Curveball by Kate Angell

or peacock feathers. Psycho nodded to Annaldo. The recliner now belonged to Keely. Psycho’s taste ran to black leather. He dropped onto a curved sectional couch and crooked his finger for Keely to join him.
    “Sit closer,” he urged her when three cushions separated them. “I want to see if this is a good date couch.”
    She scooted two cushions closer.
    He lunged, grabbed her, and hauled her across his lap.
    Annaldo discreetly set off for a second glass of wine. Which left Psycho holding a squirming Keely. Her shoulder jabbed his chest. Her wiggling bottom ground into his groin.
    His dick sprang to life.
    And Keely went instantly still.
    Cheeks heated, she punched his arm. “Let me go.”
    “A man needs to know if a couch is comfortable for getting it on.”
    “I don’t do test drives.”
    “Bet you do birthday kisses.”
    “It’s not your birthday.”
    “I’ve officially changed the date.”
    He kissed her then, a light, teasing kiss just to see her blush deepen. Keely’s cheeks flamed. As did his groin. Her hand curled into the front of his T-shirt. He couldn’t tell if she was pushing him away or pulling him toward her. A restless heat filled his body, leaving him fully aroused. Any woman other than Keely and he’d have taken her on the black leather, showroom model or not. He was wired for sex.
    It had been two weeks since he’d had a woman claw his back, tear at his hair, and ride his thighs. He was days overdue. And itching to make up for lost time.
    Nicki Carter was always good for a quickie. Suzie Jacobs had a mouth meant for sucking more than beer. But one glance at Keely made him realize she was the one he wanted. Wanted, but couldn’t have. She was his designer. Not a onenight stand. Son of a biscuit.
    Saviano Annaldo made his appearance shortly after Keely scrambled off his lap and Psycho again took to his feet. He shifted his stance more than once, trying to adjust a hard-on that wouldn’t gosoft. Only when his mind hit on his suspension did his body go lax. The prohibition against playing ball was a total mood killer.
    Without further deliberation, Psycho chose the sectional sofa and two matching armchairs for his living room. A tinted blue-glass coffee table reminded him of an aquarium. He added that to his purchases as well.
    “A bedroom suite, Mr. McMillan?” Annaldo inquired.
    Enjoying her second glass of wine, Keely leaned into his side, her voice low. “Time to pack up your sleeping bag.”
    He looked down at her. Her cheeks now glowed, no longer from embarrassment but from the wine. “I see you’ve found my bedroom.”
    “Strictly to take measurements.”
    “There’s nothing in that room under eight inches.”
    She nearly spewed her wine.
    “This way, sir.” Annaldo motioned them into the next showroom.
    Psycho reached for Keely’s hand, catching himself before their fingers laced. What was it about Keely Douglas that made him want to keep her close? He had no interest in a skinny blonde with fabricated family photos on the wall. She did, however, have feathers going for her. He might keep her around long enough to see if her skin was as soft as marabou. He’d like to see her wrapped in nothing but her boas.
    “What style of bed are you interested in, Mr. McMillan?” inquired Annaldo.
    Psycho scanned the highly polished Italian bed frames, his focus on the mattresses and the turned-down sheets. A man could score a lot of action in this room.
    A dark wood platform bed drew his attention. He dropped onto the mattress, which cuddled his body like a woman. Nice. Very, very nice.
    He patted the space beside him. “Keely, come roll around—”
    “Not on your life.”
    Her comment drew Annaldo’s chuckle. “It is a wonderfully soft bed.”
    And Psycho was an inordinately hard man. “You’re no fun,” he said to Keely as he jackknifed to his feet.
    “You’re fun enough for two.”
    “Chest of drawers.” Annaldo directed them to several intricately designed pieces.