Page 127 of Crash Course
She’d stuck to her word and now, every ounce of her wanted to see the big man walking through her door.
Maybe he’d stay again tonight. Was that too much to ask? Or maybe too needy for someone who scoffed at neediness?
Leaving the small entryway, she walked the few feet to the giant kitchen island and set her tote and purse on the end barstool. She still marveled at the green velvet cushions. Having gone with mostly soft whites and beige everywhere, the owner of the home decor store she’d purchased some of her furniture from had recommended a pop of color to warm things up. Cilla nearly gagged when the woman showed her the velvet stools, but she’d taken one home to test and gave it a solid ten on the I-love-it scale. Baffling as it was, it worked.
She adjusted her tote, making sure it didn’t tumble off and noticed a scuff marring the edge of the deep green, velvet cushion. When did that happen?
Lurching bolt upright, she stood still, listening while a ball of tension lodged between her shoulder blades.
After a few seconds of once again convincing herself there could be no boogeyman, she relaxed, let the silence draw her tight shoulders down.
Her cell phone buzzed. Doorman. She hit the speaker button. "Hi, Tom."
"Hello, Ms. Randolph. Cruz Blackwell to see you."
"Thank you. Send him up, please."
Two minutes later, the soft knock came. Checking the peephole first, she opened the door and found her own not-so-little piece of heaven standing there.
Grabbing his T-shirt, she hauled him close and kissed him, throwing every bit of herself into it, angling her body into his while their tongues did a lovely little dance that made every sexual fantasy she’d had about him come alive. Instantly, her nipples hardened, the sheer lace of her bra only intensifying her body’s response.
At least until Cruz pulled himself away. "Well," he said. "Hello to you, too."
Still gripping his shirt, she dragged him inside, shut the door behind him, and locked it. "I’ve had a shitty day," she said. "You can make it better."
She kissed him again, sealing her mouth over his and working her hands down to the button on his jeans.
Again, he pulled back. "Whoa," he said. "Hang on."
What?Leave it to her to find the one highly sexual man who’d actually hit the pause button when she wanted to strip him naked.
No.No hanging on. She needed something she couldn’t quite put into words, and she needed it now.
"Where’s the fire?" he asked.
Oh, she’d tell him where it was. She headed toward the bedroom, stripping off her blouse and tossing it over her shoulder. "Listen," she said. "I’ll be naked by the time I hit my room. You can join me or you can stand out here and I’ll gratify myself. Either way, I’ll have had an orgasm by the time I come back out here."
"Holy shit," he said.
Her bra went next. Before tossing it, she turned back, let him get a full view of her extremely hard nipples. His gaze drifted south, then back to her face and something in her softened. Went way too mushy for her own liking.
Him.
That’s what she wanted. All of him.
"Cruz, I’m throwing myself at you. I need . . ."
Ugh. She broke eye contact, stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds to get her head together.
"What?" he asked. "Tell me what you need."
Frustration raked up her arms. Whether it was his refusal to screw her blind or her own neediness, she wasn’t sure, but none of it sat well. A chill smothered her. So many feelings all at once. She gave up on the ceiling and met his gaze.
"I need you. That’s all. You make everything better. There. Said it. Happy now?"
"Actually, I am."
"Excellent." She jerked her thumb toward the bedroom. "Then what’s the problem because you’re not moving?"
