Dream of You (8 page)

She gawked at his neck. For some reason, that
small patch of skin was more erotic than anything she'd ever
seen.

She was in a worse way than she realized.
Clearing her throat, she averted her gaze to avoid jumping him.
"And you live alone? With all this space?"

"No. Thanks to you, I live with Chanel." The
corner of his mouth hitched in a smile. "At least she prefers
sleeping in her own bed. I figured her for a bed hog. This
way."

She followed him down the hall, unabashedly
sticking her nose into every room they passed. She could tell it
was professionally decorated because everything was perfect. But it
was a house, not a home—a little cold and not lived in. "Your house
is big. Do you want a family?"

"I haven't thought about it specifically, but
it's in my long-term plans."

"Good."

He glanced at her over his shoulder.

"It'd be a shame to waste all this space,"
she said blithely. He didn't need to hear the thoughts formulating
in her head.

"I usually eat in the study." He handed her
the food and gestured her into a room. "Make yourself comfortable.
I'll be back with silverware."

"Okay." She walked in, set the bag of food
down, and began to snoop.

This room was infinitely homier than the rest
of the house. It wasn't as sterile or perfect, but still had the
neatness she realized was part of who Rob was. There were personal
touches in here. A photo of an older couple on his desk. Some more
obviously family photos on a wall. Some well-worn books on a shelf.
A cashmere throw casually tossed on the back of a leather
couch.

This
was where he lived. She bet his
bedroom was similarly tidy but lived in.

He walked in and put the tray he carried on
the coffee table. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he
asked wryly as he sat on the couch.

Not yet, but she was closer to unlocking him.
She held up the frame from his desk. "Are these your parents?"

"Yes."

She looked at them. She could see a
resemblance to both of them, along with the aloofness she'd come to
expect from him. He came by it naturally. At least it wasn't her,
she thought as she set the photo down. Instead of sitting on the
couch, she sat on the floor next to him because it seemed less
formal. "Do they live in San Francisco?"

"Boston."

"Do you visit them often? Do they visit you?
Are you close to them? And are the people in the other pictures
your brothers and sisters?"

He gave her an amused look as he took out the
containers of food from the bag. "I'm not sure where to start with
that barrage of questions, so how about if I ask you some?"

She blinked. "Why?"

"Why are you asking me questions?"

"Because you interest me. We've already
established that I'm just a pest you're feeding."

He stopped in mid-motion and stared at
her.

She tried to figure out what he saw. She knew
she was attractive enough, but looks didn't matter. What mattered
was the connection between the two of them—the electricity that
flashed whenever they were close.

Did he recognize that?

"I tend to exterminate pests," he said
carefully.

"Is that a warning?"

He chuckled and handed her a plate. "That's a
statement of fact that has nothing to do with you, as you're not a
pest. Much."

"Thanks." She grinned. "When do we get
married?"

He did a double take but relaxed when he saw
she was obviously joking. "What I'm trying to figure out is what
you want from me," he said, handing her a container of curry.

"I want your body," she said, scooping a
generous portion onto her plate before handing it back to him.

"You do," he agreed, giving her a foil packet
of
naan
. "But that's not going to happen."

"Why not?" She set the bread down, engrossed
in the conversation.

"It wouldn't work out."

"How do you know?" she insisted.

"I just do."

"Yet you still invited me over."

He shook his head. "You invited
yourself."

"You could have said no."

"To you, apparently I can't."

To her, that meant she was irresistible,
which was a good thing. But he obviously felt differently about it.
"You don't look happy about that."

"I told you, I can't figure it out. You
should be an annoyance but..."

"But what?" she asked.

She didn't think he'd answer, but finally he
said, "But I'm intrigued, even though I shouldn't be."

"Why shouldn't you be intrigued? Because I'm
unacceptable?" A thought occurred to her. "Is this because I work
in a café and you have a 'real'"—she made air quotes—"job?"

"Not entirely."

"You know that means yes." Frowning, she tore
a piece of
naan
and dipped it into the curry on her plate.
"For the record, I love working at Grounds for Thought, much more
than I liked what I did before. I get to talk to an assortment of
people, and they all look forward to coming in and spending time
with me."

"What did you do before?"

"Tech stuff." He didn't need to know she'd
built one of the world's most successful technology consulting
firms.

"And now you're a barista." He said it like
he was trying to understand it. "Why did you stop working in tech?
Were you laid off?"

"It was time to move on." She saw he
translated that as
Yes, I got laid off
, but she didn't do
anything to correct his impression. She pushed her food away, no
longer hungry. "Light the fire for me."

He frowned. "It's not cold out."

"Where's the romance in you?" She rolled her
eyes. "Who cares? It'll be nice."

He looked like he wanted to tell her there
was no romance between them, but he surprised her by lighting it.
It was one of those automatic gas fireplaces, and the heat radiated
from it immediately.

Sighing, she crawled closer and stretched out
her legs, rolling her feet. She wasn't used to standing on her feet
all day. "Eve, my boss, works in these crazy high heels. I have no
idea how she does it."

Rob glanced at her feet. She could see him
contemplate massaging her feet. He didn't, but that was okay with
her because he considered it. Baby steps.

"Are you done eating?" he asked.

"Yes. Thank you."

"You barely had anything."

"You ruined my appetite."

"Because I said we'd never have a
relationship?"

"Yes." She turned to face him. "Correct me if
I'm wrong, but I assumed you were there when we kissed last
time."

His gaze fell to her lips. "I was there."

She heard the desire in his voice and threw
her hands up. "Then why are you determined not to get involved with
me? We nearly went up in flames, and all we did was touch lips.
Just think if we did more."

"No, I will not think about that."

"Why the heck not?" She growled in
frustration. "You just said you were interested."

"I shouldn't be. We're in different places in
our lives. You need to be thinking about your career options at
your age."

"What age?"

"You're, what, in your mid-to-late
twenties?"

She laughed while her thirty-eight year old
eggs wailed in despair. "I wonder if that's a compliment or if
you're telling me I'm immature."

"How old are you?" he asked, obviously
confused.

"Old enough to know I want you." She slinked
over to him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, though he
remained completely still and watchful.

She may be doing the preying, but she had the
sense he was still the predator there. She crawled onto his lap,
straddling him. "I'm going to kiss you."

His hands held her by her hips, neither
encouraging nor discouraging. "That's not a good idea."

"It's the best idea I've acted on in a long
time." She tilted her head and brought her mouth to his. The first
kiss was glancing, testing, but still warm.

The second kiss held none of the initial
hesitation. She dove in, going for it. His hands stayed where they
were, but they tightened on her.

She lifted her head just enough to whisper
against his lips, "Is this onerous for you?"

"No."

"Then kiss me back." She shifted closer.
"Like you mean it."

He gazed into her eyes as if searching for
her motives. But, frankly, whatever motive she had before, right
then she only wanted him for himself.

He snaked his hand into her hair, tipped her
head back, and kissed her deep. It was slow and thorough, but as
instantly hot as the fireplace. All her various body parts came
alive.

Throwing her arms around him, she pressed her
body to his. Under his dress shirt, he felt solid. Manly. Her
girlie parts sighed in pleasure and anticipation.

Her soul sighed.
Him
, it insisted.

She had to agree.

It was just starting to get interesting when
Rob lifted his mouth and said, "I'll take you home now."

She just wanted him to take her—period. But
she didn't want to push him when she'd won this skirmish. So she
sat back. "I'll get home on my own."

"I'm taking you."

"I live across town. It doesn't make sense
for you to go all the way there and back." Plus she didn't want him
to see her posh flat.

He set her on the couch next to him. "I'm
taking you. Let's go."

She huffed, but she knew she wasn't going to
win here.

In the car, he said, "Where am I going?"

"Potrero Hill."

He arched a brow as he navigated through the
empty San Francisco streets. "A little upscale."

"Not my place." Not compared to his. "I've
been there a while, and I share it."

It wasn't even that much of a lie. She did
share the building with another couple, but the top floor and its
views of the city were all hers.

They drove in silence, both obviously wrapped
in their own thoughts. When they pulled up to her place, she
pointed to the side gate. "I'm that way."

"You live in the back?" he asked, looking out
the window.

"Yeah." That wasn't much of a lie either. Her
bedroom was in the back, and she
did
spend most of her time
there.

She opened the door. "Thank you for feeding
me."

"You didn't eat."

"And for bringing me home."

"Grudgingly."

"Are you always this difficult, or is this
for my benefit?" she asked, exasperated.

He had the nerve to grin. "It's mostly
you."

Eyes narrowed, she grabbed his shirt and
kissed him. She meant it to be punishing, but it was charged and
left her yearning for more.

Before he could tell her to stop, she ran out
of the car and up the walkway to the gate. She let herself in and
watched him from behind it, waiting for him to leave before going
in, turning on all the lights, and dropping onto her bed.

She'd meant to ask him to be her sperm donor,
but now she was confused. She propped a pillow under her head and
stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Now she wondered if she wasn't
shortchanging herself and her baby by just asking him to be a
donor. Because she could see herself sitting on the floor with him,
eating Indian food and bantering, for years to come.

Maybe her plans needed to be adjusted. Maybe
she hadn't been thinking big enough.

Sighing, she relived every delicious kiss
from the night and imagined having that forever.

Lola's front door buzzed at 10:10pm, exactly
ten minutes after Sam had said his show would end. The nerves in
her belly that had been jittery all day flared into full flight as
she went to let him in.

She opened the door. "Hi—"

He dropped the bag in his hand, pulled her to
him, and devoured her.

The moment his lips touched hers, her nerves
were forgotten. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burrowing
under his jacket as his hands speared into her hair. She heard him
groan as his hand touched the skin under her robe and he realized
she wasn't wearing anything under it.

His mouth took hers as passionately as every
time before. Hungrier this time. Deeper, and a bit slower, as if
they both knew they had all night.

He walked her backwards without breaking
their kiss. She heard the door shut behind them, and he blindly
reached behind to lock the deadbolt. Then he hauled her up, hands
under her butt, and turned her to the nearest wall.

She gasped in excitement and anchored her
legs around him. His hard-on, which seemed ever-ready, jutted
against her. She rubbed herself on it, hoping she conveyed just how
eager she was for this.

Sam trailed kisses on her neck as he untied
her robe. "Please tell me you've been naked waiting like this for
me all day."

"Does that make you hot?" She pulled his
T-shirt out of his jeans to get to the skin underneath.

"It'll keep me hot for the next month." He
pushed the robe off one shoulder and bit her skin lightly.

"In that case, I write like this all day."
She arched her back, offering him more. "Naked, in a silky robe,
just me and my laptop."

Groaning again, he pressed against her so she
felt the pulse of his hardness. "You know I'm going to think about
that all the time, right?"

"Good." She reclaimed his mouth.

He undid his pants, and when she felt his hot
flesh against her thigh it was her turn to moan.

"I need help with this," he said, holding up
a condom.

That she could do. She tore it open and
sheathed him as quickly as humanly possible with her pressed
against the wall and him nibbling on her. Not wanting to leave
anything for chance, she guided him into her.

They both gasped at the feeling.

"It feels"—she struggled to find the
words—"full."

"And warm." He kept himself hovering at her
entrance, letting her get used to the feel of him. Brushing her
hair out of her face, he held her gaze. "You still good with
this?"