Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
“‘You see!’ said a strained voice. Tonks was glaring at Lupin. ‘She still wants to marry him, even though he’s been bitten! She doesn’t care!’”
— J.K. ROWLING, HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE
C offee? Check.
Hummingbird cupcakes? Check.
Alone time with my sexy professor in my trailer with the door locked? DOUBLE CHECK!
My call time today wasn’t until 9:00 a.m., but Maverick had to help Ranger with an animal relocation before then. Today’s challenge was a spotted skunk who’d been sighted marching down Smoky Spirits’ Main Street. The skunk had not been impressed with Luke’s glamour, and my co-star had been forced to make a hasty retreat.
At any rate, we had all of an hour before I had to share him with the rest of the world.
One of the perks of being the top name on the call sheet was that I’d got to customize my luxury trailer. I’d had it done up like a tiny farmhouse on wheels. The kitchenette had a wall of dark wood-toned cabinetry, with a stainless-steel fridge, a range, and a microwave. A wooden trestle sofa held piles of throw pillows and a chunky blanket. Potted plants filled the corners, and I’d started an air plant collection. I had several lounge chairs for curling up on and a plush rug for those days when I just needed to lie flat on my back. There was even a full bathroom and a lighted makeup area.
I pushed aside the chairs and dumped an armful of pillows onto the rug, making a cozy nest around the circular coffee table in the middle of the space.
Maverick frowned and set his own coffee and the box of cupcakes down on the countertop. “You don’t need to be moving furniture around when you have me.”
“Shhh. I’m not moving furniture. I’m setting the stage.”
He shook his head and came over to help me adjust the table’s position. “Is this a theater person thing? Is every meal going to be a three-act play?”
I patted him on the butt. “Sit, please. It’s cake time.”
He sat.
No. To say he sat was like saying Picasso doodled in the margins of his grocery list. Maverick lounged on my pillows like a Greek god reclining at table.
He set his coffee on the table and leaned back against my sofa, one arm braced on his bent leg, his other leg stretched out in front of him. Heat stole through me. How could any cake, no matter how delicious, compete with this man? Fortunately, I had cake plans. I’d do that thing I’d seen in movies. I’d—oh, so sorry—get frosting on the corner of my mouth.
Step two in the devilish icing program: Maverick would lick it off.
Step three: we’d kiss.
Step four: repeat as necessary.
Possibly, frosting would be relocated to other spots. I was also more than willing to de-frost Maverick. Never let it be said that I was not a giver.
Spoiler alert: my plan was not a secret.
Judging by the heated look in his eyes and the tension in his body, he also understood the possibilities of cake eating. Holding his eyes with mine, I took a delicate, ladylike bite. No crumbs were lost to the floor. I did not stab my nostrils or my lips with the fork. Just the teensiest smidge of frosting painted the corner of my mouth.
But then, ohmigod, life threw a curveball at my plan. The unsexiest, most surprising curveball. SWOOSH. Attention rerouted. Because hello?
The hummingbird cake was unbelievably delicious.
Unbelievably. Delicious.
Three layers of pineapple-and-banana goodness studded with dense cream cheese frosting and nuts. Delicious, salty nuts.
Unable to help myself, I moaned, “Oh my God. These are the best nuts ever.”
Maverick’s lips quirked up, his dimple on full display. Unlike me, the professional actress, he absolutely remembered his line. “You have something right there.”
Leaning forward, he brushed the corner of my mouth with his thumb. He was ad-libbing. It was sexy. Any other time, I would have been on the man like a monkey on a tree. Right now, though, I had other priorities.
I batted his hand away and took another bite, speaking around a mouthful of pineapple-and-banana goodness. Was it enchanted? Some kind of Alice in Wonderland cake with magical properties? I guessed I’d find out. “Holy crap, this is the best thing that’s ever been in my mouth.”
Maverick bit back laughter. Proving that he was no fool, he did not get between me and my cake. He sprawled there, watching me devour the cupcake.
I was a woman on a mission. There may have been moaning; there was definitely licking and sucking of fingers. It would have been criminal to waste cake this good. Preoccupied as I was, I missed my cue. I was just about to lick off the last of the frosting when Maverick caught my wrist, drawing my attention to him. My protest died on my lips as he held out his plate to me.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“Not for cake,” he said gently.
“But it’s delicious,” I teased. “So creamy and sweet. I think you’d enjoy a taste.”
He shook his head. “I’m allergic to pineapple.”
“Wait. What?”
“Not badly,” he said. “I’m not going to keel over just because I’m near it.”
“But—”
Maybe he hadn’t understood my sexy frosting plans? Did this mean that there would be no kissing and heavy petting in my trailer? Had I unknowingly made a terrible choice in baked goods that would set my sex life back?
His thumb rubbed against the corner of my mouth again. “I’ll bet you taste sweeter than some old pineapple anyhow.”
“But then you’ll be allergic to me!” I slapped my cake plate onto the table. My plan was a terrible plan.
His eyes gleamed. I could see the wolf in them, all right. “I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem, sweetheart.”
He slid an arm around my waist. His other slid under my legs, lifting me. The world shifted. I was airborne.
In a controlled and graceful movement, he rolled me underneath him, bracing himself above my body.
I frowned up at him. “I like this view, but I’m still concerned about your pineapple allergy.”
His fingers skimmed up my thigh, pushing my skirt higher, his fingertips delving between my thighs. That was a pineapple-free zone. Clear to enjoy myself, I arched up into his touch.
“Take your shirt off,” he ordered.
“Why can’t you?—”
“If I do it, I’ll rip it off.”
The man makes a compelling case.
I wriggled, yanking my T-shirt upward. It got stuck for a second on my boobs, making Maverick groan. He slid a muscled thigh between mine.
As soon as my shirt had gone flying, it was time to get Maverick out of his clothes. He was wearing too many, and I wanted to appreciate his naked form. A lot. He cursed roughly, batting my groping hands away as I tried to push his stupid, awesome flannel shirt down his shoulders.
“Off,” I growled. “Take it all off.”
He pushed up one arm—ONE arm—and shrugged out of a sleeve. Then he did the same with the other arm. This still left him in a T-shirt that I hadn’t fully appreciated earlier and that I had absolutely no intention of reading now unless it turned out to be a secret decoder ring to his favorite sexual fantasy. I settled for shoving it up and getting my hands all over his bare chest and back.
He lowered his head, making exploring his bare skin that much harder, and nuzzled the edge of my bra. It was new, it was black lace, and it was more of a boob frame than actual underwear. I decided that Maverick’s hoarse groan indicated approval.
“The panties match,” I panted. “And you can tear them off me.”
His eyes blazed a heated trail from my bra-framed breasts, down my tummy, to the waist of my skirt. From the looks of things—and what I felt pressed against me down yonder—he liked what he saw. A lot. My skirt flew up, my panties headed in the other direction, and then he was kissing me while his fingers drove me crazy.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he growled. “No way I ever get enough of you.”
He touched me, his thumb rubbing tight circles around my clit. My legs were spread wide, my hips rocking up against him. Dear God, he was amazing. So, so good. He worked his fingers up and down, which made me see stars.
That’s right. Stars.
There might have been a supernova too.
He felt so good, I gave up on thinking and came for him.
I lost my mind a little after that, lost control of my response, definitely lost my ability to keep to an inside voice. There were some loud profanities and blasphemous invocations of deities.
I might have fisted his shirt, dragging him closer as I chanted his name. His blue jeans–covered thigh pushed between mine, pressing up against me, the best ever pony ride, and pineapple be damned, he kissed me as I came down. I was wrapped up in his strong arms, tucked against his chest. He pressed a kiss against my forehead that made me feel special and loved. I was his right then.
Maverick holding me was heaven.
A galaxy or two.
The whole damned universe.