She had no time to figure it out, he’d taken her hand and was pulling her behind him as he walked to the light switch in the kitchen and flipped it off.
He was tugging her down the hallway toward the guest suite, her hand still firm in his when she declared, “You can’t steal my passport and luggage.”
“That’s funny, since I did,” he returned.
He was unbelievable!
What was going on in that head of his?
No, she didn’t want to know. She just wanted to go.
She tried to yank her hand from his. This endeavor failed.
Instead, Prentice suddenly halted, turned and yanked her hand. He was stronger and she flew to him. He dropped her hand but caught her hips and pushed her up against the wall.
His body got close, so close she could feel his warmth everywhere.
Her mind scrambled.
“Why do you want your things?” he asked softly.
She blinked up at him, finding her attention wandering considering his proximity and that soft, deep voice he was using.
Then she explained the obvious, “They’re mine.”
“Aye, but why do you want them?”
“Because they’re mine.”
In the darkened hall, she saw his white teeth flash in a smile.
Her heart skipped as her temper flared.
“We’ve established that,” he replied. “Now, why do you want them?”
“I just do,” she shot back.
His hand lifted, coming up to cup her jaw and he tipped her head further back as he got even closer.
“All right, you can have them back,” he murmured.
Suddenly, she didn’t want them back.
With effort, she remained focused.
“Thank you.” It was meant to come out condescendingly but it came out breathily.
“When I’m ready to give them back,” he finished, she opened her mouth to protest, which was a fool thing to do as his head had slanted and it was coming closer.
“Pren –” she got out before he kissed her.
This time it was hard, thorough, deep and long with the addition of being wet, hot and tasting deliciously of custard and sponge.
As she always did, always, always, always, she melted into him. Her hands glided into his soft hair and she held his head to hers as her body ignited.
He stopped kissing her but didn’t take his lips from hers.
“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered.
Lost and no longer thinking about her suitcases, her passport, getting away, saving him and his children from the misfortune that seemed to plague her or the fact that he had an enormous piece of sponge for dinner, she pressed into him and nodded.
Prentice
Elle spooned in front of him, the fingers of one of Prentice’s hands between her legs, the others curled around her breast, her sweet ass nestled in his groin, his cock still imbedded inside her, her sex rippling against it in the aftermath of her orgasm, Prentice buried his face in her fragrant hair and tried to even his breathing as he listened to Elle doing the same.
Christ, she was magnificent when he fucked her.
Testing this theory, he pressed his still-swollen cock deeper, his thumb and forefinger rolling her taut nipple, his other fingers putting pressure between her legs; she emitted a sexy, lusty sigh and nuzzled her ass into his lap.
Welcoming his attention.
Inviting it.
Getting off on it.
Yes, he was correct.
Magnificent.
He could enthusiastically say that night and the one before, Prentice had sampled a variety of items in the catalogue of things he wanted to do to Elle and he was not disappointed.
When he wasn’t close to her, touching her, kissing her, fucking her and she wasn’t around his children, she was hesitant and unsure, aloof and cool or unapproachable and distant.
When she was with his children and when he was close to her, touching her, kissing her, fucking her, she was not hesitant, not remote, not unapproachable.
She was completely his.
His Elle.
The one he’d fallen in love with twenty years ago.
He just had to work on the rest of the time.
During those times, when she was with his kids or he was close, he had her back. Not exactly the same, not with her rabid energy and joy of life but instinctively he knew that would happen.
Or, more to the point, he intended to make it happen.
And to do it, he had to keep her off-balance or stay close or be touching her, kissing her or fucking her.
He looked forward to this challenge.
And Prentice Cameron hadn’t looked forward to anything for a very long time.
Gently, he pulled his hand from between her legs and wrapped his arm around her middle as he cupped her breast and slid his cock out of her, craving their connection instantly after it was lost.
Her breathing had steadied and her body weight settled into his arms.
She’d slept late that morning but she’d been worn out. He wouldn’t be surprised, after what they’d done (and they’d sampled four positions in his catalogue, all of which they both enjoyed to the fullest), if she fell asleep.
His head came up and he shifted her hair off her neck with his chin before he asked softly in her ear, “You asleep, baby?”
He was surprised when she whispered, “No.”
He kissed her neck then absorbed her shiver, something which made him smile.
“Do you want to talk?” he asked her neck.
She was still whispering when she replied, “No.”
That was perfectly fine with him.
He settled in behind her, tightening his arms.
She didn’t fight it. She cuddled closer even though there was no closer to get still, she sought it.
This pleased him.
Perhaps he was getting somewhere.
His face went back to her hair and his arm left her waist. His hand travelled down her arm and found her hand.
Realizing vaguely he was relieved to find her hand open and relaxed; he threaded his fingers in hers.
Her fingers closed tight.
Yes, he was getting somewhere.
“Sleep,” he encouraged.
“Okay,” she whispered.
He stayed awake until he knew she slept.
And he stayed awake longer, unconsciously waiting for her to have that dream.
When time slid by and she didn’t but instead laid peaceful in his arms, Prentice finally fell asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Miracle Worker
Isabella
In the moments before fully waking, Isabella felt that sweet, long-lost sense of contentment she’d only experienced once in her life for fifteen months twenty years ago.
Then her travel alarm sounded.
Her eyes opened.
The warm solid weight at her back shifted, the fingers laced in hers released and Prentice pressed into her back as she saw his arm reach out, his hand tagging the clock.
The bed moved as she felt him get up on an elbow and she stared at her clock held before her in his hand.
“Christ, how do you turn this fucking thing off?” he growled, his voice gruff with sleep.
Evidently, Prentice was not a morning person.
She took it from him and pressed the off button. Without delay, he pulled it from her hand and put it back to the nightstand.
She tried to get her thoughts together but they were randomly and determinedly skipping from one to another, all of them centered around how very much she liked waking up next to Prentice (even grouchy Prentice).
His body was warm, it was big, it was strong, it was pressed up against hers and the bed felt cozy and safe with him in it.