breast. She swirled it around her nipples, making them shine, then lifted the digit and stuck it in her mouth, sucking it clean.
“Shower?” she suggested.
He was wrong. The night had just gotten a lot better.
* * * * *
Sophie opened her eyes slowly, taking a moment to study her surroundings. She hadn’t had the opportunity to see much of Marc’s house last night.
She grinned. Besides the foyer floor, shower and this bed, she hadn’t seen any of his home. His bedroom, now well-lit by the sunshine streaming through the two windows, was surprisingly comfortable. There was a pile of unfolded laundry sitting on a chair and his hamper looked as though it was in danger of exploding, but she supposed that was to be expected, given how busy he’d been the past few weeks.
She stretched lazily then winced. She’d gotten quite a workout last night. Marc had been insatiable. Of course, she had too. After their sexy shower, he’d wakened her in the middle of the night, taking her so gently she could have cried at the beauty of it. In one night, he’d given her passionate sex, raunchy play and then, just when she’d thought she had him figured out, he’d toned it down, making love to her as if she was the most precious thing on earth.
What a date.
Footsteps approached. She glanced toward the doorway in time to watch Marc walk in with a tray.
She smiled. “Breakfast in bed?”
“A promise is a promise.”
She sat up, propping pillows along the headboard as Marc carefully set the tray over her lap. Sophie laughed when she spotted the apron he wore.
“ Grill or be grilled . Is that lawyer humor?”
Marc shrugged. “I think it’s sibling humor. My sister gave it to me for my birthday one year.”
Sophie looked at the mountain of food on the plate in front of her and her eyes went wide. “I hope to hell you’re planning to eat some of this with me. Otherwise, I think you can count on leftovers for lunch.”
Marc stripped off the apron—he was naked underneath—and crawled back into bed. “There wasn’t room on the tray for another plate.” He picked up a fork and scooped up a pile of scrambled eggs. He directed the utensil to her mouth, so she took the bite. Then he helped himself to some.
“These are delicious,” she said as she picked up a slice of crispy bacon. “You know how to cook.”
Marc grabbed a piece of toast from the plate. “I’m thirty-five years old and I’ve never been married. Believe me, there’s not enough takeout in the world to keep a man going that long.”
Sophie could appreciate that truth. Growing up, her mother had made the family meals. Right after her death, Sophie and her father had gone through months of the Chinese-pizza-subs rotation, ordering out every night. Eventually, Sophie realized she was going to have to take charge in the kitchen or risk turning into an egg roll.
She picked up the orange juice and took a sip. “Hey, is there champagne in here?”
“Wine and dine, remember?”
She took another drink. “I love mimosas. Do you usually keep champagne in the house?” Marc didn’t seem like a champagne drinker, so the idea that he had a bottle sort of screamed player .
He shook his head. “My sister gave me the bottle for Christmas. Told me to share it with someone I love on New Year’s.”
Sophie put the glass back on the tray. “Um, hate to break it to you, Marc, but you missed the holiday. New Year’s was about seven months ago.”
He polished off the last of the bacon. “I ended up going out with some friends over New Year’s. Put the bottle in my wine rack and forgot all about it until this morning.”
Sophie tried to batten down the girlie part of her that latched onto his sister’s instructions. Share it with someone you love.
Play it cool, Soph.
“Well, it’s perfect with OJ, so I’m glad you remembered it.”
Marc studied her face. She wished she had inherited her father’s knack for unreadable expressions. Her lawyer lover
“Shower?” she suggested.
He was wrong. The night had just gotten a lot better.
* * * * *
Sophie opened her eyes slowly, taking a moment to study her surroundings. She hadn’t had the opportunity to see much of Marc’s house last night.
She grinned. Besides the foyer floor, shower and this bed, she hadn’t seen any of his home. His bedroom, now well-lit by the sunshine streaming through the two windows, was surprisingly comfortable. There was a pile of unfolded laundry sitting on a chair and his hamper looked as though it was in danger of exploding, but she supposed that was to be expected, given how busy he’d been the past few weeks.
She stretched lazily then winced. She’d gotten quite a workout last night. Marc had been insatiable. Of course, she had too. After their sexy shower, he’d wakened her in the middle of the night, taking her so gently she could have cried at the beauty of it. In one night, he’d given her passionate sex, raunchy play and then, just when she’d thought she had him figured out, he’d toned it down, making love to her as if she was the most precious thing on earth.
What a date.
Footsteps approached. She glanced toward the doorway in time to watch Marc walk in with a tray.
She smiled. “Breakfast in bed?”
“A promise is a promise.”
She sat up, propping pillows along the headboard as Marc carefully set the tray over her lap. Sophie laughed when she spotted the apron he wore.
“ Grill or be grilled . Is that lawyer humor?”
Marc shrugged. “I think it’s sibling humor. My sister gave it to me for my birthday one year.”
Sophie looked at the mountain of food on the plate in front of her and her eyes went wide. “I hope to hell you’re planning to eat some of this with me. Otherwise, I think you can count on leftovers for lunch.”
Marc stripped off the apron—he was naked underneath—and crawled back into bed. “There wasn’t room on the tray for another plate.” He picked up a fork and scooped up a pile of scrambled eggs. He directed the utensil to her mouth, so she took the bite. Then he helped himself to some.
“These are delicious,” she said as she picked up a slice of crispy bacon. “You know how to cook.”
Marc grabbed a piece of toast from the plate. “I’m thirty-five years old and I’ve never been married. Believe me, there’s not enough takeout in the world to keep a man going that long.”
Sophie could appreciate that truth. Growing up, her mother had made the family meals. Right after her death, Sophie and her father had gone through months of the Chinese-pizza-subs rotation, ordering out every night. Eventually, Sophie realized she was going to have to take charge in the kitchen or risk turning into an egg roll.
She picked up the orange juice and took a sip. “Hey, is there champagne in here?”
“Wine and dine, remember?”
She took another drink. “I love mimosas. Do you usually keep champagne in the house?” Marc didn’t seem like a champagne drinker, so the idea that he had a bottle sort of screamed player .
He shook his head. “My sister gave me the bottle for Christmas. Told me to share it with someone I love on New Year’s.”
Sophie put the glass back on the tray. “Um, hate to break it to you, Marc, but you missed the holiday. New Year’s was about seven months ago.”
He polished off the last of the bacon. “I ended up going out with some friends over New Year’s. Put the bottle in my wine rack and forgot all about it until this morning.”
Sophie tried to batten down the girlie part of her that latched onto his sister’s instructions. Share it with someone you love.
Play it cool, Soph.
“Well, it’s perfect with OJ, so I’m glad you remembered it.”
Marc studied her face. She wished she had inherited her father’s knack for unreadable expressions. Her lawyer lover
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