“I just had a mental image of you and Wonder Woman together, and now my life is complete.”
“Really? We have so much in common. My mental image of you and Tom Hardy makes my life complete, too,” she said.
They’d moved into the living room as they spoke. The soft lighting loved her, upping her kissable quotient, but if he started, he wasn’t sure he could stop. Then the restaurant would have made a delivery across town for no reason, they’d be annoyed, and he’d have to explain to Dan and Ryan why he tipped them an extra few hundred dollars the next time they ate there.
He picked up the TV remote from the arm of the sofa and tossed it to her. “How about if I watch for the delivery guy while you find the movie.”
They ate the gyros in front of the TV, settling in to watch the movie with Hannah leaning against the armrest on one side of the sofa and Dallas on the other. She tucked her feet between the sofa’s back and its cushions while he propped his legs over hers with his feet on her lap.
The movie turned out to be better than expected, based on reviews. That might have had as much to do with the company as the movie itself.
“Would you turn for Chris Pine, too?” Hannah asked when the credits rolled at the end. She wriggled her toes against his hip.
He returned the favor by tickling her ribs with his, making her squeal and squirm away, and almost upending her in the process. He swung his feet to the floor and then picked up both of hers, holding them prisoner on the tops of his thighs. He took one of her heels in his hand, pressed his thumb against the sole of her foot, and began to massage. A slight intake of breath, then a small sigh of pleasure, told him he’d made the right move.
“That depends,” he said, keeping up the conversation. “Are we talking about Chris Pine as himself, as Steve Trevor, or James Tiberius Kirk?”
“Wow. I had no idea you were such a geek.”
“Look who’s calling the kettle black, Diana Prince.”
They were both quiet for a few moments. He focused on massaging her foot, although he could feel how intently she watched him from her prone position against the arm of the sofa.
“This is nice,” she said, then allowed a few more seconds to tick by before adding, “You’re a good date, Dallas.”
Something about the way she said it convinced him that country boys from small rural towns shouldn’t be allowed to date girls until their thirties, at least. Not before they learned how to treat them right.
“I really am,” he said. “Although I must say, you’ve been a big help. Thank you for being beautiful and making it so easy.”
“You’re the only person who’s ever called me beautiful,” she said.
Impossible. “People tell you you’re beautiful all the time. Rudy said it just this afternoon.”
“They say it in a casual, flirty kind of way. You say it as if you really mean it.”
“Because I do.” So did everyone else who’d ever said it to her. It was adorable the way she didn’t get it.
“Thank you.”
She withdrew her foot from his grasp and rose to her knees next to him. She hesitated, but only for a second, before straddling his thighs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned forward to kiss him.
There was a world of difference between kissing a woman and being kissed. Hannah started out so tentative and sweet that he thought his heart might explode through his chest. He couldn’t claim an instant erection, however. That had already been making its presence known since before the movie even began.
He ran his hands up her thighs, his fingertips gliding over her soft, silky skin and under the skirt of her dress until they connected with the straps of a thong. She made soft, breathless sounds against his lips as he traced a finger along the crease of her buttocks. If he recalled correctly—and he did—then that thong should be paired with a demicup bra crafted of sheer lace and light satin. He loved all her unique pieces—the sweet and the sexy, the fragile innocence combined with the hot businesswoman who fixed her own truck.
“If we keep this up, the night is going to end with more than a kiss,” he said, giving her fair warning. “Maybe we should have a talk about protection.”
“I’ve been tested for every sexually transmitted disease my doctor could think of. The tests all came back negative,” she said. “You’re a doctor. I assume you know how to protect yourself.”
“I do and I’m clean.” The healthcare professional in him couldn’t let her last comment pass, however. He’d used a condom the first time they’d had sex because they hadn’t slowed down long enough to have this talk first. Now he knew he should have wondered why that might be, because her innocence in certain areas was showing. “But you shouldn’t assume something like that. Doctors can be selfish bastards, too.” The same as cheating ex-boyfriends. “Plus, protection involves more than STDs.”
“I use birth control. To stay regular, Doctor,” she said primly. “Not because I’m easy.”
He fought back a smile that she thought it had to be said. Holding it in made his cheek muscles hurt. “I can’t say the same. When it comes to you, I’m incredibly easy. I have three condoms in my pocket tonight. Now I also feel selfish and so unprofessional.”
“Not selfish and unprofessional at all. I think it’s considerate of you to make house calls. But what made you so sure three condoms would be enough?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “You don’t have any heart problems, do you?”
“We haven’t even begun, and already, I have performance anxiety.”