Page 75 of Royal Icing
“Another?” he asked, looking very determinedly at the screen.
“Aren’t you hot?” she asked.
“A little,” he admitted.
“I’ll feel more comfortable if you’re shirtless too. Your Highness,” she added cheekily.
He considered for a moment, then stripped his sweater off. The candlelight contouring his abs was extremely distracting. Desire bloomed in her, hot and fast, like the evening primrose that opened at night in their garden back home.
“Loser of the next song loses their pants,” she announced. The Santa’s Revenge was making her bold. She raised an eyebrow, daring him to refute her.
“Deal. I hope you’re not attached to yours because you’re going to lose,” he said.
“We’ll see,” she said.
They danced to the next song. He lost, and his pants slid down over muscular thighs and dropped to the floor.
“Again?” he asked, looking awfully cocky for someone who was down to a pair of silk boxers.
“Again.”
They paused for another sip. Her guard had dropped so low it was probably somewhere in the basement.
They danced again, and her movements were getting less sharp. Her ass was sweating. At least he was sweating too.
The song ended, and Leo won.
Emma made a show of unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them off.
If Lola knew about this, her scream would be audible from Antarctica.
He was standing closer to her now. There was a hunger in his eyes.
“One more?” he asked, trailing his fingertips down the back of her arm.
Goosebumps developed despite the heat in the air.
“One more.”
Time was running short. She needed to knock this song out of the park and figure out what was happening next. The kitchen awaited, and she really needed to get to work. Her entire future hung in the balance. But for some reason, she could only focus on Leo and the beads of sweat forming on his lower back.
His biceps bulged, and his deltoids rippled with strength as he followed the TV. Halfway through, the controller slippedthrough Emma’s sweaty hand and bounced onto the rug. She bent to pick it up, and Leo’s hand grazed her ass.
It was all she could do to not throw everything to the side and leap on him. She stopped trying so hard, flailing her arms at the wrong time and watching Leo even more intently.
“Don’t throw the game, Emma,” he said, nodding at the screen.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The song ended, and the score tallied on-screen. Leo won.
Emma let her controller fall again, and she slowly and deliberately unclasped her bra. The straps skated down her arms, and it fell to the rug with a muffled thump.
There was a response in Leo’s boxers.
She stepped closer to him, trailing a hand down his arm.
It didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense. It didn’t matter that she was setting herself up for heartbreak, or that they might never see each other again after tomorrow night. For now, this was enough.
