Time stood still as his cock pulsed in time with the clench of her flesh. Sound filtered through the haze of thought-numbing orgasm. Feeling drifted back into his arms, and he lifted his forehead off her shoulder. Her face tipped toward his. When she smiled, his heart skipped several dozen beats.
Not wanting to consider that strange, erratic cadence behind his ribs, he captured her mouth in a gentle kiss.
She was still smiling when he lifted his head. And his heart once again skittered unexplainably.
Brad eased into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress. Frowning, he removed the condom, tied it off, and dropped it in the nearby trashcan. She’d wrecked him, all right—he was having palpations for God’s sake. He’d have to check that out when he returned to New York. Sure, he’d slacked off with his routine at the gym lately, but he couldn’t be that out of shape.
“You’re not…leaving are you?” she asked quietly.
That was enough to snap him out of his thoughts. He turned back to her, sank into the mattress, and gathered her into his arms. Her head came to rest on his chest. “Not hardly. I told you I’d go easy on you. At first.” Smoothing a hand down her long hair, he nuzzled the crown of her head with his cheek. “Get some rest, beautiful. I’m far from done with you tonight.”
Chapter Five
An unending, nerve-grating buzz dragged Brad from exhausted slumber. He cracked one eye open to unfamiliar scenery and lay unmoving in total disorientation. Thick, rough-hewn timbers rose from the corners of the softest bed imaginable. Light peeked through heavy blinds, dull and grey, not quite full sun. The scent of jasmine filled his nose.
Jasmine.
Memories snapped into place. The sexy brunette writhing beneath him. Kneeling on the edge of the monstrous bed as she answered his gruff instruction to lock lush lips around his heavy erection. The endearing way her wide eyes filled with not just her own pleasure, but a beguiling desire to fulfill his and a gut-wrenching dose of innocent trust.
Groaning, Brad connected the aggravating buzz with the cell phone he’d thrown on the nightstand and rolled over to shut the damned thing off. He was in Colorado, not New York. He’d just spent the single most amazing night of his life with a beautiful stranger.
Now he faced an entire day locked in a conference room, battling custody arrangements with the rigid, no-nonsense Cassandra Blaire, Esquire. On little more than two hours sleep. In all his years of practicing family law, he’d never even heard her name until this case landed in his lap. He quickly learned despite her lack of recognition, the woman was ice, and meticulously devoted to detail. He’d spent more time fighting with her via email and fax than many of his other opponents, and out of frustration demanded a week of face-to-face negotiating. After last night, he sincerely regretted that decision. Nothing sounded less appealing. Not to mention, finding his brain on a serious lack of sleep would be an impossible chore.
Sighing, he forced himself upright and swung his legs off the edge of the bed. As he stared at the carpeting, blinking through the burn in his eyes, a hearty aroma drifted to his nose. It occurred to him then, the bedroom was otherwise empty. His nighttime companion had already fled this magnificent bed.
Was she…cooking?
The idea piqued his curiosity enough to overcome his leaden limbs and bring him to his feet. He struggled into his trousers, slid his arms through his shirt, but left it unbuttoned, and ran a hand through his hair, then rubbed at his eyes. He knew no woman who dragged herself out of bed and did anything more than stop at Starbucks for breakfast. Hell, breakfast wasn’t even part of his vocabulary anymore. Coffee, yeah—and he’d trade an entire month’s salary for a steaming mug right about now. But real food?
Good grief, now that he thought about it, aside from his mother, no woman had ever cooked for him, be that breakfast, dinner, or anything in between.
He stumbled into the hall and followed his nose. The aromas intensified, triggering memories of childhood and bacon and eggs with pancakes on Saturday mornings. A strange warmth lighted somewhere behind his ribs, spreading with each step he took.
When he reached the kitchen, that unexplainable warmth became stifling. Her back to him, she did, indeed, hover over the stove. She wore a comfortable, sage green, terry cloth robe that was anything but sexy, but somehow managed to flag his cock to half-mast attention. That uninspired garment fit her. Not just size, shape, and all the technical ways. But the woman he’d discovered beneath a classy dress and four-inch heels. She possessed a quaintness he found compelling. A simplicity that set her above the polished, career-driven women he encountered on the New York streets and within crowded Manhattan courtrooms.