“That looks mighty good,” he drawled.
She blinked up at him, flushed and flustered. “Pancakes will be ready soon.”
“I meant you, beautiful. Forget food right now. I’d rather fuck you.”
And he didn’t take no for an answer; snagging one arm around her waist and dragging her against his body, he dropped a hard kiss across her lips. Jesus, she smelled sweet. She’d brushed her teeth and pulled her artless curls into some half-up, half-down ’do that made him want to mess it up with his fingers.
He claimed her lips, sinking into her mouth and delivering a long, slow kiss of good morning. Rachel melted against him, opened wide to let him in, and gave as good as she got. Hmm, he could get used to this . . .
When he pulled back and sent her a steamy stare that suggested they get busy, she blushed a pretty pink.
With a laugh, he glanced down her body. “In fact, you look good enough to eat, beautiful. Did you dress up just for me?”
The blush deepened. “Maybe a little.”
“I like it. I’d like the shoes better if they were up around my ears, but . . .”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that supposed to be another pick-up line you found on Google?”
“Nope. That’s all me. Impressed?” He winked and found that he really liked teasing her. He adored the way she looked down demurely while giving him a flirtatious smile with a hint of the devil.
“Decker, you’re a wicked man.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he promised, then pulled her in for another kiss.
Sweet. Always so damn sweet. She didn’t taste like danger, betrayal, or another man, as the other women he’d taken to bed for the last decade did. She was warm and real and . . .
Shit, he sounded like some poetry-writing pussy. But it was all true.
With an arm around her waist, he didn’t have any trouble finding the big bow at the small of her waist and untying her apron. She barely had a chance to sputter a little protest before he yanked it over her head and tossed it to the ground, then silenced her with another kiss. A moment later, Rachel threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself close, rubbing against his nagging cock.
Decker thrust his hands in her hair, no longer giving a shit about her pretty curls arranged away from her face and all around her shoulders. “You keep doing that and you’re definitely going to get fucked.”
She gave a throaty laugh. “Promise?”
Fitting his hands around her ribs, under her arms, he lifted her onto the white tile of the kitchen counter. She gasped when her bare ass made contact with the cold surface. Rachel squirmed and tried to get comfortable. He just smiled. “Yes. Right here. Right now. Spread your legs and brace your heels on the edge of the counter.”
She blinked, looking so gratifyingly shocked, but she complied. “Just . . . like this?”
“Exactly like that,” he confirmed. “You make me ache for you every time.”
A fresh blush bloomed over her whole body.
“You ever had sex outside the bedroom?”
She shook her head, biting her lip and casting her gaze down again. “No.”
“Oh, beautiful . . . We’re going to have so much fun.” He grabbed her ankles and spread them wider, helping her anchor her heels on the edge of the counter, toes pointed down, leaving her pretty cunt completely open for his stare, his tongue, his cock.
Best breakfast ever, and he couldn’t wait to dive in. He was on his last condom, but after this, he’d somehow manage to drag himself out of her pussy long enough to feed her and run by the drugstore. After that, all bets were off.
Ready for a feast, he ran a finger down the inside of her thigh, skirting ever closer to her sensitive, swollen center. How fascinating to watch her folds grow slick and flush and pouty for his attention. Every part of her was beautiful.
He dropped his towel and took a few sidesteps over to his jeans, carefully removing the condom without disturbing the gun. Rachel watched, her breathing rapid, her lids heavy, her lips rosy and parted, her legs spread wide. When had he ever seen a sight more gorgeous? No doubt, he was a lucky son of a bitch that she was all his, at least for now.
And the thought crept back in that if he played his cards right, she could be his forever.
His teasing mien fell away. The inner caveman roared, wanting to break free, to claim, to take, to mark. He’d never, ever felt anything like this, but he wasn’t about to fight something that felt so right.
Decker stuck the condom wrapper between his teeth, ready to tear it open, roll it on, and sink so deeply inside her that she’d never think about walking away.
The thought was spinning in his head. Her heavy breaths, his pounding heart, the gravity of the moment—it was all broken by the ringing of a doorbell.
SIX
RACHEL GASPED AND STIFFENED, THEN SCRAMBLED OFF THE counter. Decker snagged his towel from the hardwood floor and blocked her. No way was she answering that door or talking to anyone unless it was someone’s ninety-year-old grandma. And even then, he intended to frisk her for weapons.
“Are you answering the door in nothing but high heels?”
Panic flitted across her face, then she cursed. “No.”
“Go put some clothes on. I got it.”
“You don’t have any clothes either,” she screeched.
Decker pointed to his jeans on the table, then turned her toward the hall, urging her back toward the bedroom with a little slap. “Go. You expecting anyone?”
“No.” She jogged down the hall, carrying her shoes. “No one ever rings my doorbell, especially this early on a Sunday morning.”
Frowning, he watched her disappear into her room, then snagged his gun and jeans, putting the latter on and palming the former. He shoved the condom in his pocket again. Whoever stood on the other side of the door was going to get his nuts blown off if Decker deemed him unfriendly.
All kinds of pissed off for being cockblocked, he stalked down the hall. “This better be nothing.”
When he reached the door, he tore it open to find a man of average height with hazel eyes behind round glasses, a checkered shirt, and khakis. He had nondescript shoes and an even more blah cut of hair in an unremarkable color somewhere between blond and light brown. The only thing worth mentioning was the scowl on his face.
“Who are you?” the stranger asked.
Decker slanted him a menacing glare. “Who are you?”
The scholarly, sharp face told him the guy was a few years older. The hint of paunch suggested this dude was more sedentary. The permanent vertical furrow between his brows said to Decker that the stranger scowled a lot. He lacked a coat, so it wasn’t like he could hide a shoulder holster. The piece might be tucked into the small of his back, but . . . The man’s hands looked too soft to be lethal.
Whoever this was, Decker didn’t think he was threatening. Annoying? That he already believed.
“I’m here to see Rachel.” The other guy tried to look down his nose at Decker, but that had to be hard when he had to look up a few inches and through glasses to meet his stare.
“She’s . . . busy.” Decker flashed a tight smile and hoped the dude got the right idea. Whoever he was, no way was he homing in on Rachel.
Mr. Glasses straightened his rims and glanced down Decker’s body, rolling his eyes at the tattoos and hard abs. Then his stare bulged when he spotted the gun pinned to his thigh.
“What are you doing with that?” he backed away a step. “I hope you’re a policeman.”
Not exactly, but close enough. “Something like that.”