Wedding Vows: Just Married: The Ex Factor / What Happens in Vegas... / Another Wild Wedding Night. Nancy Warren
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thought of the way he’d described his dating strategy to her, playing some kind of mathematical numbers game, and she had to agree.
“If you want whimsy, you’ve come to the right girl.” She blew out a breath. Usually she was uncomfortable talking about herself, but she figured if she liked the guy enough to spend half a day making him a cupcake, she liked him enough to tell him about her life. So she tried.
“The only truly constant thing in my life has been cakes. I knew that’s what I wanted to do when I was a teenager. But apart from that, I’ve moved around a lot, spent some time in India, never really been able to settle. My parents were hippies and somehow I never got out of the habit, I guess. I’m thirty-two years old and my longest ever relationship was two years. Everything I own fits into the world’s tiniest apartment. Which I rent.”
There was nothing left of the cupcake now but the little fondant man in the gray suit. Ron glanced at her as though he were about to ask if he could keep the little icing guy, but he surprised her, he leaned forward, holding the replica of himself between his thumb and forefinger. His eyes held hers. “I want you to take the first bite,” he said softly.
Maybe it wasn’t the sexiest remark a man had ever made to a woman, but it was the most erotic statement anyone had ever said to her. Perhaps because of the way he was looking at her. This buttoned-up accountant had sexual intent blazing in his eyes and she knew he was inviting her to do more than chomp a chunk of icing.
She leaned forward slowly. Opened her mouth. Like a perfect sunset, a great concert or a belly laugh, she knew this moment would be gone all too soon, and all she’d have would be the memory, so she tried to imprint every sensation. The feel of the cold breeze on her nose, the sound of traffic in the city, the cry of some hardy seabird in the distance, and the warmth of the man beside her. The expression of tender lust on his face, the way his lips curved slightly, a tiny smudge of blue lodged adorably on his chin.
He slipped her version of himself between her lips and she bit down, taking half of him into her, enjoying the burst of sweetness and the punch of almond. Because, as with the cake, she hadn’t wanted the icing to taste predictable.
She licked her lips. He continued to gaze at her as he pushed the other half of his fondant self into his mouth and chewed. His eyes widened slightly as the unexpected flavor hit him, and they went squinty at the sides with humor.
Then he leaned over and, taking her chin in his hand, scanning her face for a long moment, he kissed her.
She was flighty and dreamy and whimsical and—deep to her core—romantic. She’d dreamed of Princes Valiant and Charming and every variation in between. The kind of men who rode steeds and crashed down doors and swept innocent, heart-pure maidens off their feet.
Ron wasn’t anything like that. She couldn’t imagine him on a steed. He seemed like the kind of guy who might be afraid of horses. She couldn’t imagine him sweeping her off her feet, but he’d hold a door open for her, he’d be able to figure out even her income tax, which was a lot more practical in the real world.
It was only his kiss that made her feel like a fairy tale princess.
This was sweeping her off her feet, the way he took possession of her mouth, teased her with his tongue, so she tasted again the sweetness of sugar and almond, the hints of lemon from the cake.
She got the feeling he was as stunned as she was by the powerful attraction between them when their mouths met. She made a sound in the back of her throat, embarrassingly like the purr of a well-stroked kitten, and he pulled her in closer, until their bodies rubbed together. She felt all the frustration of winter. Coats and sweaters, possibly thermal underwear on one of them, which oddly enough didn’t put her off but kind of excited her since it was so new and strange compared to what she’d been used to.
Guys who could unerringly find their Chi but didn’t always have as much luck finding the clitoris.
Not that she knew a great deal about Ron, but somehow she felt he was the kind of man who, once shown, didn’t forget important details like that.
His hands were rubbing up and down her back. She could tell he wanted to do more and was holding himself in check.
For her benefit or some odd notion of his own?
She rubbed her breasts provocatively against his chest, as provocatively as she could with all the layers between them and she was pretty sure he groaned in a quiet, self-contained way.
Hmm. She let her hand stray to his knee, slowly track north. He sucked in his breath when she brushed against a flatteringly hard erection. But he didn’t pick up on her obvious invitation to do some more exploring of his own.
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