Linc said. “Relax, Tate, I’m not asking for anything more. I’m not expecting anything from you but to share your body with me. No offense, but if I was looking for someone to settle down with, and I’m not, you’re not what I’m looking for.”
Dammit, why did she feel like he’d jabbed an ice pick into her heart? Stupid girl! “Because I am the least stable, traditional, least likely to stay at home, woman you know?”
Linc shrugged. “But you’re, by far, the sexiest woman I’ve ever met, and I want you more than my next breath.”
The fist clenching her heart relaxed, and Tate sent him a hesitant smile. She could do this; she’d separate sex from emotion and she would be fine. She had to be; anything else wasn’t an option.
“And, last request, outside this room, we act normal,” Tate insisted.
Linc smiled teasingly. “What’s normal?”
She was trying to be serious, but Tate’s mouth curved upward. “Fair point. But, to spell it out, I look after the kids and you...well, you do what you do.”
“Doing you is high on my list,” Linc growled.
Tate punched his shoulder, but her fist held all the impact of a puff of air. “Be serious. Do we have a deal?”
Linc grinned. “And I thought that I was a pushy negotiator.” He laughed at her glare and held up his hands. “Peace. And, yes, we have a deal.”
Linc replaced his hands on her hips and dropped his head to nuzzle his lips against her temple.
“Shall we seal it with another kiss?” Tate asked, surprised at her brazen words.
Linc looked tempted and then regretful. With a groan he stepped back and moved his hands from her waist to her hands. “Tate, if we go there again, we’re going to get naked, very fast. And if I’m not downstairs soon, Cady will send Beck up to light a fire under me.”
“We have such crap timing,” Tate said, her tone mournful.
Linc laughed. “We really do.” He glanced at his watch and sighed. “Our ten minutes are nearly up. Jeans and white shirt. What type of jeans? Which white shirt?”
Tate pulled her hands from his and walked into his spacious closet, sighing at the racks of suits, dress shirts on hangars in a myriad of colors and what seemed like a hundred ties.
“You have more clothes than I do,” she stated, looking at his pile of jeans.
“Since you live out of a suitcase, most people do,” Linc said, walking past her to flip through his selection of white shirts. His shoulder brushed hers, and he hauled in a breath and closed his eyes. “You smell divine, like chocolates and perfume. And vanilla.”
“Chocolate and vanilla cupcakes,” Tate replied, picking up a pair of designer jeans from a pile and discarding them. When she saw a pair of jeans with a rip in the knee and a very pale blue from too many wash cycles, she held them up. “These.”
“I meant to throw those away,” Linc said, looking doubtful. “They are seriously old. I wear them to—jeez, I never wear them anymore.”
“They are perfect,” Tate reassured him. “There is nothing sexier than a guy in a pair of ripped, well-worn, well-fitting jeans and a good shirt.”
“If you say so.” Linc pulled his tie from his neck, undid some shirt buttons and pulled his dress shirt out of the waistband of his suit pants. Gripping the back of his shirt by its collar, he yanked it over his head and dropped it to the floor. Tate stood, openmouthed, taking in his broad chest softly dusted with hair, his mouthwateringly sexy six-pack and the bulging muscles in his arms.
She placed her hand on her stomach and softly whimpered. “Holy cupcakes with sprinkles on them.”
Linc’s head shot up, and his hand, about to unzip his pants, stilled. “Problem?”
Tate shook her head and met his eyes, allowing him to see the raw desire she knew was blazing there. “It’s just you, I...” She waved her hand as if to fan herself. “So damn hot. I could jump you right now.”
Linc scrubbed his hands over his face and swore. “I’m holding on by a thread here, Harper, and you’re not helping.”
“You’re the one stripping!” Tate huffed.
Linc dropped a hard, quick, open-mouth kiss on her mouth. “God, you are so sexy, and I love the way you look at me.”
Smiling coquettishly, she dragged her index finger down the middle of his chest and over the ridges his six-pack. “Very pretty, Ballantyne. I’m happy to taste as well as touch.”
“Shut up, Harper. You’re playing with fire,” Linc muttered, unzipping his pants and pushing them down his hips. Tate dropped her gaze, and she saw the proof of his desire for her straining against the soft fabric of his underwear. Tate licked her lips and took a step toward him. Determined to have his mouth on hers, her hands on all that tanned, masculine, sexy skin.
Linc’s hands on her shoulders stopped her in her tracks. “As much as I want your hands on me, I can’t. Not now. So, do me a favor, please, honey?”
Honey? Lord, she’d never been called that, never heard the words from a deep-voiced guy with lust and need and appreciation in his eyes.
Anything. She’d do anything for him, but, man, she hoped the favor involved getting naked and up close and very, very personal. Tate cocked her head and begged her racing heart to slow down. “What?”
“Later tonight, I promise you I am going to make you scream, over and over again, from unrelenting pleasure.”
Oh...gulp.
“But for now? Please, walk your seriously fantastic ass out of my bedroom and down the stairs. I need you to go so that things—” Linc gestured to his groin “—can settle down.”
This was nuts, Tate thought. She’d never had such an intense, crazy, take-me-now-and-damn-the-consequences reaction to any man before. Why Linc? Why now? Why with the one man who was the embodiment of everything she’d never wanted? And why did she suspect that walking away from Linc—and she would because that was what she did—might end up breaking her heart?
She needed to back away, that was the clever thing to do. Get some distance, some air, try to settle down. Tate nodded. Yes, walking away was the sensible choice. And she would. In a minute.
But before she did, she reached for a white dress shirt she’d seen earlier. It was plain white with black buttons, designer, expensive but interesting. She pulled it off the hanger and handed it to Linc. “Wear this, roll up the sleeves to the middle of your forearms. Don’t wear that watch. Wear the one you had on the other day.”
“The one with the black leather strap?” Linc asked. “It’s vintage.”
“It’s seriously sexy. As are you.” Tate dropped a quick kiss on his bare, big biceps. “And, Linc?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember to smile,”
