“Yes,” she choked out. She arched her back, taking him in deeper, and then another yes slipped from her mouth, this one thick with desire. Ecstasy flashed across her face as her orgasm ripped through her. Becker barely had time to enjoy it, her shuddering, the pulsing of her pu**y, because pleasure seized his balls and then his own orgasm was sizzling down his spine. He came hard, shoving his tongue in Jane’s mouth as his climax spun like a tornado through his body. He continued pounding into her, desperate, erratic thrusts that made Jane writhe beneath him. Their groans mingled together. Becker felt Jane’s heartbeat hammering in her chest, matching the frantic beats of his own heart.
When they finally grew still, their breathing steady, their bodies still joined, Jane released a soft laugh. Planting a kiss to his jaw, she moved her lips to his ear and whispered, “Okay, let’s have dinner now.”
Becker just laughed.
“I’m only here for eight more days,” Jane said, setting down her fork.
Their dinner was spread out on the table, the aroma of chicken and rice filling the air. Becker had ordered a bottle of wine too, and they’d already drank half of it. Jane was feeling a little tipsy, which was probably the reason she’d decided to vocalize her thoughts. She hadn’t wanted to push him, but she couldn’t stop herself from making this proposal.
Becker popped a piece of chicken in his mouth, chewing slowly. “And?”
“And I think it would be a complete injustice if I spent the next eight days not getting f**ked by you.”
He coughed, then shook his head and shot her a grin. “I’m trying to figure out if I’m ever going to get used to that blunt honesty of yours.”
She grinned back, oddly pleased that he didn’t seem to mind her sometimes painfully honest nature. She’d always been this way, speaking her mind, often blurting out things she probably shouldn’t. Other men had seemed put off by it, especially when her honesty revealed something they didn’t want to hear. But Becker actually seemed to appreciate it.
“I’m serious,” she said as she reached for a glass of wine. “I think we’ve stumbled onto something good here. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to see me naked again.”
She stared at him. He stared back.
After a moment, those brown eyes of his looked resigned. “I want to see you naked again.”
Pleasure jolted through her. “Good. So let’s do naked things for another week.”
Becker laughed, but his expression didn’t stay amused for long. “I wasn’t kidding the other day,” he told her. “I’m getting over a divorce.”
“How long were you married?” Jane asked.
His eyes went guarded. “Why do you ask?”
“Because this divorce is obviously our only obstacle, so we might as well tackle it. That way we can get back to bed.”
Becker’s mouth twitched.
“So, how long?”
“Fourteen years,” he admitted.
Jane couldn’t hide her surprise. Wow. Fourteen years? She couldn’t imagine spending that much time with a person. Her longest relationship had barely lasted three months. “You must have married young,” she remarked.
“We were eighteen.”
“High-school sweethearts?”
He nodded.
“Let me guess,” she said dryly. “Football quarterback, head cheerleader, passionate romance for four years, got married because you couldn’t live without each other and wanted to face the exciting new world together?”
“Almost.” He sighed. “Football quarterback, head cheerleader, passionate romance for four years, got married because I knocked her up.”
Jane raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Sadness crossed his face. “She got pregnant, decided to keep the baby, so we got married. She miscarried three months later.”
“And you decided to stay married?”
“We wanted to make it work.” He shrugged. “And we did, for a long time. Alice and I were always pretty independent people. She did her modeling thing, I did the military thing, and the marriage kept us grounded.”
“So what happened?”
“Her modeling thing became more important than the marriage,” he said simply.
Jane took another sip of wine, thoughtful as the cool liquid slid down her throat. “She’s a model, huh?” Somehow that surprised her, that this quiet, intense man had been married to a model.
“Alice Dawes,” he supplied.
“The Mystique perfume chick?” When Becker nodded, Jane couldn’t fight the tug of insecurity in her gut. Jeez. Only yesterday Jane had been flipped through a magazine and admired the perfume spokesmodel. Alice Dawes was drop-dead gorgeous. Long, silky blonde hair, pale silver eyes, a tall, willowy body. Just looking at the woman’s picture had made Jane feel frumpy and dwarfish in comparison.
“Wow,” Jane finally said, reaching for her wine again. She drained the glass, wondering why she suddenly felt so damn inferior. One, she and Thomas Becker weren’t seriously involved. And two, he’d divorced his wife, so obviously Alice Dawes wasn’t that awesome.
Becker pushed away his plate, smiling ruefully. “What, you find out my ex-wife is a model and now you’ve changed your mind about all those naked things you wanted to do?”
“I haven’t changed my mind.” She hesitated. “You still haven’t told me if you’re even interested.”