Travis stared at the closed office door and wondered what Jamie was lying about. He knew every expression on that beautiful face of hers, including the one she used when trying to snow him. He’d seen it most often when she’d been dating that cheating jerk ex-boyfriend and trying to make it seem like everything was fine between them. He still had the occasional urge to go find the guy and put the fear of god into him.
“Vincente.” Jeff chuckled, picked up a handful of chips and crammed them in his mouth. Travis wasn’t fooled for a moment. The absent look on Jeff’s face let him know the other man was still processing everything he’d learned.
“Yup.”
“Uh-huh.”
Magnus and Morgan groaned in utter disgust and headed for the kitchen, possibly for their own beers. Val just watched the football game, used to ignoring the antics of his nieces and nephews.
Travis felt a growl trying to crawl out of his throat and ruthlessly swallowed it. “Who’s Vincente?”
They broke down in laughter. “Vincente is…something.” Jordan shook her head, a big grin on her face.
“Sensational,” Jeff drawled.
“Dashing.” Jordan put the back of her hand dramatically to her forehead.
“Breathtaking. A total Spanish hottie.” Jeff shivered dramatically, fanning himself with his hand.
“Oh. Right. Dead.” Travis stood up, ignoring the howls of laughter from the Dork Squad. He moved quietly to the door, pushing it open slowly.
She was hunched over the keyboard, staring intently at the monitor. A flush colored her cheeks, her breath moving rapidly in her chest. She licked her lips and sighed.
Oh, so dead. He glared and moved behind her, intent on seeing what she was watching. Was she talking to Vincente via webcam? He looked at the top of the monitor, and sure enough, Logan and Kir had one hooked up.
He stopped, stunned, as the action on the screen registered.
A dark haired man sporting a mullet was seducing a poofed-out brunette. “Oh, Vincente, kiss me again. Roberto cannot hold a candle to you, my love.”
“My darling Miranda. How I wish that we could be one.” The mullet-haired man dipped the woman and kissed her deeply. Behind them, a large, ornately carved wooden door opened silently.
“Vincente! How could you? And with my sister!”
The pair in the clinch stopped and gasped. “Sylvia!”
It’s a dubbed soap opera. From what, the eighties?
He almost laughed out loud, only stopping himself when he heard Jamie growl softly. “Don’t touch him, you skank.” He bit his lip at the fierce little whisper, almost losing it when she gasped in outrage as the blonde Sylvia slapped Vincente. “Oh, you bitch. To think I liked you.”
He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, and settled down to watch her watch her soap. The way she nibbled at her finger during the confrontation between the three antagonists, the little sob of fear when Sylvia pulled out a gun, the “Yes!” she hissed when Vincente wrestled it away, just endeared her to him more.
She was just so…passionate about everything she put her heart into, even something as silly as an old dubbed soap opera. He couldn’t wait to feel all of that passion surrounding him, smothering him in wet, hot heat. The thought of how she would react under his hand, his mouth, his beard tickling her skin and leaving marks behind, had him rock hard in no time.
He was indulging in a little fantasy where he got to feel her pink lips wrapped around his cock when she squeaked. He focused on her face, curious why she was staring at him in horror.
“What?”
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Since Sylvia found out Vincente was cheating on her with Miranda. Why?”
“You didn’t run screaming from the room.”
“Why would I?”
“So you just stood there and, what, watched?”
He grinned and nodded.
“Really.” She stared at him skeptically, her arms crossing over her chest.
He pulled away from the wall, leaning over her chair until his lips were mere inches from hers. “I didn’t say what I was watching, did I?”
“Trav—”
He didn’t give her a chance to finish whatever it was she’d been about to say. He’d waited far too long for this moment. He took her lips, his hand going to the back of her head and tangling in her wild curls. He stroked her nape gently, loving the feel of her silky hair sliding through his fingers. He licked at those strawberry-tinted lips, silently begging her to let him in.
After a brief hesitation her lips parted and she began to kiss him back with a shy uncertainty that tugged at him. The urge to plunder her mouth, to taste her sweetness until she was moaning beneath him, nearly overtook him.
He controlled his first impulse and kept the kiss soft for her. He wanted it to be everything she deserved in a first kiss between them. The ravening conqueror he was would just have to wait until she was ready for him.
Before too long he was lost in her taste. He could stand there and kiss her for hours and hours, never losing complete touch with those incredibly sweet lips of hers. She was trembling under his palm, her hands inching their way up his arms to his shoulders, her fingers clenching the soft fabric of his shirt. She tried to deepen the kiss and he let her, reveling in the feel of her tongue stroking his. The cast on her wrist reminded him that now wasn’t the time to take this too far. She was too injured to take this much further, but he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. His dick was a throbbing pain behind his jeans, made even worse when one of her hands left his shoulder to cup him.
He wanted to thrust into her palm, take what she was offering him, but he couldn’t. Inside he growled, wanting to paint the walls red with the blood of the man who’d taken his woman and injured her to the point where Travis couldn’t even take such a simple pleasure without risking her.
He pulled his hand from her hair and clasped her wrist, pulling it away from his body, trying to hide his reaction. “No, sweetheart, not yet.”
She mewled, pouting up at him. Her expressive face was filled with dazed desire, and he found he couldn’t stop himself. He took her mouth again, this time allowing himself to plunder her sweetness.
After all, this was their second kiss.