Page 76 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
“You can do a damn sight better than some tatty sweats for my girlfriend,” I bite out. “Get me twentystunningoutfits for a woman—all designer, all size four. By morning.” I remember Contessa’s palette of choice. “And make them all black.”
I hang up and stare at the phone. Did I just saygirlfriend? The fuck?
Why?
My back thuds against the wall as I try to decipher how I feel about what I just called her. I’ve never had a girlfriend before. I’ve neverwantedone, for God’s sake. Aren’t people supposed to have conversations about that kind of thing? Come to a mutual agreement? How the hell do I know?
My breaths slow as I taste the word on my tongue. It’s not all that bad. It’s notpungent. Then I imagine ifTess weren’t my girlfriend. That would make her a free agent—available. And she is not available. She’s mine.
I bite down on a silent growl. She’s fuckingmine.
When I return to the bathroom, my breath escapes me. Contessa is sitting up, covered in a mass of bubbles, shaving her legs with a razor. Screw the crawling.Thisis possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I stare at her, unable to tear my eyes from her soapy skin and slippery curves.
“Where did you find that?” I rasp, nodding to the razor.
She doesn’t look up, which means she knows I’ve been standing in the doorway watching her for a full minute. “Cabinet,” she smiles. It’s then I notice wet footprints across the carpet.
“Thought I told you to relax.”
She lifts her lashes slowly. “I want to look nice for you.”
My chest expands and my jaw unhinges. “You always look nice.” I kneel down by the tub. “I don’t care if you have hair on your legs.”
She purses her lips. “I do.”
She drags the blade up her soft skin one last time, rinses it in the water then rests it on a soap dish. Then she faces me, a blush crawling up her cheeks. “Can I get out now?”
“One second.” I stand and pull a fluffy towel from the rail and hold it out for her to step into, then I gently pat her dry, all over. There’s a guest robe hanging in the closet so I fetch that and wrap it around her.
I notice her glance toward a tray of oils and lotions.
“Can I choose one for you?” I ask.
“Um…” she looks unsure. “Okay.”
“Go into the master suite and sit on the bed.”
She does as I say while I peruse the various bottles and creams. I uncork a few and smell the fragrances, settling on one that promises to seduce the senses – a heady mix of Rose, Jasmine and Neroli. I carry it to the bedroom and try not to react at the way she’s draped herself over the comforter, the robe splayed to the sides, showing off her flawless skin and lean limbs.
“Are you trying to ruin me, Contessa?”
She shakes her head slowly. “I wantyouto ruinme.”
Okay, so my dick just swelled to twice its size.
I’m still fully clothed as I prowl up the bed and straddle her with my knees. Her eyes sparkle with challenge.
“You’re hardly wearing this, brat,” I say, giving a cursory glance to the bathrobe. “Let’s just take the whole thing off, shall we?”
She hooks her eyes on me and wiggles out of the bathrobe, tossing it to the side of the bed. “We’re back to ‘brat’ I see.”
I tip some of the liquid into my hand and rub my palms together to warm it. “Well, if the shoe fits…” I smirk. “Now lay back.”
She lays flat on the bed and I place my oiled hands on her shoulders. A long languid sigh rolls off her tongue and her lids close. I stroke the oil down her arms, kneading her tight muscles. She must be dehydratedbecause her skin is soaking up the oil faster than I can apply it. I move my fingers to her collarbone and massage the taut chest muscles, then—fuck it—I just dribble the oil across her breasts and stomach. She hums her approval so I set to work. I rub the oil gently into her breasts, quickly learning how she likes them to be handled—what movements earn a sharp intake of breath or an exquisite sigh.
I then move to her stomach feeling the curve of her ribs and the dip of her muscles. I bypass her pelvic area, placing a chaste kiss on the small mound of hair, then work the oil into her legs. Only once I’ve coated her front completely do I order her to roll onto her stomach. She obliges, then turns to look over her shoulder.
“I think I prefer ‘girlfriend’,” she says.
