Icing On The Date (The Bannister Brothers #1) (15 page)

“Wow. That must have been hard.”

“Not really. I mean, it was hard because we didn’t have much. We were still dirt poor. I rented a room, and Justin slept on this crappy sofa. I got a job at a bakery and made sure that Justin finished school. We ate a lot of mac and cheese and canned soup, but it was also good. We were happy. We slept. I mean, really slept at night without worrying about being woken up by one of his rages.” She stared at her hands clasped in her lap.

“You’re very brave.”

She raised her head and looked him in the eye. “I’ve never been afraid of hard work. And I worked hard. I had two jobs and saved everything I could. I don’t know if I was brave or just scrappy. I never gave up, and I never will. I caught some good breaks. My baker, Estelle, was our neighbor and she loved us kids. Her husband owned the building where I have the bakery. It used to be a television repair shop. After he died, she rented it to me, let me live in the apartment upstairs, and agreed to help me with the baking. She is the true angel. She gave me just the break I needed to start fresh and get the bakery off the ground.”

She sighed, avoiding his gaze. “Well, now that we’re all thoroughly depressed.” Tipping up her glass, she drained the last of her wine and set the empty glass on the coffee table. “Aren’t you glad I shared my happy life story with you?”

“Actually, I am.” He picked up her hand. “Everybody has garbage in their life. But it’s what you do with your garbage that defines you—if you surround yourself with it and live in its stink, or if you decide to drag yourself out of it and leave it behind. And that’s what you did. You didn’t let that life define you. You rose above it. Hell, you started your own business. That sounds like a pretty good life story to me.”

Did he really see her that way? As brave and strong?

Sometimes she let herself believe that. After a good day at the bakery or when one of the interns graduated and thanked her for the help. But other days she just felt tired—and let herself wonder if it was all worth it. Especially after this last week when she’d had to use all of her savings to bail her brother out. Again.

“I think my brother is still living in his garbage—still caught up in the old anger and despair. I’ve seen the damage that alcohol can do, and it amazes me that he lets it get the best of him. He has so much potential. He’s smart and funny. He’s cute and charming. He could do whatever he wants. That’s why I hate to see him falling into the same patterns that my step-dad did—moving from job to job, drinking too much, and letting his temper and his fists get him into trouble.”

Fred must have heard the emotion in her voice because he padded over and laid his head on her lap. She petted his fuzzy head.

“You’re right. I mean, I don’t know him that well, but he seems like a good guy. He’ll figure it out.” He ruffled the dog’s neck.

“Okay, enough about me. Let’s go back to talking about your family. Or better yet, let’s stop talking and do something else altogether.”

He raised an eyebrow and offered her a cocky grin. “What did you have in mind?”

Flames of heat shot through her, but the atmosphere was still full of her life story—the depressing words still hanging in the air—and as sexually charged as she felt, she wasn’t quite ready to jump into a make-out session. She looked around the room. “How about a game of foosball?”

“Okay, you’re on.” He stood and pulled her off the sofa, leading her to the table. Picking up one of the white balls, he held it over the table. “But let’s make it interesting. How about a game of strip-foosball?”

She laughed. She really did like this guy. “I don’t know. I’m not very good at this game.”

He winked. “That’s what I’m counting on.” He dropped the ball and shot it through the hole at her end of the table. “Point for me. Lose the jersey.”

“Wait. I wasn’t ready.”

“Too bad. The rules are different in strip-foosball. As much as I love you seeing you in my jersey, I’d rather see you out of it. Take it off.”

He said it with just enough sexy authority—and she’d had just enough wine to lose her normally more reserved disposition—that she followed his instructions and pulled the jersey over her head. Underneath, she wore a pink push-up bra with black lace trim, and she heard Owen suck in his breath as she dropped the jersey on the floor.

Wait until he saw the matching pink lace panties.

She wrapped her fingers around the foosball handles. “All right. This time I’m ready. Try that again.”

Owen stood still, his gaze fixed on her near-topless form. “Try what again?”

Laughing, she grabbed another ball and whacked it into his goal. “Point for me. Now you take off your shirt.”

The corners of his mouth tipped into a grin. A grin that was sexy as hell, and had her inner vixen waking up and getting ready to play.

He peeled off his shirt, his muscles flexing as he pulled it over his head. Damn. His body was perfect. He was kind of perfect. And she was going to take him down. Or at least get him naked.

She dropped another ball and made another neat goal. “Now the pants.”

He shook his head. “I still have my shoes and socks on.” He toed off a shoe and reached for the handles on his side.

He had her at a disadvantage because she’d taken her shoes off at the front door when they’d walked into the house. But she made up for it by scoring another three goals in a row. She pointed at his jeans. “Now. The pants. Drop ‘em.”

Already barefoot, he had nothing else left and chuckled as he unzipped his jeans and shimmied out of them. “I think I may have underestimated your foosball skills.”

Gabby’s mouth went dry as he stepped up to the table wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs.
Snug
black boxer briefs. Not that
she
noticed, but her inner vixen damn sure did.

He took advantage of her momentary distractedness and scored a goal on her. She peeled off her sock and giggled as she swung it in the air around her head. He shot another goal as she let the sock fly. Laughing, she pulled the other one off as he grabbed the ball and made another score.

Uh oh
. She wasn’t laughing now. She gulped at the hungry look he now wore on his face.

He nodded at her jeans, his voice low and sexy. “Take ‘em off. Slowly.”

Heat curled in her belly and the Vixen took over, slowly unzipping her zipper and wiggling her hips enticingly as she drew her jeans down her legs before stepping out of them. She must have had more wine than she thought.

She was never this brazen, this flirty, but she was having fun. She loved teasing him, loved the way his eye went dark with desire as she stepped up to the table and bent forward a little, just enough to give him a nice view of her black lace-covered cleavage. Yes, Vixen was here to play.

He grabbed the handles of the table, determination in his eyes. “Just so you know, Angel, I plan to get this next goal, and you’re taking that pretty little bra off.”

Oh. My. God.
Her nipples puckered at his words, and she considered lying down on the table and letting him take her right there. But those little foosball men might poke her in the back and would probably ruin the mood.

She gripped the handles of the table, ready to play. “Give it your best shot.”

He grinned. “Oh, I intend to.” He dropped the ball, and with one quick flick of his wrist shot it into her goal. He crossed his arms over his glorious muscled pecs and narrowed his eyes. “The bra. Take it off. Now.” His gaze went from her breasts to her face and held enough heat to light the table on fire.

She had plenty of fire darting through her body. She was terrified and absolutely, totally turned on at the same time. Grinning, and trying to act more self-assured than she felt, she teasingly dropped one strap, slowly sliding it down her arm.

“Keep going.” His tone was light, still holding a playful tone.

Offering him a coy smile, she turned to the other side, seductively lifting her shoulder as she teased the other strap down.

She gazed up at him, and her breath caught. His expression had changed from playful to one of pure hunger. And her body responded, flames of desire flickering and swirling inside of her.

“Keep going.”

The deep tone of his voice sent another thrill shooting through her. She reached behind her, never taking her eyes off of his. Taking a deep breath, and summoning up her courage, she unsnapped the clasps and let her bra fall slowly to the floor.

Standing before him, wearing only a tiny pair of pink and black lace panties, she felt brave and terrified at the same time. She reached for one of the table’s handles, standing up straight and slightly arching her back, feeling her nipples hard and tight, and reveled in the sound of his quick intake of breath.

She’d never acted so bold, so daringly sexual, and she loved the way it made her feel. Spicy and sexy, and a little racy. Free.

Bare and vulnerable, she offered herself to him, risking her pride and her heart as she waited for his reaction. Trying to keep the tremble out of her voice, she took a breath, and leveled him with a flirtatious gaze. “Are you ready to play?”

He stood still. Frozen. Blinked twice then shook his head. “Ah hell.” In three steps, he was around the table and lifting her in his arms. Crossing the room, he pushed open the door of the master suite and carried her to his king-sized bed. “Game over.”

But the game had just begun
, she thought as his mouth crushed against hers in a toe-curling kiss.

Chapter Thirteen

This woman was going to kill him.

And he couldn’t think of a better way to go.

He looked down at Gabby’s beautiful body on the bed beneath him and knew it would be a slow, satisfied, happy death.

She was gorgeous, her chestnut hair spread out across the pillow, looking like an angel. His angel.

He knew it. Had felt it before, but had no doubt now. Watching her tonight, watching as she came alive and teased him during the foosball game. He thought he might die when she stripped out of that sexy little lacy bra. The way she stood, shoulders back, her full breasts lush and ripe, her nipples taut with yearning—she was a vision—and sexy as hell.

He wanted her. Needed her. Considered taking her on the floor next to her fallen clothes. Instead, he had enough sense to carry her to his bed. Their first time shouldn’t be on the floor.

There’d be time for the floor later, and the kitchen counter, and the sofa in front of the fireplace.

He grinned down at her. “You had me at ‘do you want to play a game of foosball?’”

She traced a finger along his pec. “As long as I get to have you.”

Yep. She was gonna kill him. Tonight.

And several times.

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a teasing kiss. Pressing, then backing off, a nip, a lick, until she was arching up, pushing her bare breasts against his chest. Ducking his head, he trailed a line of kisses down her neck, across her breast, then circled his tongue around the hardened pebble of her nipple before sucking it between his lips.

She moaned—a soft, sexy sound—and he came undone. He wanted her—wanted to touch, to taste, to feel every inch of her. He explored the lush landscape of her body with his hands, his lips, his tongue—learning the way she tasted and what she liked—and what made her make those delicious sounds.

This woman was getting to him. Getting to him like no other woman had before. He didn’t know exactly what made her so special—probably couldn’t put it into words if he tried—but his heart knew. And that’s where she’d landed. Smack dab in the middle of his heart.

And in the middle of his bed. And he was keeping her there. Even if he had to tie her to the bedposts. Hmmm. Now that was an idea. Maybe he’d save that one for the second date. Because there would be a second date. And a third. He wasn’t letting her go.

***

Gabby loved the feel of his hands on her. Loved the way he alternated between soft caresses and passionate strokes. She was incredibly, ridiculously, stupidly attracted to this man and she could not get enough of his hands on her body.

Or her hands on his body. She’d never touched a man that was so riddled with muscles, a man whose abs were so hard and tight they reminded her of chiseled stone. Everything about him was hard and toned, except his lips. His lips were soft.

So soft as they kissed her throat, her neck—as they did those crazy things to her nipples that sent jolts of sensation pulsing through her. He had somehow lost his briefs, but she still wore the tiny pair of pink lace panties and even that small amount of fabric seemed like too much between them.

He must have thought so too, because his hands skimmed down her sides and under the waistband of the panties. He sat back, watching her as he slowly slid them down her legs.

She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out as he dropped back, peeled the panties free of her legs, then leaned forward, his hair tickling her stomach as he laid a row of kisses along the line of her waist.

The warmth of his breath on her sensitive skin sent waves of pleasure through her every nerve and her inner vixen cried out for more, more, more. She wanted him—all of him—and wanted him now.

He pulled back, his eyes sultry and dark as his gaze skimmed across her naked form. “You are so fucking beautiful. I want to touch you—all of you—and I can’t get enough of your skin.” He traced his fingers up her stomach, through the center of her breasts, along her throat and cupped her neck.

Bending down, he kissed her softly, letting his lips linger as he whispered against hers, his voice husky with desire. “I really like you, Angel. It makes me crazy how much I like you. I think about you all the damn time. I want you in my bed. I want you so damn bad right now. But I also want to wake up next to you in the morning, to make breakfast for you, and to just lay around on the sofa and watch TV with you. I want you in my life.”

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Are you good with that?”

“Yeah,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. “Yeah, I’m good with that. All of that. The TV, the breakfast, being in your bed. I like you, too.” She did like him.

She more than liked him. Somewhere over the last few days of going shopping with him, and dancing with him, and having him help her in the cupcake shop, she’d fallen for him. And fallen hard.

So hard that nothing else mattered. Even if he had said he only wanted to be with her for this one night, this one hour, she wouldn’t have cared, she only wanted him. Wanted to feel the scruff of his beard against her neck, the calloused palms of his hands sliding along her waist, the soft tender feel of his lips against hers.

She ran her hands up his chest, tracing the spread of his ribs and drawing out a groan of pleasure. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath as she ran her nails lightly around the circle of his tight nipples. His body was pure perfection, and she couldn’t get enough of it. Enough of him. Something about him filled her. Filled her spirit, her soul.

Her inner vixen excitedly raised her hand, interrupting her emotional thoughts with an eager request of another way he could fill her.

He must have heard her request, probably in the way she was kissing him with a hunger and a ferocity that she didn’t know she possessed. He reached over her head, across the bed to pull open the drawer of his night stand and retrieve a foil-wrapped condom.

Ripping the package open, he covered himself and settled between her thighs. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, and her breath came in tight gasps of anticipation. His eyes locked with hers as he pulled her to meet him.

She moved with him, matching his rhythm as he brought her to the brink of desire—to delicious torture of need and want—gasping and clutching his broad shoulders, she buried her face in his neck. Then with a shudder and a cry, together they fell over the brink. And into bliss.

Collapsing beside her, he pulled her to him. Joy filled her as she fit perfectly against him, like her body recognized his and molded to him—as if she’d found the missing piece of her heart’s puzzle.