That was all well and good. She’d been inexperienced. Victor had liked that. But being inexperienced with Jamie was a whole different issue. She’d just have to fake it. Which shouldn’t be too hard, really. She’d been having sex for over a decade now. One man couldn’t be so radically different from another. Same parts. Same process. And she had the same body. Which was her current worry.
When she’d asked, Victor had said he didn’t mind her small breasts. He didn’t mind them. But it had been impossible to miss the way he’d looked at other women’s cleavage. And of the three women she knew about, all of them had been fairly impressive in the size department.
But she was silly to worry. They were just breasts. Only one small part of what Jamie was interested in, hopefully. As for the other … she might be inexperienced, but he’d never know. She’d fake her way through it.
As pep talks went, it was lacking in enthusiasm, but Olivia had always been a logical kind of girl. She felt better as she made herself pick out her favorite bra. It was pretty lilac cotton edged in white lace. She pulled on matching underwear and tied on the bright yellow wrap dress, then put in her contacts and did her makeup.
The clock told her she had half an hour left, and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself, so Olivia simply sat on the couch with her hands folded in her lap. If she wanted to, she could just go to Jamie’s house and share a meal. She knew that. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to have him. She wanted to feel him on her and in her. So, scary as it was, she wouldn’t back down. Someone had to be the first after Victor, and it was going to be Jamie.
After thirty quiet, calm minutes, Olivia stood, put on her heeled sandals and left for Jamie’s place. She’d approach fun the way she approached everything: with logic and calm.
Logic, calm and a crazed, thundering heart. It seemed that fun wasn’t easy to trick, because by the time she reached Jamie’s place, she couldn’t hear anything past her rushing pulse.
She vaguely noticed that he lived in a beautiful neighborhood of large houses, and his place was no exception. The porch was split into two entrances, and she walked up to the left one and knocked. When she started getting dizzy, she made herself breathe, even when she saw a figure approach behind the frosted glass.
“Ms. Bishop,” he said, a smile spreading across his face like a warm, melting treat. “Thanks for coming.”
Hopefully he’d be repeating that same phrase later.
She fought back a nervous laugh as he opened the door wider and motioned her to step inside. She started to walk past him, then stuttered when he moved to kiss her. At the exact moment she realized he’d meant to kiss her cheek, she turned in to kiss his lips. It was too late then. Their mouths bumped awkwardly before she stepped away.
Damn it.
The door clicked closed.
“It smells good in here!” she said brightly.
“Thank you.”
“And …” She finally registered her surroundings and turned in a slow, awed circle. “It’s so pretty!” This was no dingy apartment. It wasn’t even a man cave. The tall windows were open to the breeze, letting sunlight fall across wood floors. The baseboards and doors were warm, polished wood against almond-colored walls. “How long have you lived here?”
“About eighteen months.” He led her toward the back, to a small kitchen done in dark granite and stainless steel.
“Beautiful. I didn’t expect this.”
“Oh, yeah?” he opened the oven and pulled out a pan. “What did you expect?”
She cleared her throat and didn’t answer.
“Neon beer signs? Posters taped to the walls?”
“No. I—”
“I save those for my bedroom. Then I know I’ll start the day off right.”
“Stop,” she said, slapping his arm.
Jamie snagged her wrist and pulled her into him. “I’ve been waiting to do this.”
His arms curved around her, his mouth touched hers, and the world crashed into them. She parted her lips and his tongue slid in, and though it started warm and slow, she was soon pushed against the kitchen counter while Jamie’s tongue worked her mouth and his hands clutched her hips. She clutched him right back, loving the way he smelled and tasted and felt. For three nights, she’d fallen asleep with his voice winding around her. She’d been waiting for this.
They’d shared kisses before, but this was something different. His whole body was pressed to her. She shifted, and his hips nudged her, and lust turned inside her like a screw tightening.
Maybe he’d take her right here. Maybe he’d just set her up on the counter, and push her skirt up and her panties down. She’d never had it like that before, hot and desperate in the kitchen, cold granite against her back. She was wet already. So wet she could feel it.
Something buzzed loudly, and Olivia jerked back.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice rough. “Excuse me for just a moment.”
When he moved away, her nipples peaked at the sudden coolness he left behind. She felt like she was about to burst, but Jamie still moved easy and calm as he leaned over to pull another pan from the oven. “Baked omelette,” he explained, as he set it down. “I hope you don’t have anything against bacon.”
“No, I tried being a vegetarian a few years ago. I was embarrassingly unsuccessful.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“On the fourth day, I was so desperate for meat that I stopped at a convenience store on my way home from lunch and bought a taquito. I ate it at the cash register while I was still paying.”
“That’s pretty bad,” Jamie said. “And here I thought you were so straitlaced.”
She smiled even though her laces had been measured with a level. “I can get pretty crazy, I guess. Whatever you do, don’t get between me and a tray of taquitos.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Despite her intense hope, Jamie didn’t return to her. Apparently there’d be no sex on the counter. The man was determined to feed her. He moved to the fridge and pulled out a bowl, and Olivia’s eyes trailed down to his bare feet. Everything about him made her mouth water, even his feet. He looked young and adorable in his ancient jeans and T-shirt. When he reached back into the fridge, his shirt rose, and Olivia caught a glimpse of his tight back, the curve of his hip bone standing out in mouthwatering relief.
She was going to do this. She really was. She was going to see him naked. Touch him. Wrap herself around him. What a damn strange idea. She almost felt like she was watching herself in a movie, acting out a part.
“Olivia, can you grab this?”
This? She’d grab anything he wanted. But in the end it was just a bowl of cut fruit, and she sadly followed him through the kitchen and past the table toward the back door.
He was being very sweet, making an effort, but she didn’t really need any of this. Did he always go to this much trouble for a simple round of sex? No wonder he was so popular. Service with a smile.
Her eyes on his ass, it took her a moment to notice where he’d led her. He set a carton of orange juice and a bottle of champagne on a round table. “Mimosa?”
“You have to ask? Does anyone ever say no to that?”
He