It took all her will not to throw her leg up over his hip and grind into him. God, she wanted him desperately. Wanted to rub all over him like a cat.

His tongue stroked sinuously and seductively over her own, making her weak in the knees. He tasted like good gin and cigars. Like sex and sin and trouble.

When he pulled back and broke the kiss she put her hand to her lips, still tasting him there.

“Sweet dreams.” He looked deliciously tousled as he took a step back, one hand in his pocket, the other raised in a wave.

Mechanically, she got into the car and pulled away.

Whew! That was the hottest kiss she’d ever experienced. The man was a freaking genius with his lips. It made her wonder what his oral technique was. She snorted—it wasn’t like she hadn’t been wondering that since the first time she’d met him. Now that his tongue had been in her mouth, she could imagine far better how it would feel against her clit.

She was so totally going to jump him tomorrow night. She just hoped she could contain herself until after dinner.

* * *

Once home, Nash hit the shower. God knew he couldn’t just go to bed after that damned kiss. Stripping off, he turned on the showerheads and let the water heat as he laid out towels and turned on the stereo. He’d been on a Tito Puente kick lately—he didn’t have to guess why.

He scrubbed his scalp and soaped up his body, a shock of pleasure echoing through him as he ran a hand over his cock. He wasn’t going to lie to himself; he’d known he’d have to get himself off when he got home. The same way he had just about every time he’d seen or even thought of her.

Leaning back against the marble wall of the enclosure, the four showerheads pelted him with water as he closed his eyes and thought of Dahlia. Imagining her wet there with him, rivulets of water sluicing down those magnificent breasts, drops beaded like diamonds on her eyelashes. He’d taken close enough notice of her body when she’d danced; he knew her legs were strong and muscled, knew her belly was flat just before the generous curves of her hips and thighs.

He’d slide his hands over her, slick with soap, as he kissed her.

Slowly, he pumped his fist around his cock, imagining it to be her hand holding him. Absently, his thumb flicked over a nipple. Would her tongue feel that way?

From their kiss, he knew she’d be responsive in bed. Dahlia was a woman who would embrace all the pleasure she could bear. They’d be well matched that way.

His breath caught as he felt his climax approach. His thumb rubbed circles over the head of his cock each time he pulled his fist nearly all the way off. Moving his other hand down, he alternated—one hand grabbing at the base, pulling all the way off, replaced by the other hand. Over and over. Faster and faster as he imagined her mouth around him, her tongue where his hands were, imagined plunging deep into her pussy as it fluttered around him, tight and hot.

First he’d take her hard and fast, her legs wrapped around his waist. He’d have access to her breasts and her luscious, carnal mouth. He’d watch as she came, watch her eyes go passion-blind. Would she beg him? Was she a moaner? Imagining the sound of her voice as she came sent a wave of pleasure straight from his brain to his cock.

Then he’d wait until they caught their breath before going down on her. Oh, he couldn’t wait to taste her pussy. He’d take his time, drive her up slowly, feast on her body as well as the sounds she’d make and while her pussy still fluttered with climax. And then he’d roll over and have her ride his cock, going hard and deep and letting her set the pace.

A moan ripped from low in his gut as he came, hands still stroking over his cock until he was spent and began to soften.

And he was hard again ten minutes later, wanting her for real.

CHAPTER THREE

Dabbing a tiny bit of frangipani essential oil behind her knees, Dahlia took a last look in the mirror. It had taken four clothing changes to find the right mix of casual and sexy. She’d never felt so much anxiety about setting the right balance of pretty and alluring.

To that end she’d decided on a white haltered sundress with red roses silk-screened on it. The skirt was full and hit just below her knees. She’d grown up in a house with a mother who sewed, knitted, baked and canned. Dahlia couldn’t knit, bake or can to save her life, but she could sew. Which was a good thing because she loved clothes but didn’t have the money to buy much. And it was also a nice way to share that connection with her mother.

Her hair stayed loose around her shoulders, held back by a wide red band, and pretty silver hoops in her ears finished the simple look.

The scents of garlic bread and fresh basil painted her senses. If they both ate garlic it wouldn’t matter. And she loved garlic.

Hearing the doorbell, she smoothed down her skirt and padded, barefoot, across the small living room to the door. When she opened it she nearly fell over. He stood there in sand-colored jeans and suede loafers. A deep green button-down shirt set off his eyes. Hot damn, he looked good enough to grab hold of and lick.

“Hi. You’re right on time. Come in.” She stood back and waved him inside, watching his trim, high, hard ass as he went.

He handed her a bag and she peeked inside. “Café Gelato! How did you know?”

He grinned. “I didn’t, but it seemed more appropriate to have gelato with what you were making than mere ice cream. I got pistachio and chocolate. I hope you like at least one of them.”

She smiled and leaned in quickly to kiss him. “Pistachio gelato is like the best thing on earth to eat. Thank you.”

* * *

Pride warmed Nash at her appreciation of his silly gift. He’d had to drop off some papers at the Bellagio for a client who was staying there, and so he’d seen the gelato on the way out and thought of her. Well, he’d thought of her when he’d seen the giant chocolate fountain at the entrance to the small shop. Stunned by the vision of her naked, drenched in warm chocolate, his heart had nearly burst from his chest. It was then he realized that gelato would be better than ice cream and stopped in for some.

It was a novel experience to be with a woman who got excited by fifteen dollars’ worth of gelato instead of an expensive bracelet. Refreshing.

As she led him toward the kitchen, he took the place in. He liked her apartment. It wasn’t the luxurious penthouse he lived in, but it was warm. He’d been right about that. Deep oranges and reds filled the place with hints of turquoise blues and white. An odd explosion of color, but it worked. It was vibrant and earthy like she was. She’d made it into a home.

She poked her head around the freezer, where she’d just put the gelato. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh!” He handed her the bottle of red wine he’d brought. He’d restrained himself from bringing the really expensive bottle he’d picked up first, not knowing if she’d be offended or not and settled on a nice mid-priced bottle instead.

“Perfect. Will you do the honors? I need to pull the lasagne out of the oven, get it on the table and toss the salad.” She pointed to the opener and the glasses on the counter and he obliged, taking them to the table.

“Sit,” she ordered absently as she brought the rest of the food to the table and finally sat down.

Taking a sip of the wine, she sighed happily. “This is quite lovely.”

“Just like you. This looks amazing, Dahlia.” The table was filled with beautiful food, and something in him warmed, knowing she’d made it for him. People didn’t do that for him, and he realized how much he was missing now that it was there.