Page 113 of Can't Get Enough

Naked, I shuffle into the bathroom with its poured terrazzo floors and spa bathtub, the epitome of luxury. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and take off my scarf so the long braids spill to my waist. I need low-maintenance hair because I have no idea what’s waiting for me at Mama’s or what I’ll need to do. For now, Maverick says he wants to take care of me, and the last of my resistance has been worn down.

I grab Maverick’s navy-blue silk robe from its hook in the closet andpull it on. Drawing the lapels up to my nose, I inhale traces of him, clean and masculine and expensive. I pad down the stairs to find him. The low rumble of his voice on the phone in his office spurs me to indulge my curiosity and explore a little. Last night I didn’t inspect the infinity pool, guest house, or subterranean garage. Soledad would die over the Bulthaup kitchen and the living room with its soaring ceiling and breathtaking ocean view. I swear I’m caught in an unimaginably opulent dream.

But it’s Maverick’s home. One of them.

I hesitate outside the open door to his office when I hear him still on his call.

“I don’t give a damn,” he says, voice terse. “Figure that shit out and come back with a solution, not more excuses. I don’t have time to walk you through every step of this process. Do your fucking job.”

I’ve never really heard him in mogul mode, and gotta say… it stirs the juices. I’m tempted to slide under that desk on my knees, pull him out, and greet him properly. When he catches sight of me, his tight mouth yields a smile and he waves me in. His office is all glass and chrome and panoramic ocean views, the coolness balanced with warm touches of brown and cream, suede and leather. The desk’s surface is completely clear save for his iPad. I settle on the edge of the desk and wait for him to finish his call. Hands free since he’s using his headphones, he pulls my foot to rest on his knee. The robe falls aside, giving him a clear view of bare legs and the shadowy secrets between them.

“That could work,” he says on his phone call as he kisses the arch of my foot and then sucks my calf. He looks up at me with flirty eyes and something so hot and sweet my synapses fry.

“I do remember,” he mutters, kissing his way around my ankle. “Work on that.”

His tongue licking at the soft skin behind my knee coaxes a gasp from me and I tip my head back, palms flat to the desktop. Dragging his chair closer, he pulls my thighs onto his shoulders and buries his face between my legs, reaching to pull me open and lick up my center.

“Jesus,” I moan as he sucks my clit and bites at all the tingling, begging flesh he can get his mouth on.

He suddenly scoots back—breathing hard, mouth wet, eyes feral. “Yeah, I’m here, Collin. I heard you.”

He closes his eyes and pulls back an inch, letting my leg slide away with seeming reluctance.

“Sorry.” He blinks and licks his lips. “I got distracted. Repeat that. I missed what you said.”

I chuckle and stand.

“Later,” I whisper. “Have you eaten breakfast?”

He shakes his head no, grasping me by the nape to pull me down for a kiss. His tongue explores the bow of my lip and he sucks the bottom one noisily, greedily. Tasting myself on him remains one of the most erotic things I’ve ever experienced, the fusion of us carried on his lips and tongue.

“I’ll cook,” I whisper, trying to get my breathing under control.

He puts the phone on mute and says, “Chef’s doing it.”

Must be nice.

“Go check in the kitchen. His name’s Laurenz.”

He unmutes the call and swats my ass before swiveling his chair to face the ocean.

“That’s better,” he tells the caller. “How soon can you get that done?”

I stride to the kitchen and find a tall man with olive skin and wavy dark hair that brushes his shoulders cooking on a NASA-looking stove I probably wouldn’t even know how to get started. He glances up and smiles, seeming completely at ease in his board shorts and San Diego Waves T-shirt.

“You must be Ms. Barry,” he says, never missing a beat dicing red peppers on a cutting board. “I’m making Maverick an omelet. Want one?”

“You can call me Hendrix.” Conscious of being naked beneath the robe, I pull the collar closer around my neck. “An omelet would be great. Cheese and mushrooms?”

“Of course.” He whisks eggs and tilts his head queryingly. “That’s all you want?”

“If you have chicken or turkey sausage, I’ll take that, too.”

“Got it. Ready in just a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” I point a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m gonna go get dressed. Be back in a bit.”

I walk swiftly back up the stairs to Maverick’s bedroom. Ignoring the temptation of the sunken bathtub that could probably hold three grown men, I opt for the shower. I make it quick, racing through my skin care, spraying my braids and laying the edges into soft waves at my hairline. I toss on a white sundress with capped sleeves and tiny pink-and-green eyelet flowers. It’s cool and casual, comfortable, feminine.

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