for dinner.”
“That sounds lovely, but I’ve been burned by Magna twice this week. I’ve got plenty of vouchers, but I’d rather risk them canceling a future vacation flight than the one that gets me to my interview.” She rolled away, moving toward the side of the bed.
He snuggled behind her, anchoring his arm around her waist. “I promise to get you to LA for your interview. I have a vested interest in arriving on time, too, remember? Jack will never let me live it down if I flake on his buddy, Roman.” He smoothed her curls out of his face and then caressed her arm, her side, her thigh. She remained stiff, unyielding. He played his trump card. “If we fly, we’ll save enough time to hit a little place in Hollywood called Jimmy Banan Wool.”
Both eyes flew open and stared straight into his.
“What do you know about Jimmy Banan?”
“Enough.” After a preliminary inquiry about an appointment, he’d excluded the elite showroom from their itinerary because they’d still be on the road, but if Jimmy Banan got this reaction from her, he’d get her there. “There isn’t much information online. I couldn’t find any pictures of his private, appointment-only showroom, but I saw plenty of Hollywood icons wearing his custom designs. My Google search made this guy seem like the Yoda of yarn.”
Her gaze dropped from his, and she sighed. “Jimmy Banan is the man who gave me a twenty-thousand-dollar grant for the purpose of ‘fostering the lost art of crocheting.’ I took the money and abandoned the dream when I used it for business school.”
