His face was buried in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. “I think I just had a heart attack.”
She laughed. “That’s a shame. I had plans for later.”
“Oh?” He lifted his head, his brown eyes soft and dreamy. “What kind of plans are we talking?”
“Well, to begin with, I wouldn’t mind moving to the bedroom. My bed’s a lot more comfortable.”
“I don’t know. I really like the way your skin looks under the lights.” He grazed his teeth over the sensitive skin on her neck, and a delicious tremor ran through her. Voice husky, he asked, “Got any cuffs in your room?”
The question caught her by surprise. “Handcuffs?”
“What other cuffs are there?”
“Well, there are shirt cuffs,” she said and then made a strangled noise when he moved his mouth lower and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Her pulse throbbed in every erogenous zone, and she supposed they could wait a little longer before moving off the couch. “But I assume that’s not what you’re referring to.”
“That would be correct,” he murmured against her breast. “Got any?”
“No. Why would I?”
“You never know when they’ll come in handy.” Pulling back, he peered up at her, a sinful grin on his face. He slid his hands under her butt and lifted them both off the couch. As he carried her toward the bedroom, he said, “I’ve got plans as well, but I guess the cuffs can wait for another time.”
Chapter 17
Thesunwouldn’trisefor another hour, but Pinto woke out of habit, which was good because he had to be at work by seven, and I-was-too-busy-getting-laid-to-set-the-alarm-on-my-watch wasn’t on the list of acceptable excuses for being late.
Trouble was, he didn’t want to get out of bed, not with Fiona nestled against him, her hand on his chest and her scent all around him, comforting and enticing. He smoothed one hand along her bare back, and she made a soft, contented sound in her sleep that shot straight to his heart.
The connection between them was undeniable. Their chemistry was off the charts. He couldn’t help but think of how they’d spent last night, and how badly he wanted to do it again, as soon as humanly possible.
And next time, he’d make damn sure they didn’t run out of condoms.
The thought of calling in sick was sounding better by the minute. He hadn’t used any of his personal time off since that trip to the Bahamas back in May. Nobody would bat an eye if he claimed to have eaten some bad takeout food and was too sick to go to work.
Too bad his conscience wouldn’t shut the hell up about duty and responsibility. He blamed it on his Catholic upbringing. If he called in sick, one of his coworkers would have to work a double—or worse, come in from their day off—to cover his scheduled shift. Not to mention, he respected his bosses too much to leave them in the lurch. And as the only trained medic on the payroll, it was important for him to be on site in the event one of the newbies got hurt during training and needed immediate medical assistance.
Like it or not, he was going to work.
Careful not to wake Fiona, he slipped out of bed and padded naked to the living room, where the Christmas lights were still on because they’d never gotten around to turning them off last night. Wanda was curled up on the recliner, her paws twitching in her sleep.
Pinto found his pants on the floor by the tree, right next to the pile of shoes and socks, while his shirt was balled up on the coffee table. No sign of his boxer briefs. He checked under the tree, between the couch cushions. No luck. Where the hell did they go?
At last, he spotted them on the recliner, where Wanda was using them as a pillow.
“Wake up, girl,” he whispered as he gave the cat a gentle nudge.
Wanda cracked her eyes open and stared at him with a look of disdainful indifference. Her tail flicked back and forth, but she made no effort to move.
Fuck it, he didn’t have time for this shit. He’d go downstairs commando.
He’d jammed one leg into his jeans when he heard Fiona’s voice behind him.
“Isn’t it a little early to be doing the walk of shame?”
She stood in the bedroom doorway, her hair tousled, eyes sleepy, not wearing a stitch of clothes. Without a doubt, it was the sexiest goddamn thing he’d ever seen and his body responded accordingly. If he didn’t have to leave for work in less than thirty minutes, he would have dragged her back to bed, figured a workaround to the condom conundrum, and not come up for air until noon.
But he’d also detected a note of vulnerability in her voice, and that simply would not do.
“The walk of shame implies I’d have something to be embarrassed about.” He buttoned his jeans and tugged the zipper up.
