Chapter 6

Could he be any more of an idiot for leaving the safety of the kitchen table that had separated them? Did he need to sit on the couch and show her how hard he was—just from being near her?

Watching the blasted woman make love to her food instead of eating it had driven him insane. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t kept licking her lips after each bite, then giving him subtle, hungry glances, as if wondering what it would be like to eat him.

He stifled a groan, his body heavy, aroused, frustrated.

It wasn’t like him to go without for too long. J.T. had a healthy sex drive, one he kept sated with a lot of safe sex. Yet meeting Hope had put a kink—and not the good kind—in his plans for months. He knew better than to pursue her. His sister had spoken the truth about the fragile McCauley ecosystem. Imagine if he and Hope hit it, and it was amazing. Then she’d want to be with him all the time, looking for boyfriend material, because God as his witness, nothing about Hope Donnigan screamed one-night stand.

Nah. She was a commitment type down to her sexy blue toenails.

She’d cry when he broke it off, beg him to stay, and family events would grow awkward when the Donnigans were invited. If his dad married Sophie, then all family events would be tough.

No way in hell he’d make life weird for Del or Liam. Nope. No way.

Hope swallowed, her attention on his crotch before she yanked her gaze back to his face. Well, hell. How was he supposed to be good when her nipples beaded against her T-shirt? She had beautiful, full breasts that would fit perfectly into his palms.

His pulse raced, and his cock swelled, hampered by now-tight jeans.

Hope, however, seemed determined to ignore her arousal.

If she could, so could he. He laced his fingers behind his head and focused on her face. “Well? You going to tell me all about Hope Donnigan? More than that surface stuff you mentioned?”

She grabbed a notepad and pen and tossed them to him, getting no closer than the plush chair next to the couch. Smart girl. “You might want to write this down.”

“Good idea.” He carefully—painfully—crossed his ankle over his knee and propped the legal pad over it, effectively hiding his erection.

He could almost hear her sigh of relief and wanted to growl with frustration. Must be nice to be aroused and be able to move around without hurting yourself. “It’s still hard, Hope.”

She gaped. “What?”

“Writing this way.” He gave her an innocent expression. “It’s still hard to do, even with the pad propped on my knee.”

“Oh, right. Well, just do your best.”

“I can rearrange it, I guess. It’s more comfortable if I shift it left, actually, so it’s not squeezing between my legs.” Oh yeah, her big, brown eyes grew nice and wide. “It’s not easy to sit like this, especially with you leaning forward like that.” He deliberately stared at her nipples. “You hard too?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, her cheeks pink. “Excuse me?”

“Hard of hearing? I asked if you were going to tell me all about yourself, Blondie. Now you’re supposed to answer. Try this. ‘Why, yes, J.T. I will tell you all about myself. I love pink, shopping, and big cock—”

“J.T. Webster!”

“—tails like the ones in that picture near the TV.” He nodded to a photo of her and one of her friends sipping from a monster margarita. He ignored her red face, having too much fun. “And I like my men like I like my coffee. Dark and sweet.” He batted his lashes. “Did I get it right?”

Her eyes narrowed. He clutched the pen in his hand, digging the tip of it into the legal pad hard enough to push through the paper. Hope in a snit was the hottest thing. Her eyes darkened and her lips parted, as if ready to lean close and plant a punishing kiss on his lips. Or other places.

He bit back a growl. “Well, sweetheart? I’m waiting. The sooner I get this info, the sooner we can schedule dinner with Momzilla, and I can get back to my regularly scheduled dating life.” He might have said that with a little too much hostility, because, well, his dick felt ready to fall off, he was so hard. All he could think about was bending her over that freakin’ chair and pounding into her until she screamed his name.

“Oh, sure, J.T. No problem. Let’s chat.” She sounded breathy and had a mean look in her eyes. The damn woman stood up and walked to the couch.

And sat right the fuck next to him, so close their thighs touched and their breath mingled when she drew closer. He dropped the pen, and the notepad wobbled between his legs. She reached for it, and he jerked back instinctively, shocked at how badly he wanted her hands on him.

But Hope only grabbed the pad, stared into his eyes, and smiled.

Warnings flashed at the mischief on her face.

Despite being ready for her, he froze when she reached down again, searching for the pen that had unfortunately fallen onto the couch and rolled right under his crotch.

“Hope,” he choked. “Ah, I—”

She dug her hand deeper and grazed his fucking balls as she retrieved the pen. But she didn’t blush, and she didn’t smile. “So, something a lover would know? How about the fact I can tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue in under thirty seconds?”