Uh ... never? She never brought guys over, never wanted to parade a stream of men in and out of Nathan’s life. She figured if she’d ever thought about having a permanent relationship with a guy, she’d let him meet Nathan.
So why had she invited Mick over? They weren’t even really dating.
“There are three bedrooms up here. Nathan’s room, my room, and the third I use for an office. I should probably warn you about Nathan’s room ...”
“You can skip it. That’s his private domain, and I don’t want to violate it.”
She stood outside her bedroom door. “Oh, but you’d be fine with violating my private domain?”
He leaned over her and turned the door handle. “Honey, I’ve already violated your domain.”
There went that flutter again, her sex and her ni**les all too aware they were entering her bedroom.
She stood back and let him look, figuring he’d take a cursory glance and they’d be on their way back downstairs.
“It looks like you.”
She stared at her bedroom, at the cream and brown comforter, the pictures on the walls, the photos of Nathan. She turned to Mick “Really? How?”
“Colorful. The art on the walls isn’t just some mishmash of crap. The textures of the two pictures over the bed bring out the colors in the bedspread. I like Mondine’s art, by the way. She’s trendy, but doesn’t paint that weird shit where you can’t figure out what the hell it is. The black-and-white photos of your son seem to capture his personality. He looks like he’s trying damn hard to be serious as hell and all grown-up, but he’s just a big goof and probably feels dorky a lot of the time. Curse of being almost fifteen. Cute kid, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Her voice caught because he’d so perfectly described her son’s early awkward teenage years.
“I can tell you put thought into each piece. Same thing with the knickknacks that you have spread throughout the house. It’s not overkill, just subtle touches. It’s not fussy; it’s simple. I don’t feel like I have to watch where I walk or where I would set a glass down. And I imagine your son is comfortable living here. Your place looks lived-in. It’s inviting.”
She stared at him for the longest time, until he laughed.
“What?” he asked.
“Who are you?”
“Huh?”
“No football player knows art and décor. And you know who Mondine is.”
“Oh. Well, blame Liz for that.”
“Liz?”
“My agent. She makes me go to gallery openings and museums and charity events for the arts—the kinds of things no football player should have to endure. You soak enough of it up, some of it sticks. Like this sculpture here,” he said, picking up the entwined lovers. “It says something about who you are as well as the artist.”
“What does it say about me?”
“That you know good art. I saw this at a gallery opening a few months back. It also says you’re a romantic.”
She sat on the end of her bed and looked at him. “There are sides to you that boggle me, Mick Riley.”
He sat next to her. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
She rubbed her temple. “I haven’t decided yet.” She knew he’d wowed her because he was way more complex than she’d given him credit for.
He pulled her onto his lap. “When you decide, let me know. In the meantime, I want to tell you how much I missed you this week.”
Just being close to him set her nerve endings firing, waking up all the female parts of her that had missed him, that craved his touch. The logical part of her, on the other hand, just knew this was a bad idea, especially since they were sitting on her bed. But she couldn’t get her damn body to listen to the signals from her brain that told her to get up. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck and snaked her fingers into the thick softness of his hair. “You missed me?”
“Yeah. If I’d had your number, I’d have called you.”
“I’m glad I gave you my number, then.”
“I missed being able to talk to you.”
“I like talking to you, too.” That was the truth. He made her laugh. He was smart and wicked funny. He was interested in her, in who she was as a person, not just as someone to have sex with. Men like him were so rare.
He rolled her onto the bed. “I thought a lot about kissing you.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.” He pressed his lips to hers, his tongue diving inside and taking her breath away, making her forget everything except his taste, his scent, the feel of his hard body next to hers. She slung her leg around his hip and brought him closer, already wet and needy as a hey-I-missed-you kind of kiss became something deeper, more passionate. She pulled his shirt out of his pants and slid her hand inside, pressing her palm against his hot abdomen, needing to touch his skin, to feel his pulse beating against her hand.
Mick rolled her over onto her back, his body on top of hers as he moved his lips from her mouth to her jaw, his tongue sliding to her neck. She shivered as he applied suction there.
“That makes my ni**les hard.”
He pulled her tank top up. “Does it? Let’s see.”
He jerked her bra up over her br**sts, smiled up at her, and covered one nipple with his mouth. She arched against the wet heat and the way he gently sucked her ni**les.
Yeah, she’d missed him a lot. And now that he was here, she had a sudden quaking need to feel him inside her.
“Mick, please. Fuck me.”
Instead, he popped the button of her jeans and unzipped them, then kissed his way down her belly.
Tara gripped the comforter with both hands, her entire body taut with tension and need as he dragged her jeans and panties down her legs. He spread her legs and crawled between them, draping them over his shoulders and planting his mouth over her sex.
“Did you touch yourself this week?” he asked, looking up at her.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Too busy.”
“You should never be too busy to come, Tara.”
“I need to come now.” She reached down and slid her fingers into the softness of his hair.
“I like that you haven’t come since you were with me.” He kissed her thigh, then put his mouth on her.