He hit pause on the movie while arching a brow. “That picture you sent me was not bumbling. That was expert level.”
“Oh.” She bit down on a smile. “Good.”
“Good?” He made a sound in his throat. “Belle. The earth moved.”
The smile just kind of exploded across her face.
She heard him swallow. Loudly.
“Anyway, we have flirting momentum now. We should keep going. Do you agree?”
This man kept surprising her. She had to be on her toes around him, yet she also had this very distinct intuition that it would always be okay to let her guard down. How unique. “Yes. I agree,” she said, trying not to sound breathless. “It would be irresponsible to let the flirting momentum drop.”
Wells nodded, took his time looking her over, his attention eventually returning to her face. “What makes you smell so goddamn good, Josephine? Is it lotion? Perfume?”
“Lotion,” she managed, bumpily.
“Thought so.”
“It’s a vanilla-lilac mashup. Very seasonal.”
“Very distracting.”
“How?”
“You show up smelling like that and I immediately think of you . . . applying it.” Never had the word “applying” sounded so filthy. “That’s how.”
“Yes, I put it on in slow motion, slowly stretching each freshly shaven leg out in front of me, toe in a perfect point—”
“Don’t shatter the illusion,” he teased, reaching over and tugging on the lapel of her robe, turning her body to face him more fully on the couch. Her knee left the confines of the robe to rest on top of his thigh and they both stared down at the contact for a breath, until he said, “You like the way I smell, too?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t seem to get her voice above a murmur. “Lotion or perfume?”
His lips twitched. “Aftershave.” Gaze never leaving her face, he brushed a thumb over her bare knee. “Why don’t you come sit on my lap and smell it up close?”
There was no oxygen to be had. “Okay.”
Wells leaned toward Josephine, movements unhurried, his mouth stopping a hairsbreadth away from her own, his big arms locking around her middle and dragging her back with him to the other side of the couch. And now, she was sitting on Wells’s lap in her robe, her butt on his muscle-packed right thigh, her exposed legs draped over the left one. “Go ahead.” His mouth moved in her hair, his hand fisting the belt of her robe. “Smell me.”
Was the couch tilting? “Is this how you usually flirt?” she asked.
“Josephine.” He lifted the hand wrapped in white terry cloth, using it to nudge her chin higher. And he looked her in the eye. “I never flirt.”
What did that mean? She couldn’t really find the wherewithal to decipher that statement, because she was nearly salivating with the need to smell this man. Up close like this, his aroma went from attractive to appetizing and she was powerless to do anything but dip her nose into his neck and inhale, notes of eucalyptus and almond oil rolling her eyes into the back of her head. Meanwhile, his hand, still fisting the fabric of the belt, was sliding up and down the valley of her thighs, stopping just at the border of indecency.
“Well?” he asked, his breath stirring her hair.
“I like it,” she whispered, inhaling again.
A satisfied sound turned over in his chest. “I know something else you like, Josephine.”
His gravelly tone made her shiver hotly. “What is it?”
Slowly and deliberately, he picked up the remote control on the arm of the couch and hit rewind, returning to the start of the movie’s love scene. And then he hit play.
Josephine swallowed hard, trying not to be obvious about sneaking her knees closer together. Had he noticed she was paying a little too close attention to the scene earlier?
It started from the beginning, moans and drumbeats filling the living space.
Wells rested his mouth against her temple. “How hard he’s fucking her. You like that, don’t you?”
Arousal snaked through Josephine, starting at the buds of her breasts. They pebbled and grew sensitive inside the white terry cloth. And then lower, her stomach muscles knitting together one by one and drawing taut like shoelaces. She ordered herself to slow down her breathing and act normal, but Wells shifted in this sensual animal way beneath her, his right hand tilting her chin, his lips ghosting up the side of her neck—and the breathy sound she made in response to that featherlight touch more than answered his question.