He’d known from the moment he’d kissed Megan yesterday afternoon that he would eventually make love to her. Hell, he’d probably been planning for that outcome unconsciously since the first time he’d seen her effervescent smile when she was playing in the park with Emily.
Still, he wanted it to be right for her. He didn’t like the doubt he saw in her eyes right now, the uncertainty. He preferred it when her eyes glazed with desire, when her mouth went soft and sexy.
She looked far from uncertain then.
The way she was dressed was driving him crazy. She wore a conservative ivory linen skirt, but Christian thought that garment was just as sexy as erotic lingerie. Every time she walked, or when she had crossed and uncrossed her legs in the cab, he heard the soft rustle her stockings made against the inner lining of the skirt. The light green color of her sweater set perfectly matched the color of her eyes. But that wasn’t the only thing that that the clinging knit complimented. It detailed and clarified what he’d had to fantasize about until today. Her breasts were beautiful…not overly large, but very tempting in the way that they thrust forward so enticingly from the delicate planes of her ribs and chest.
He let his eyes wander over the curves of her breast while his finger pressed against the tiny metal cross gently.
“I do like it, Megan. I like it very much,” he murmured softly.
Megan felt like every cell of her body had suddenly turned its complete focus onto the fraction of a square inch of her body where Christian touched. Places in her tickled and burned that had no obvious connection with that tiny piece of skin beneath the pressure of his finger.
When he lifted his gaze to meet hers, Megan wondered dazedly if he could have set the building on fire with the heat she saw there.
“You like…what?” she muttered, forgetting what the topic of conversation had been.
Christian leaned over and nuzzled his mouth next to her ear. His gruff whisper caused shivers to course down her neck and spine. “I like the way your eyes are the color of a new spring leaf. I like the way you forget yourself when I touch you. I more than like the shape of your breasts. And I like being in this girly store with you and Emily.”
Megan’s mouth fell open. But when she looked up into Christian’s face for confirmation of those elusively whispered words, she saw that he’d turned to respond to Emily, who was excitedly showing him some doll equestrian accessories.
But confirmation or no, Megan wasn’t likely to forget the effect of his soft breath in her ear or those outrageously sexy, sweet comments. Although Christian didn’t appear to be self-conscious about having said them, he didn’t exactly allude to them again by either word or deed while they sat in the American Girl tea parlor. He looked downright amused by the whole affair of tea and gave a roar of masculine laughter when he saw that every table in the room included special seating for the dolls.
Megan sipped her tea and covertly studied him as he equally divided a crust-less peanut butter sandwich between Emily and her doll. Emily was crazy about him. He was a complete natural with children. It wasn’t least of all the reasons for which Megan found him so attractive. But what did she really know about him? He was a stranger to her.
Strangers could be dangerous. Why hadn’t she been more suspicious of his intentions?
“How long have you lived at 748?”
Christian popped a brownie into his mouth. “I bought my place six years ago. How about you?”
“Just a few months ago. I guess that’s why I’ve never seen you before.”
Megan felt thwarted in her information-gathering attempt when Christian just nodded and ate another brownie. How could he eat so much and remain so whipcord lean?
“What floor do you live on?”
“The ninth.”
Megan started in surprise. She recalled from the sales information from the purchase of her own unit that the top floor residence of their loft building consisted of an exclusive penthouse with no neighbors and a private elevator entrance. “And you live in that big place alone? Don’t you?”
She blushed when she saw his eyes gleam with amusement.
“All alone, Megan.”
“What do you do?”
Christian paused in his chewing. “Do? As in, butcher, baker, candlestick maker type of do?”
“Yes. Is it that hard of a question?” she teased.
“Course not,” Christian muttered as he tore off a piece of scone, scowled at it, and tossed it back on the china plate.
“I’m a writer.”
“A writer?” Megan sat up straighter in her chair. Her eyes lit up with interest. “What kind of a writer?”
His gaze shifted to the window. “You know…stuff.”