rising over her skin. “Your every whim? You wish.” She blinked and glanced away, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “So…uh…what do we do now? Do you want me to go? Or stay? Or…what?”
Joseph stopped rubbing the curl between his fingers. “Why on earth would I want you to go?”
“I don’t know, but you might.” She began to smooth the white cotton of her pillow with her hands. “Sorry, that’s probably a dumb question but…well, the only men I’ve slept with, I’ve been in a relationship with.”
Joseph let out a soft breath. He reached out, pulling her into the circle of his arms, her back pressed up against his stomach, the curve of her bottom fitting in the hollow of his groin. Jesus, he was getting hard again.
“Did I say I wanted you to go?” he growled into the sweet-smelling curve of her neck.
“No.” A soft denial, but he could feel tension in her as she rested against him.
The smart move would be to let her go now, before she got hurt. Before she started to expect things from him he’d never be able to give her. But the sad fact was, he didn’t want to. Not now. He wanted a whole night with her and, dammit, he was going to have it.
“Right,” he said softly. “Let’s clear up these expectations now then, okay?”
She remained tense. “Okay.”
Joseph rolled her onto her back so he could see her face. Her eyes had that wary look again, which wasn’t acceptable. Not after the the passionate way she’d screamed his name.
“One night, Christie. I want one whole night with you.”
The lights of the city outside played over her pale skin. “One night, huh?”
“Yes.” He touched her cheek delicately. “Be with me, Naughtygirl.”
“Okay, but tomorrow I’m gone. I’m…not looking for anything else.”
“I get that. I don’t want that, either.”
She was silent a moment. Then her hand lifted, fingers circling his wrist. She turned her head and bit the tip of his finger. Surprise and a jolt of pure lust went through him.
Unpredictable woman. Fascinating woman.
He sighed and kissed her, hard and hungry. They made love again, and this time he took it even slower, exploring every inch of her with his hands and mouth, bringing her to the very limit of her control, before burying himself inside her body, taking them both right into the heart of pleasure yet again.
It was only afterward, as she fell asleep in his arms, her hair spread across his chest, her breath warm and soft on his skin, that he understood.
One night wasn’t going to be enough.
Chapter Seven
“You’re revolting this morning, St. John,” Marisa commented grumpily.
Christie put the coffee she’d bought on Marisa’s desk. “And a happy Monday to you, too.”
The other woman glowered. “There’s nothing happy about Mondays.”
Christie grinned. “What? Is that all the thanks I get for remembering your triple-shot, soy trim latte with the one sugar?”
Marisa gave her a distasteful look. “Hmm, a smile like Pollyanna, a new haircut, distinct lack of metal T-shirt, and, dear God, you’ve got sandals on your feet.” Her eyes widened. “And they’re pretty sandals! Okay, who are you and what have you done with Christie St. John?”
Christie resisted the urge to pat her newly trimmed hairstyle. So she may have gotten a haircut over the weekend. And she may have splurged on a new pair of shoes. She may have even hesitated with her usual choice of band T-shirt and put on a plain green tight-fitting one that reflected the color of her eyes instead, but what did that have to do with anything?
She shrugged. “Nothing. I felt like a change.”
“A change? Yeah, right. You hate having your hair done and you never wear sandals.” Marisa’s eyes narrowed. “You got lucky, didn’t you?”
Should she tell Marisa? She wanted to. Wanted to shout to the heavens that Christie St. John had had a whole night of hot sex with a gorgeous billionaire. A billionaire who thought she was smart and funny
Joseph stopped rubbing the curl between his fingers. “Why on earth would I want you to go?”
“I don’t know, but you might.” She began to smooth the white cotton of her pillow with her hands. “Sorry, that’s probably a dumb question but…well, the only men I’ve slept with, I’ve been in a relationship with.”
Joseph let out a soft breath. He reached out, pulling her into the circle of his arms, her back pressed up against his stomach, the curve of her bottom fitting in the hollow of his groin. Jesus, he was getting hard again.
“Did I say I wanted you to go?” he growled into the sweet-smelling curve of her neck.
“No.” A soft denial, but he could feel tension in her as she rested against him.
The smart move would be to let her go now, before she got hurt. Before she started to expect things from him he’d never be able to give her. But the sad fact was, he didn’t want to. Not now. He wanted a whole night with her and, dammit, he was going to have it.
“Right,” he said softly. “Let’s clear up these expectations now then, okay?”
She remained tense. “Okay.”
Joseph rolled her onto her back so he could see her face. Her eyes had that wary look again, which wasn’t acceptable. Not after the the passionate way she’d screamed his name.
“One night, Christie. I want one whole night with you.”
The lights of the city outside played over her pale skin. “One night, huh?”
“Yes.” He touched her cheek delicately. “Be with me, Naughtygirl.”
“Okay, but tomorrow I’m gone. I’m…not looking for anything else.”
“I get that. I don’t want that, either.”
She was silent a moment. Then her hand lifted, fingers circling his wrist. She turned her head and bit the tip of his finger. Surprise and a jolt of pure lust went through him.
Unpredictable woman. Fascinating woman.
He sighed and kissed her, hard and hungry. They made love again, and this time he took it even slower, exploring every inch of her with his hands and mouth, bringing her to the very limit of her control, before burying himself inside her body, taking them both right into the heart of pleasure yet again.
It was only afterward, as she fell asleep in his arms, her hair spread across his chest, her breath warm and soft on his skin, that he understood.
One night wasn’t going to be enough.
Chapter Seven
“You’re revolting this morning, St. John,” Marisa commented grumpily.
Christie put the coffee she’d bought on Marisa’s desk. “And a happy Monday to you, too.”
The other woman glowered. “There’s nothing happy about Mondays.”
Christie grinned. “What? Is that all the thanks I get for remembering your triple-shot, soy trim latte with the one sugar?”
Marisa gave her a distasteful look. “Hmm, a smile like Pollyanna, a new haircut, distinct lack of metal T-shirt, and, dear God, you’ve got sandals on your feet.” Her eyes widened. “And they’re pretty sandals! Okay, who are you and what have you done with Christie St. John?”
Christie resisted the urge to pat her newly trimmed hairstyle. So she may have gotten a haircut over the weekend. And she may have splurged on a new pair of shoes. She may have even hesitated with her usual choice of band T-shirt and put on a plain green tight-fitting one that reflected the color of her eyes instead, but what did that have to do with anything?
She shrugged. “Nothing. I felt like a change.”
“A change? Yeah, right. You hate having your hair done and you never wear sandals.” Marisa’s eyes narrowed. “You got lucky, didn’t you?”
Should she tell Marisa? She wanted to. Wanted to shout to the heavens that Christie St. John had had a whole night of hot sex with a gorgeous billionaire. A billionaire who thought she was smart and funny
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