“Have you seen my underwear?” she asked, her hawklike amber eyes scanning the bedroom floor. “Hot pink G-string.” Her lips spread, revealing perfect teeth and a salacious feline smile. “One of your faves, I believe.”
“You mean these?” he asked, his teeth now clenched around one of the strings.
She glanced up at him, her socks and shirt in her hand. “Those would be them, yes.”
He plucked the G-string from his teeth and held them on one finger. “Come get them.”
His eyebrows bobbed in a way that easily conveyed the payment required for retrieving her underwear.
That mouth he knew like the back of his own hand continued to smile. “No time, stud. I have a deposition at nine this morning. Can’t be late if I intend to kill it. Then I’m off to Mallory’s school for career day.” She grumbled, “How fun is that going to be? Going to a school and telling five-hundred-plus kids how rewarding it is being a divorce attorney …”
She wandered around to the side of the bed and bent down, giving him the ultimate view of her cleavage. He slipped his free hand into one of her cups until he found a nipple and tugged. The moan that rumbled in her chest told him she might not have the time, but she’d certainly make it.
Her lips hovered above his. “I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?” He lunged forward and took her bottom lip between his teeth.
She groaned, and her eyes squeezed shut. He could see her resistance crumbling. Feel the heat of her body and the way it radiated off her in a new way, a way he’d come to recognize and respond to primitively. The woman was a sexually charged animal. She also took control in the bedroom most of the time—which Liam had no qualms with—and by the time they parted ways Thursday morning, he was exhausted, achy, drained and happy as fuck.
But he also knew how to make his lioness purr. He knew how to make her roll over to her back, show her belly and become a playful kitten.
To look at her, you’d never expect the four-foot-eleven woman with short blonde hair, hawklike eyes, and the arms of a professional MMA fighter to be as fierce as she was. She reminded him of Tinker Bell—with an ax to grind. Hence, the nickname Tink or Tinker Bell that he’d given her ages ago. He’d even gone so far as to buy her a Tinker Bell costume one time (a sexy one, of course), and he wore a generic pirate’s costume for a little bit of role-playing.