His brow rises. “Do you?”
“Mmm,” I say, then start humming as I pull out my phone and find my current favorite song on my workout playlist. A little fast. A little raunchy. A lot fun. I click the button to send it through our sound system, and when the music starts, I press my hand to Damien’s chest and jauntily strut forward, forcing him backward to the padded bench that is intended as a place to sit and wait for the elevator. Right now, I have a different purpose in mind.
“I’ll dance,” I say, doing a shimmy and pulling off my T-shirt in the process. “I’ll even do a stripper dance,” I add. “But I don’t do solo shows. I require full participation.”
“Do you?”
“Absolutely,” I say, turning around so that my back is to him as I shake and shimmy in time with the music and very, very slowly ease my skirt off.
When I turn around, I’m dressed only in my bra and panties, and though I should feel silly, I don’t. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the lingering high from fucking him in the limo. Maybe it’s the heated way that he’s watching my every move.
Maybe it’s the simple fact that I love my husband.
Whatever the reason, I’m enjoying showing off, turning him on and getting turned on in the process. And as I think that, I slide one hand over my bra and the other down my abdomen to cup myself over my panties.
I have my eyes closed, and the music’s loud, but I still hear Damien’s sharp intake of breath. I figure that’s as good a cue as any, and I open my eyes and strut toward him, then reach out a hand to pull him up.
He complies, amused, and I do my own version of a pole dance, with Damien playing the role of my pole. Up and down, stroking and teasing, shimmying and shaking. It’s a little erotic and a little silly, and by the time I have my bra off and am about to step out of my panties, I’m both desperately wet and giggling furiously.
I bend over to untangle my panties from around my ankle, and when I do, my giggles turn to squeals as Damien scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder. I pound uselessly on his back, then cry out when he pitches me unceremoniously onto the bed.
“What are you—?”
“Shhh.” He puts his finger over his mouth, then strips off his own clothes. And though he doesn’t add any dance moves, I can’t deny that I enjoy the show.
Slowly, he eases onto the bed and straddles me. “I liked your dance,” he says. “I like even more that you did it because I told you I wanted it.”
“Anything you want,” I whisper, my voice throaty. “You know that.”
“I want you,” he says, then brushes a kiss over my lips. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“You have me,” I murmur. “You always have.”
“I know.” His smile is slow, his eyes dark with passion. “You’re my proof that I must be a good man. How else could I deserve you?”
I blink, my eyes suddenly damp, and I pull him down for a long, slow kiss. “Make love to me,” I beg. “And make it slow.”
“Anything the lady wants,” he says, sliding his hand down and finding me very, very wet. “I’m always happy to oblige.”
We make love slowly, easily. And as he takes me over the precipice and my body shatters in his arms, I know without a doubt that I am loved as deeply and passionately as it is possible to be.
And, more, I love him back just as much.
Sated, I curl up against him, and I’m drifting toward sleep when Damien’s voice rolls over me. “We should go to Vancouver for my birthday.”
“Mmm,” I say.
Then the words register on my sleepy brain, and suddenly I’m wide awake. I roll over, forcing myself not to curse. Surely—surely—he’s not going to screw with all my planning. “Vancouver? Really? Why?”
“Because it’s beautiful, and you’ve never been. And I want to show you the world.”
It’s an incredibly sweet thought, and if I weren’t so frustrated that he voiced it, I might actually appreciate it. As it is, I just force a smile and say, “Then it should be my present. Not yours.”
“That’s one way of looking at it. But nothing makes me happier than spoiling you. Vancouver,” he says firmly as he pulls me close. “I’ll plan the perfect trip. I promise, you’ll love it.”
And as he drifts off, I stare at the ceiling, one single thought going through my mind.
Well, damn.
Chapter Five
As the elevator descends toward the Stark Tower lobby, I play back last night’s conversation. Vancouver. How in the hell am I going to get out of going to Vancouver?
The car slows as it approaches the lobby, and I pull out my phone, watching the screen so that I can dial Jamie the second I get a signal. My best friend is devious, after all. Surely she can help me come up with a plan for forestalling Vancouver before Damien makes all the arrangements.