Page 83 of Lucky Laces
Then I make my way up the path leading to her porch.
Before I get there, the overhead light flicks on and the door is drawn inward.
And suddenly, the sexy, sweet, smart-as-a-whip woman is in the opening, leaning back against the frame, arms crossed, a sinful smile on her lips.
One that widens when her gaze drifts down, presumably to the bag I’m holding tightly in one hand.“What’s that?”
I lean down and kiss her.
It’s been two days since I’ve seen her, two days since I’ve tasted her.
So, I don’t waste any time.
I taste that smile…and then her moan as she pushes off the frame and presses herself against me, wraps her arms around my shoulders.I want to scoop her up, to carry her inside.
But…
My fucking leg.
So, I have to content myself with hauling her close and walking us into the house, doing it not lifting my mouth, not pulling away.
Lush curves.
Soft lips.
Moans vibrating along my tongue and down my throat and?—
Yup.
I’m hard again.
Something I know Dee feels when she arches against me, her pelvis brushing mine, and she stills.Her head lifts, lips curving, words silky smooth as she asks, “And what’sthatI feel?”
“Smart ass,” I mutter, slamming and locking the door.
“No,” she says, leaning to the side, gaze sliding down tomyass.“That’s you.You’re smart.”A beat.“And because hockey players have the best asses.”
“Um.”
She rises on tiptoe, her front pressed to mine.“Thebest.”Then she drops back to her heels, and smile deepening, she snags my bag from my hand.
“The freaking best.”
And then she turns for the kitchen.
And I follow her.
Because I would—or maybe I already have—follow her into hell and back.
Twenty-Seven
Diana
“I didn’t knowyou could cook,” I say softly, moving into the kitchen, the delicious smells of whatever is in the pan he’s stirring on the stove filling the air.
He glances over his shoulder, mouth curving, and when I get close, he wraps his arm around my middle, drawing me against his side.“It’s less cooking and more…throwing shit in a pan and hoping for the best,” he says, lips pressed to my temple.
“Liar,” I say, shifting closer and snagging one of the carefully trimmed green beans I watched him cut while I was on the phone and pop it into my mouth, instantly moaning at the explosion of flavor.
