Page 43 of Absinthe Dreams
He wasout, which allowed me to visually drink him in.
He had a strong, aristocratic nose that gave him a solid profile – his cheekbones high and his jaw strong beneath his ginger beard. His hair was more brown than red, and shaved at the back and sides, but long on top. An undercut, I think they called it. He kept it in a ponytail, most of the time, but had let it back down when he’d taken me in to shower after our trysts the night before.
A sound from the living room made me raise my head from his shoulder, which was all it took for his deep blue eyes, the color of a bright summer sky, to open up.
“Shit!” he sat up, spilling me to the bed, and scrambled off the end. I laughed a bit as I realized it was his phone ringing.
I got up and wrapped myself in the top sheet, modesty winning out, despite the fact that he’d seen all of me and then some the night before.
I leaned against the bedroom doorway and drank in the unruined line of the back of him, growing flush at the sight of his perfect ass.
He turned around and said, “Yeah, sorry, I went to bed last night and accidentally left my phone in the living room. Say that again, where was it? Yeah. Yeah, no problem. Shit goes down out that way in just about every storm, and it’s usually an easy fix.”
He smiled at me, and I smiled back, drifting into the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going. It sounded like the day job was calling.
“I’ll meet Clayton Biggs and his crew out that way. Just let me put some fuckin’ clothes on and suck down a cup of coffee, and I’ll be on my way.” He held the phone down and stared at the screen, his frown deepening. “Yeah, fuck you too,” he muttered and looked in my direction.
“Duty calls,” he said.
I nodded. “Sounds like it. How many missed calls?”
“Six,” he answered unhappily.
“Shit, you’re not in trouble, are you?”
He lifted his shoulder in a shrug and said, “Fuck ‘em if I am.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“Go get dressed. I’ll have coffee going just as soon as I can.”
“You’re a fuckin’ angel,” he said, and he gathered up some things from inside his bag, taking them into the bathroom with him.
I finished setting up the coffee and got it brewing.
He found me just a moment later, in the kitchen – one hand on the counter, the other holding up my sheet.
He turned me into his arms and said, “Drop it, please?”
“What?” I asked, looking up at him.
“The sheet. Don’t you ever hide that beautiful body from me.”
I let the fabric go, and he pulled me into his arms.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, and I could see in his eyes that he meant every word.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and he lowered his mouth to mine.
The kiss was just as good as it’d been the night before, maybe even more, considering this one was in the light of day, the cover of darkness stripped away, and the light bathing us in golden warmth from the kitchen skylight.
“I want you to stay in the house today for me. Can you do that?”
I nodded solemnly and said, “I want to clean anyway, and after last night? I’d rather not do too much walking. I’m hoping the delayed onset muscle soreness doesn’t wait until tomorrow to kick my ass when I need to be working.”
He chuckled and said, “Suppose I need to let you rest up before we do that again, huh?”
“You want to?” I asked carefully.
