“I’m fine.”
Except for the way “my dad’s girlfriend” is reverberating in my head
. Pacey had a
girlfriend
? Openly? What the hell? Did Natasha know about this? How could she
not
know? He frowned. “How much time does your dad spend in Mexico?”
Milo chuckled. “All his life!” he said in a don’t-be-ridiculous-voice. “He’s lived there since I was little. I don’t see him
that
often,” the boy added matter-of-factly, “because of my mom and dad getting divorced and him moving away. But I get lots of birthday cards and Christmas presents and e-mails from my dad. And seashells. I like seashells. They’re the best.”
Divorced
. The word practically draped itself in lights and neon letters and danced a tango. Damon couldn’t stop hearing it.
“Your mom and dad are divorced?” Damon blurted.
Milo scrunched his nose. “Usually people try to sound more sensitive about it. Like my teacher at school—she can’t say ‘divorced’ without whispering it. My mom says that’s because she’s trying to be ‘considerate’ about my feelings and stuff.”
“Uh-huh.” Damon’s mind raced.
Natasha was divorced
. She
didn’t
love Paul. She didn’t even live with him! Her ex had moved on to be with his new girlfriend, Juanita. And Natasha ... well, suddenly her behavior made a lot more sense. “Listen, you lie down and go to sleep now. It’s late. I’ll tuck you in.”
Obediently, Milo squirmed under the covers again. Damon yanked them up over him, then gave a firm, absentminded pat.
“Hey!” Milo protested. “You buried my head under here!”
Exasperatedly, the boy stuck out his head. Damon only gave a preoccupied nod. He headed toward the door—toward Natasha.
“You knocked my cheeky monkey off the bed,” Milo said in an aggrieved tone, stopping him. “All my stuffed animals are—”
“Incoming.” Damon scooped up the fallen toys. One by one, he rocketed them at a giggling, confused-looking Milo. Together, they arranged them all around him. “There. Now go to sleep.”
“But now I’m all untucked again! And my night-light—”
“Is already on. No more stalling.” Diligently but distractedly, Damon covered up Milo’s head again. He gave another brusque pat to tamp down the covers. “If I see you again before sunrise, there won’t be any more piggyback rides.”
Milo thrust out his head again. He gave a big-eyed nod, seeming suitably compliant. “Okay. I’ll go to sleep.”
“Yes, you will. Hurry up.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” the boy grumbled. “You’re only good at reading. You’re
not
very good at bedtime.”
“That doesn’t sound like sleeping to me,” Damon warned.
With hilarious urgency, Milo started snoring. Holding back a grin—a grin that would have totally wrecked his authoritative presence—Damon tiptoed toward the door. Halfway there, he heard a small, tentative voice say, “Good night, Damon.”
Sternly, Damon switched off the lamp. “Good night, kid.”
A pause. Then, “I was wrong. You are good at bedtime.”
In the glow of the night-light, Damon smiled. He lingered in the doorway, breathing in the snug atmosphere of Milo’s seashell-strewn, Lego-filled bedroom. Then he turned away.
He had another bedroom to visit tonight. Now that he knew that Natasha was free ... there’d be no holding back this time.
Chapter 19
Damp and flushed from her ultra-hot bath, Natasha strolled across her tiny bathroom. She propped her leg on the closed lid of the toilet. Languidly, she applied creamy body lotion to her calves, then her knees, then her thighs and ...
Her thighs
. They were tingling again.
What in the world ... ? The only time they’d ever done that was when Damon had been kissing her. As far as she knew, Damon was still busy reading
Yertle the Turtle
to Milo. That meant ...
That meant she probably shouldn’t have brought a big bottle of imported dark stout into the bathtub with her, Natasha realized. But where some women liked wine to relax, she liked Guinness. Now she was undoubtedly a little tipsy, drunk on the stout and on the exhilarating freedom to bathe without anyone knocking on the door, talking to her
through
the door, wondering where their lunchbox was, or asking her to bake several dozen cupcakes for a third-grade school fundraiser the next day.
Replete with relaxation, Natasha capped her lotion. She examined her legs, decided they looked especially lithe and appealing tonight, then pulled on a pair of delicate panties and a matching flowery chemise. The silky fabric eased over her bare skin. It skimmed along her curves, then ended at the top of her still-tingling thighs. She didn’t wear this chemise often; its skinny spaghetti straps were barely sufficient to keep it on her and provide coverage. That meant that one strenuous move would cause the garment to practically undress her all by itself. It wasn’t exactly mom-type sleepwear, either. If Milo needed her for anything tonight, she’d definitely have to cover up more.
But she wasn’t planning on any strenuous moves tonight, Natasha reminded herself as she slung on a terry cloth robe to cover herself for the trip to her bedroom. Milo was asleep. All she was planning to do was find out how much teasing Damon could stand before
he
cried uncle and made her quit.
That’s all she’d been able to think about—in vivid, arousing detail—during her bubble bath: bringing Damon to the edge. Being in control of
him
for a change.
That would be quite a thrill, Natasha figured as she hefted her Guinness bottle, then impulsively finished drinking it. It would be ... unprecedented.
But a lot of unprecedented things had been happening to her lately. She was on a hot streak! After all, she’d won a (small) lottery prize, gotten a zillion new job offers, defeated her Civic’s usual breakdown-prone behavior, and been on a successful date with a neurosurgeon (whose second-date offer she’d regretfully postponed—probably foolhardily—with a phone call earlier). She’d done all those things. She could do this, too.
If there was ever a time she could finally have the upper hand with Damon Torrance for a change, this was it. Tonight.
It would be safe, too.
Thank you, Pacey
! Natasha thought with a grin. For once, her all-but-imaginary husband was proving useful. His illusory presence in her life was just the life preserver she needed to really enjoy herself with Damon.
Licking her lips over the idea of doing exactly that—and still savoring the malty flavor of her stout, too—Natasha opened the bathroom door. She felt relaxed and ready and dressed for seduction. She also felt kind of charged up and eager and daring. Going on the Giant Dipper had fired up all her senses. Somehow, being tossed and thrilled and raced along on the roller coaster tonight had ignited every long-buried thrill-seeking impulse she had. She’d read once that, because of a similar effect, scary movies revved up women’s libidos. If Natasha had remembered that
before
she’d suggested throwing caution to the wind and going to Belmont Park with Milo and Damon, then maybe ...
Nah
. She still would have done it, Natasha decided as she ducked back into the steamy bathroom to retrieve her big, empty Guinness bottle. She would have done it because it was fun.
When she turned back, Damon was in the doorway. He stood there shirtless, holding a change of clothes and a fresh towel, looking handsome and rugged and badly in need of a shave to tame his ten-o’clock shadow. While she took in his appearance, he stared in a strangely revelatory fashion at her feet.
“You have a toe ring.” He pointed. “That’s new.”
“Actually, it’s old. I’ve had it as long as my belly ring.”
“Oh. You have a navel piercing, too?” At her nod, his dark eyes flared with interest. “Part of your hidden artistic side?”
“Mmm.” An airy wave. “I guess you could say that.”
“I like your hidden artistic side.”
“I think you said that already.”
“It’s even truer right now.” Damon sent his gaze wandering over her bare legs, robe-covered middle, and faintly water-beaded cleavage. “I’d like to introduce your secret artistic side to my blatant seductive side. I think they’d hit it off.”
Natasha smiled. “I think so, too.” With a fresh sense of anticipation, she dragged her empty Guinness bottle from Damon’s abdominals to his chest, traveling over all the muscles and skin she intended to get to know better with her hands later. She ended just beneath his chin. She used her bottle to nudge his jaw upward, so he was looking at her face. “Enjoy your shower. I’m pretty sure there’s only cold water left ... but you probably could use some of that right about now anyway.”
He quirked his brow. “Why? I’m not feeling especially hot.”
“Oh, you will be,” Natasha promised. “Just watch.”
Then she tore herself away, turned with a flourish that she knew darn well made her short robe and chemise twirl enticingly around her thighs, and headed for the kitchen. Given the way she felt, she couldn’t help turning the whole endeavor into a sexy, look-at-me, bump-and-grind routine ... just for Damon’s enjoyment.
This time, no pipsqueaky voice wrecked her moment. Milo must be asleep, Natasha realized with new excitement. Hurray!
Then, emboldened by her own seductive courage, Natasha picked up her pace and ventured into the kitchen. What she needed now was just a
teensy
bit more Guinness ... and maybe a tiny bite of chocolate-caramel truffle, too. That ought to give her enough oomph to follow through on her plan ... and then some.
When Damon emerged from the shower minutes later, freshly shaved, wearing a pair of low-slung, drawstring-waist casual pants and anticipating some grown-up time with Natasha, the first thing he glimpsed was Natasha, bent over the sofa as she made up the cushions for him with sheets and pillows and a blanket.
It only seemed reasonable to stop and enjoy the view. So Damon did. He watched as Natasha stretched farther, making her short robe ride up the back of her thighs. He watched as she bent to scoop up a fallen pillow, making her nightwear all but indecent. He watched, leaning on the doorjamb, as she flopped in a leggy, freewheeling fashion on the makeshift bed she’d just made, grabbed a bottle of Guinness stout, slugged back the last of it, then sighed with obvious and goofily endearing gusto.
As he watched, Natasha picked up a truffle from a nearby Torrance Chocolates box. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the chocolate’s sweet fragrance. She paused, obviously savoring its depth and complexity. She brought it to her mouth, but she didn’t eat it yet. Reflexively, Damon felt his own mouth water.
The variety Natasha had selected was one of his favorites; he recognized its distinctive shape. But as Natasha rubbed the truffle sensuously along her lower lip, still delaying its consumption, then flicked her tongue to give it a tiny lick, his response had nothing to do with wanting chocolate and everything to do with wanting her mouth. As Damon watched Natasha give another, surer lick, he suddenly understood the reaction he’d gotten at the farmers market today with his orange wedge.
Natasha
might be innocently tasting, but
Damon
was not-so-innocently imagining things she probably didn’t intend.
Just when he was about to make his presence known, Natasha finally bit into her truffle. The chocolate’s caramel center must have oozed out, because she cried out with delight and dismay, then lapped up the caramel. Resourcefully and eagerly, she used her tongue to push back the rest of the sweet, gooey center, then allowed the bite she’d taken to melt in her mouth.
“Mmmm.” With a groan of pleasure, Natasha flung out her arms, being careful not to let the other half of her truffle touch the sheets and blanket. She gave a happy little wiggle—one that made Damon smile. She popped the other bite of chocolate into her mouth, closed her eyes to savor it, then moaned.
In that moment, Damon was gone. He might not be good at keeping track of Natasha’s personal life—he still couldn’t
believe
he hadn’t realized she’d gotten divorced without him noticing—but he
was
good at recognizing pleasure. Just like him, he saw, Natasha was good at taking pleasure. Really good.
It was all over her face as she savored her chocolate.
If Damon had felt guilty about kissing Natasha before, he didn’t now. If he’d felt sorry for putting her in the path of temptation by being there when Paul wasn’t, he didn’t now. If he’d resisted giving in to his curiosity about her warmth, her surprising sex appeal, her arty side and her intelligence and her humor and her supple, fascinating hips ... he didn’t now.
Because now he meant to seduce Natasha guilt free. He meant to take them as far as they could go. If she stopped him ...
Well, she wouldn’t stop him. Damon knew that. Everything about the way Natasha looked at him, talked to him, touched him ... it all told him that. In his pleasure-packed life, Damon had seduced a lot of women, for a lot of reasons. He’d enjoyed every single minute of it. But
this
, tonight, with Natasha ...
This
meant
something to him. Damon hoped it would mean something to her, too. Because after having been so oblivious for so long—after having been so self-absorbed and so blind to her life for so long—Damon felt compelled to pay attention now.
With that in mind, he took a leisurely step forward. “If everyone ate chocolate the way you do,” he said with a smile, “visiting our boutiques would be an X-rated activity.”
Caught by surprise, Natasha gave a wide-eyed scramble to get upright on the sofa. She yanked down her robe, patted her cleavage, then self-consciously eyed her debauched duo of Guinness and chocolate. “I eat chocolate like a normal person!” she protested. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about savoring. I’m talking about
indulging
.” Damon came closer. He scrutinized the box of truffles, took his time choosing one, then looked at it. He transferred his gaze from the chocolate to Natasha’s face. “I’m talking about being so caught up in the pleasure of the moment that you don’t care who’s watching you.” He raised his brows. “Another one?”