“We will definitely do this more than once.”

She made a cute, sort of frustrated sound. “He’s going to figure it out eventually.”

“I agree we need to be careful, especially around Miles. I’m not going to jump on you in front of him.”

She licked her lips again.

He groaned. “You gotta stop that. I can’t think when you do that.”

She smiled. “This may be crass, but I’d just like to establish up front that should this end. When. If. Whatever, let’s keep that private and never let it touch Miles.”

“Not crass at all. Responsible. You’re his mother and you put him first, and yes, of course, I agree that should things end that we never let it affect Miles. I’m asking you to let me co-parent our son. I expect us both to put him first.” Not that he had any plans at all to stop getting all up in Gillian Forrester’s panties any time soon. Still, he appreciated the reminder and, he supposed, the parenting lesson.

“I’m a very private person. My sexuality, what I do and what I like, none of it is for public consumption. I like a space between who I am behind closed doors and who I am out there.” She indicated the rest of the house.

He nodded. Um, yes, please. If he could have extra helpings of that he’d take it with gravy. The whole thing got him hard and hot. So cool and unruffled and then, something altogether sultry once the shades went down.

“I look forward to learning a few things about what you do and what you like. And I have zero problems with privacy. I take it every moment I can get it. I like to keep my private life off the radar. I want to keep all this private. The out there and the in here both.”

Her smile brightened for a moment and he knew she was pleased. “All right then. I’m down with whatever you can cook up.”

At that a full flush moved through him from head to toe.

And just like that, she stood. “All right then. Clock’s ticking, Adrian Brown. Dazzle me and I might just give you an A.”

He grabbed the blanket while she took care of shutting the fire down and bringing the wine and her glass inside.

She flipped lights off, locked doors and led him down a hall to the north of the kitchen where he grabbed his bag.

He paused at her doorway, surprised.

Red.

“I’ve got to say, I’ve imagined your bedroom many times since yesterday alone, and this never entered my mind.”

“Is that so? And why is that?” She moved around him to close and lock the door.

He turned to catch sight of her pulling her hair loose and the cascade of it around her shoulders and back.

“I expected to find roses and cream. Not shiny red walls and bamboo hardwoods. It’s unexpected. Sexy.” He backed her up to the door, caging her with his body.

Gillian laughed, albeit a little nervously. First that he’d expect roses and cream, ha! And most important, the way he’d hemmed her in, his body just barely touching hers, features intent, sent her pulse racing.

Sex was complicated business.

Which didn’t stop her from having it, of course, because she loved it. She’d given in and accepted that one’s baser urges weren’t all bad and liking sex didn’t make her her mother or her sister.

But this. This thing with Adrian Brown was foolhardy. Yet she knew she wasn’t going to stop it. Their little talk had assuaged some of her fears, but it was as if she was totally intoxicated and under the influence of Adrian Brown.

He set her on fire and the burning was the best part.

“I like red,” she managed to stutter out as he leaned into her, pressing his open mouth against her throat, where it met her ear.

And then he breathed her in, his face in her hair, and paused as if he savored her. It made her weak in the knees.

Made her want more.

As if the world had slowed down, he drew her against his body, arm banded around her waist.

And he swayed to the music she’d turned on when they’d entered the room.

Just a slow, full-body touch. She pressed her face into his chest, eyes closed, and leapt into whatever this experience would bring her.

As if he’d sensed this certainty in her, that mouth of his smiled. “There you are.” His words were drawled, like he did sometimes. When he did it, the sound of them would stroke her senses.

The shuffle must have been on, because it went from Kings of Leon to the Stones. Which also seemed to work because suddenly her sweater was up and over her head.

“Well now, look at you, Mister Brown.”

“Goddamn, I love it when your accent does that.” He drew his hands up her sides, skin to skin, as he stared at her br**sts. Thank the fates she’d worn the hot bra instead of one of her plain ugly comfortable ones.

“I can’t believe what you’ve got goin’ on here, Gillian. You are f**king spectacular under those clothes you hide yourself with. And damn it, the Rolling Stones.” He paused a moment to listen to “Soul Survivor.” “Hot. You have awesome taste in music.”

“Just another one of my fabulous personality traits.” She returned the favor, removing his shirt and taking him in.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he murmured, popping the catch on her bra to reveal her br**sts.

She slid her palm up his chest, pausing at the nipple ring. If she was spectacular, then he was a universe more. He was all rock-and-roll bad boy once the shirt was off.

“Wait.” She pushed back from him to look better.