“Oh, you know what.” Except then he frowned. “Unless you’re … you know, sore from last night.”
Lizzie shook her head. “No.”
“Pity.”
“Excuse me?”
Coming in close, his mouth lingered on hers and he licked at her lips. “I was thinking I could kiss it and make it better.”
“You can do that anyway.”
As he pivoted her around and eased her against his car, she felt her heart start to soar—and figured, what the hell, she might as well let herself go. A tree had killed her car, her front yard was a mess, and there was a small forest of limbs down all over her property … but Lane was here, and he’d remembered she liked that Cobb salad, and damn it, he was the best kisser on the planet.
Tomorrow, she would put her game head back on. Tomorrow, she would remember to watch herself—
Lane eased back. “Tell me, how do you feel about sex in the open air?”
She nodded over at the three cows who were standing by her porch. “I think our audience is going to double when my farmer buddy discovers those nice ladies have gone exploring again.”
“Then we’re heading into the house right now before I go insane.”
“Far be it from me to stand between you and mental stability.”
He’d even brought an overnight bag, she thought as they carried everything in.
“So I have news,” he said as he closed her front door.
“What’s that?”
“Chantal moved out this morning.”
Lizzie stopped and looked at him. He was dressed in his casual, warm weather uniform of Bermuda shorts and an IZOD, the Gucci loafers on his feet, and his Ray Bans, and that Cartier watch making it seem like he’d walked out of an Instagram picture entitled Handsome & Rich. Even his hair was slicked back, although that was because he was fresh from a shower and it was still wet.
Her heart fluttered with a momentary fear because, looking as good as he was, he seemed like the poster boy of someone you shouldn’t trust, especially about women who were like Chantal—
As if he could read her mind, Lane took his sunglasses off and showed her his eyes. In contrast to everything external about him, they were clear, steady … calm.
Honest.
“Really?” she whispered.
“Really.” He came over and turned her toward him. “Lizzie, it’s done. That whole thing with her is done. And before you say it, it’s not just for you. I should have put a bullet into that marriage long ago. My mistake.”
Looking up into his face, she cursed under her breath. “I’m sorry, Lane. I’m sorry that I doubted you, it’s just—”
“Shh.” He silenced her with his lips. “I don’t live in the past. It’s a waste of time. All I care about is where we are now.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she bowed her body into his. “Soooooo … I wasn’t able to make the friends thing stick, was I.”
“And that is perfectly okay with me.”
“That was quite possibly the best dinner I have ever had.”
Lane glanced across the sofa and watched as Lizzie sank back into the cushions and put her hand on her belly. As her eyes began to drift shut, he pictured her up on that tree limb like an avenging angel, wielding that chainsaw, cutting the crap out of those branches that had killed her car.
Even though they’d spent the first hour of the visit getting all over each other, his erection thickened up again.
“It’s a miracle,” he murmured.
“That I liked the tenderloin so much? Not really.”
“Being here with you, I mean.”
Those blue eyes reopened slowly. “I feel the same way.” As he laughed deep in his throat, she stopped him by putting her palm up. “No, you may not spike the dishes in victory.”
Putting his napkin aside, he prowled up her body, mounting her. “I have other celebratory options, you know.”
Rolling his hips, he felt a stab of lust as she bit down on her lower lip like she was ready for some more of him.
“You want me to demonstrate one for you?” he said as he nuzzled at her throat.
Her hands stroked up his back. “Yes, I do.”
“Mmm—”
The sound of ringing on the coffee table made him jump forward and grab his phone. “Not Miss Aurora. Please not Miss Aurora—”
“Oh, my God—Lane, is she—”
As soon as he saw the call was from a 917 area code, he sagged in relief. “Thank God.” He looked up. “I have to take this. It’s a friend of mine from New York.”
“Please.”
He accepted the call and said, “Jeff.”
“You miss me,” his old roommate said. “I know that’s why you left me that voice mail.”
“Not even close.”
“Well, I’m not FedExing you those cinnamon rolls you eat morning, noon and night—”
“I need to know how much vacation time you have.”
Total. Silence. Then, “The World Series of Poker isn’t being played right now. Why are you asking me this?”
“I need your help.” Absently, he eased back against the cushions and positioned Lizzie’s legs over his lap. She’d changed into shorts after their shower, and he loved running his palm up and down those smooth, muscled calves of hers. “I’ve got a real problem here.”