“Now who’s playing dumb?”

“I want to hear the words.”

“You always want to hear the words.” Her hands grip onto my T-shirt. I love that I can turn her on so easily. She’s so fucking responsive.

I grin wickedly and kiss her forehead, and then it occurs to me: My life has been in black and white for the past two years, and the minute she walked through my office door, everything was in blazing color.

I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

Except enjoy her, for every moment she’s here.

“What is the stuff that we do?” I ask again.

“The sex stuff.”

“You can do better than that.”

“Do you have any idea how many Hail Marys I’m going to have to say because of you?” she demands.

“A lot,” I reply with a laugh. “I haven’t seen you go to church while you’ve been here.”

“I only go when I’m visiting my parents.” She shrugs one slender shoulder. “Okay, I’ll make it clear. While you’re fucking me, you don’t fuck anyone else.”

Fuck.

I have to swallow hard as I stare down at her determined green eyes. Fuck someone else? I can’t think of anyone else.

“And you can’t fall in love with me,” she adds primly.

“I can’t?”

“No. No love. Just friends, and laughs, and…stuff.”

I narrow my eyes.

“And sex. I’m not saying the other word again today.”

I watch her for a long moment, then tug her into my lap, cup her face in my hands, and kiss the fuck out of her. “You’re all I see, Kate. I don’t give a shit about other women. So you don’t have to worry about me fucking anyone but you for as long as you’re here.”

“And no love.”

Why does that statement make my heart hurt?

“I don’t do love, cher.”

“Me neither.”

Liar.

“But one other thing,” I say, my lips against hers.

“What?”

“You’re going to say fuck again today. You’re going to say it a lot.”

“Why does that turn you on?” She giggles and sinks her fingers into the hair on the back of my head.

“Because hearing those dirty words come out of your pretty mouth makes me hard.” I kiss her, long and deep, then pull away when we’re both gasping for breath. “Jesus, everything you do makes me hard.”

“Maybe it’s just been a while since you got laid.”

That’s what I thought too.

“No, it’s you. It’s just you.”

Chapter Twelve

Kate

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Mama’s for dinner?” Gabby asks us as she gathers her handbag and car keys and settles Sam’s baseball cap on his head.

“We’ll be fine here,” Eli replies with a grin, sips his sweet tea, and keeps his sexy, naughty eyes on me. “I’ll show Kate around.”

“I thought you showed her around yesterday,” Gabby replies dryly. Eli simply shrugs one shoulder and takes another sip of his tea, watching me. God, he’s potent. He showed me around yesterday, all right. Around his body, and mine, and I’m pretty sure he discovered erogenous zones that I didn’t even know I had.

And muscles. I’m sore today. Sore. My inner thigh muscles are singing. How does that happen?

“How is it that you don’t have any guests tonight?” I ask.

“I always have an empty inn on Sunday nights. That gives me time to catch up on laundry and cooking for the upcoming week, and I can get away to Mama’s for dinner.”

“Convenient for me,” Eli says, and laughs when Gabby glares at him.

“You’re my brother.”

“That’s the rumor,” he says with a smile.

“No, you are,” Sam adds solemnly. “Nannan says so. Plus, you look alike. I don’t have any brothers.”

“No, you don’t,” Gabby says with a laugh.

“I want some, though,” Sam adds.

“Let’s go.” Gabby sighs and shakes her head. “Clean up your own messes, big brother.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies in that slow, sexy accent that never fails to make me weak in the knees, and the grin spreads over his face when Gabby’s engine starts and drives down the driveway. “Alone at last.”

“We’re alone quite often,” I remind him.

“Mm,” he replies, leaning his hands on the kitchen island, just staring at me with that smirk on his face as I lean on the breakfast bar opposite him.

“Are you going to just…do me here on the counter?”

“Do you?” He tilts his head back and forth, as if he’s considering it. “Probably. But first, I’m going to cook for you.”

“Cook for me.” It isn’t a question. “You cook.”

“I cook just fine, thank you very much.” He cocks a brow.

I bet he does. He does everything very well.

“And what are you going to cook?”

“You’ll see.” He turns to the fridge and begins gathering supplies, moving about the kitchen as if he’s perfectly comfortable here. Which kind of throws me, because let’s face it, watching the uber successful billionaire businessman, who admits to being a workaholic, work in the kitchen like it’s second nature is…hot.