She wet her lips. "Think you’re up to the job?"
"I’m betting the house on it."
He massaged the muscles of her lower back and felt her relax, even as her ni**les tightened and pressed into him through the fabric of her gown. He was getting more aroused by the second with her in his arms.
"I have to warn you," she said huskily.
He felt the urge to laugh at her need to warn him. He would have laughed if he hadn’t been feeling like a live wire conducting currents of desire.
"Mmm?" His eyes focused on her moist, delectable mouth, but he was also attuned to other alluring parts of her. "What do I need to be warned about?"
"I’ve got to warn you that I never wanted to marry someone like my father. Even before Carter."
"And I’m like your father?" he questioned idly, his hands going to the zipper at the back of her dress.
He’d been waiting for hours to unmask her curves. He wanted to explore them without any barrier.
Eva nodded. "You put work first. I almost married Carter because he paid attention."
"Believe me," he joked, "you’ve got my complete attention."
As if to drive the point home, he nuzzled her neck, sliding down the zipper of her dress.
He had to have her now. Before he exploded.
Why were they talking about inattention when his problem was he couldn’t get her off his mind?
She’d cluttered his brain so much he had trouble concentrating on anything else.
"I just want you to know where I stand," she said throatily.
When her dress slithered to the floor, she stood clad only in white lacy panties and sky-high heels—just delicious curves and endless legs.
His mouth went dry, and he swallowed. "I’d say where you stand at the moment is nearly na**d in my arms."
She wanted him to be serious? He’d never been more serious about anything. Right now, he was single-mindedly focused on fitting himself to her.
Still, he decided to play along as his hands skimmed her curves. "I have no illusions. You’re after my millions of sperm."
"I’m glad you’re okay with it," she breathed.
"Well, it’s tough being up against several hundred million little guys and coming out ahead."
They were doing a dangerous dance, but he was ready for her. More than ready. The thought of impregnating Eva made him rock hard.
He planted moist kisses along her jaw, and then his hands grasped her pert rear end and brought her flush against him.
Her eyes darkened, and then she pulled his head down to hers.
The kiss was scorching. Their tongues met, feinted and parried.
His fingers tunneled into her hair, loosening pins, so he could angle her head and master the kiss.
He wanted to be consumed by the heat. He wanted the essence of her to surround him, and he wanted to lose himself inside her.
When he finally lifted his head, he was breathing hard.
He noted that Eva looked flushed, her mouth puffy and her eyes glittering.
"I’ve got to have you," he said harshly.
Instead of answering him, she let her hands caress his bulge, a dreamy half smile curving her lips.
He groaned, and then swore. Her touch was exquisite and made him want her all the more.
He wanted to make this last. He wanted to draw out the moment until they were both balanced on the precipice, teetering at the edge of almost unbearable exquisite sensation, where one more caress might send them over. Still, the urge to be inside her and find sweet release was overwhelming.
He pushed her hands aside urgently, and she fell back onto the bed, her sandals hitting the floor.
"You’re driving me crazy," he growled.
As she raised herself up on her elbows, he began to strip.
She smiled up at him, seemingly drunk on the insane passion between them.
When he tossed aside his briefs, she said, "I’m off the pill."
The side of his mouth quirked up. "Great. I’ll pass along the info to the two hundred million or so interested parties."
She made a sound that came out halfway between a laugh and gasp.
He reached out and ran his hand down her leg—along her thigh to the indentation of her knee and then down her calf.
Raising her leg, he kissed the inside of her ankle, then the delicate skin of her arch. His other hand smoothed toward the hidden recesses covered by her dark curls.
Eva squirmed. "Griffin!"
This was what he’d fantasized about—Eva, stripped of her protective layers and wanting him.
"Yes, say my name," he said, reaching forward and stripping the panties from her. He wanted her to remember who was making her feel this good.
Tossing her underwear aside, he stretched out next to her on the bed and pulled her on top of him.
She straddled him, and because her hair had come loose from its pins, stray strands tickled his face.
Her topaz gaze held his as, guided by his hands on her hips, she sank down on him, inch by delicious inch. When he was fully embedded inside her, they both expelled a breath of satisfaction.
He moved then, thrusting, and she parried, taking up the rhythm.
She arched her back, her midnight hair a glorious inky silhouette for her smooth, ivory skin.
Higher and higher they went, scaling to the peak, Eva’s moans mingling with his own harsh breaths.
His focus narrowed on his driving need, but he was determined to hold back until he made it good for her.
When he eventually felt Eva’s cl**ax coming on in long, undulating waves, he took pleasure in having her come undone for him.
Only then did he groan and he let himself go, triggering an explosive release that sent him into the vortex.
* * *
"Hello?" Griffin called, closing the front door behind him.
It was Wednesday, and he’d decided to come home early from work to surprise Eva.
Okay, who was he kidding?
He was home early because he needed to see Eva—be with her.
In the couple of weeks since they’d come back from their brief honeymoon, he found his mind regularly drifting off to erotic fantasies. He couldn’t get her out of his mind, and he didn’t want to.
He set his leather briefcase down on the console table in the entry hall, and loosened his tie.
"Hello?" he said again.
Maybe Eva was out. Working, shopping or seeing a friend. Disappointment seeped through him. He’d grown used to having someone to come home to.
The house in Pacific Heights had come to life for him since Eva had moved in.
Upon their return from their honeymoon weekend in Napa, movers had made short work of moving Eva’s key possessions from her Russian Hill condo to his—no, their—mansion in Pacific Heights.