Whiskey Beach Part 66

"I thought since your family's coming I'd air out the linens so they'll be nice and fresh."

"Good thinking. They look nice and fresh already."

He backed her up until she fell on the bed under him.

"Eli. My schedule."

"You're your own boss," he reminded her. "You can adjust the schedule."

She accepted defeat when his hands and mouth got busy, but tried a token protest. "I could. But should I?"

He lifted his head briefly to pull off her tank. "I'm keeping the dog. No less of an ambush," he said when her eyes lit up. "So you still have to make it up to me."

"When you put it that way."

Rearing up, she tugged off his shirt. "Somebody's been working out." She trailed her tongue over his chest.

"Some."

"And eating his protein." She wrapped her legs around his waist, stretched up, canted forward until she had him on his back. "I'm supposed to be cleaning your house, earning my pay, not getting naked with you in this gorgeous old bed."

"You can call me Mr. Landon, if that helps ease your conscience."

Her laugh was warm against his skin. "I think my conscience can be flexible in this case."

So was she, he thought, flexible. Those long arms, long legs, the long torso. All so smooth and fluid as she moved over him, as all that wild hair feathered over his skin.

Muscles he'd begun to recognize again bunched and tensed as she glided her lips over him, as her skilled hands pressed, kneaded, stroked. Arousing, soothing, seducing the already seduced.

Naked in bed. That's how he wanted her.

He peeled the snug, stretchy pants over her hips, down her legs, exploring her inch by inch all the way to her ankles. And up again over the taut curve of calf, the delicate back of her knee, along the firm length of her thigh to that hot, damp core.

She arched, a hand digging into the sheet, fisting there as pleasure struck and quivered. And it built, built, built until she broke, until she cartwheeled into the tumble of sensations.

She levered up, dragging him to her, latching her arms around him when they knelt body-to-body on the bed.

Heat flooded her, sent even her blood to sizzling under her skin as the breeze whipped in the open doors to flow over them.

It danced through her hair, he thought, and the sun streamed over her like molten gold. They might've been on some lost island with the relentless voice of the sea, the tang of it on the air, the mocking laugh of gulls winging across the blue bowl of sky.

Now those limbs wrapped around him-demand, invitation, plea. He took what she offered, gave what she asked. His body plunged to hers while lips met in unsated appet.i.te.

Faster, stronger, with her head flung back and his mouth on her throat where her pulse beat in mad time.

Then she cried out his name, just his name, and he felt even his slippery hold on control snap loose.

He lay facedown, she faceup, and both struggled for breath. With her eyes closed, Abra slid her hand over, found his arm, trailed down until she could link fingers with him.

"That was a h.e.l.l of an afternoon break."

"My new favorite kind," he mumbled, his voice m.u.f.fled against the mattress.

"I really have to get up and get back to work."

"Let me write an excuse note to your boss."

"She won't buy it. She's really strict."

Now he turned his head and studied her profile with sleepy eyes. "No, she's not."

"You don't work for her." She curled toward him now. "She can be a total b.i.t.c.h."

"I'm going to tell her you said that."

"Better not. She might fire me, then who'd clean the house?"

"That's a point." He draped an arm around her. "I'll help you deal with the rest of the house."

She started to decline, quickly and gently. She had a routine, and he'd be in her way. But she let it go-for now. "Why aren't you doing your own work?"

"I'm taking the rest of the day off."

"Dog love?"

"No." He trailed his fingers through her hair before he sat up. "I have enough finished and polished up to send to my agent. So I did."

"That's great." She popped up beside him. "Isn't it?"

"I guess I'll find out in the next few days."

"Let me read it." When he shook his head, she rolled her eyes.

"Okay, I get that, more or less. How about letting me read one scene? Just one. A page?"

"Maybe. Maybe later." Evade now, he thought, as she had a sneaky way of talking him into things. Like a dog. "I'll ply you with wine first so you're mildly impaired."

"I can't get mildly impaired tonight. I have a yoga cla.s.s at home."

"Sometime. Later. I'll help you get some of the stuff the cops jumbled up put back."

"Okay, you can strip the bed, that's basic."

Even as she rolled out of it, the dog let out a trio of warning barks.

"Perfect," Eli muttered, grabbed his pants. He heard the dog charge down the steps, barking like a hound out of h.e.l.l.