regardless of the fact that he’s mad.
“Me neither. Wear what you like,” he murmurs. He
runs his hand up my bare leg to my thigh. “Besides, this
dress has its advantages.” He bends to kiss me, and as our
lips touch, passion or lust or a deep-seated need to make
amends lances through me and desire flares in my blood. I
seize his head in my hands, fisting my fingers in his hair. He
groans as his body responds, and he hungrily nips at my
lower lip—my throat, my ear, his tongue invading my
mouth, and before I’m even aware of it he’s unzipping his
pants, pulling me astride his lap, and sinking into me. I
grasp the back of the chair, my feet just touching the
ground . . . and we start to move.
“I like your version of sorry,” he breathes into my hair.
“And I like yours,” I giggle, snuggling against his chest.
“Ha一ve you finished?”
“Christ, Ana, you want more?”
“No! Your work.”
“I’ll be done in about half an hour. I heard your
message on my voicemail.”
message on my voicemail.”
“From yesterday.”
“You sounded worried.”
I hug him tightly.
“I was. It’s not like you not to respond.”
He kisses my hair.
“Your cake should be ready in half an hour.” I smile at
him and climb off his lap.
“Looking forward to it. It smelled delicious, evocative
even, while it was baking.”
I smile shyly down at him, feeling a little self-conscious,
and he mirrors my expression. Jeez, are we really so
different? Perhaps it’s his early memories of baking.
Leaning down, I plant a swift kiss on the corner of his
mouth and make my way back to the kitchen.
I am all prepared when I hear him come out of his study,
and I light the solitary gold candle on his cake. He gives
me an ear-splitting grin as he saunters toward me, and I
softly sing Happy Birthday to him. Then he leans over and
blows it out, closing his eyes.
“I’ve made my wish,” he says as he opens them again,
and for some reason his look makes me flush.
“The frosting is still soft. I hope you like it.”
“I can’t wait to taste it, Anastasia,” he murmurs
本章未完，点击下一页继续阅读。