“No movie channels?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“They charge an arm and a leg for them, and I wouldn’t watch them often anyway. I just go to one of the kiosk things for movies when I’m in the mood.”

“Hmm, okay.” His hand is moving rhythmically up and down my side, gently caressing me through my dress. My arm is around his lean waist, and I really, really want to feel his smooth skin, so I lift the hem of his soft shirt and slide my hand under it against his ripped abs. He sucks in a breath and his stomach tightens, but as he gets used to my touch, he exhales and kisses the top of my head.

I smile smugly as I feel him lift the hem of my dress and slide his hand under it, caressing my skin along my thigh.

God, that feels good.

I sigh and continue to touch him, enjoying his skin, the way his breath hitches when I hit a ticklish spot. I feel him wince when I touch one of his ribs and I frown up at him.

“Does that hurt?”

“A little,” his face is calm and he doesn’t explain further. I move my hand lightly over the rib again and he grimaces.

“A little, my ass.” I climb over him and pull his shirt up so I can see his ribs and sure enough, there is a deep purple bruise. “Sunday?” I ask.

“Yeah. No big deal.”

I glare up at him and then down at the bruise again. “I don’t like it.”

“I’m not in love with it myself, sweetheart,” he laughs and pulls me back to him.

“Does this happen a lot?”

“Meg, I have three hundred pound guys crashing into me. Of course I get bumped and bruised. I’ll live.”

I frown again and look down at his chest, not saying anything. I hate the thought of him getting hurt.

He tilts my head back with his fingers on my chin and smiles softly down at me. “I’m okay.”

I run my fingers down his smooth cheek. His eyes close as he leans into my touch, then he kisses my palm, and pins me with those blue eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he whispers.

“It’s about time,” I whisper back. He grins and kisses my forehead, down to my nose, over to the dimple in my cheek, and then lays those lips on mine, resting them there, for just a second, and then he starts to move. Those amazing lips nibble mine, and finally his tongue licks my bottom lip and leisurely makes love to my own, dancing and twirling, gently exploring me.

This is so different from when he kissed me at the party. This is intimate and tender. I love both sides to him, and can’t wait to learn more about him.

I push my fingers up into his hair and moan contentedly as he continues the soft assault on my mouth.

He pulls back slightly, breathing hard, his eyes on fire. “I wouldn’t mind kissing your lips all fucking day.”

“I wouldn’t mind that either,” I murmur and grin at him.

“I hate your rule, you know.”

“I kind of hate it right now, too,” I admit and chuckle.

“You’re worth it.” He runs his knuckles down my cheek. “Hey, what happened to the pink?”

I frown at the change of subject, not understanding what he means and then I remember; my hair. “It’s not permanent. It’s this hair chalk stuff that I can paint my hair with, and then it washes out.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” His hand glides up my thigh again, under my dress and I sigh. When he gets up to my hip, his eyes widen in surprise. “You’re not wearing any underwear?”

“I rarely do.” I shrug.

“So, no pajamas and no underwear.” He swallows hard, clenches his eyes shut, and swears under his breath. His hand has stilled on my hip like he’s afraid to move it.

Maybe my rule is stupid.

Maybe it would be okay to break the rule, just this once. He’s already told me that he wants to pursue something more than just sex with me, and isn’t that the point of the rule anyway?

He opens his eyes and gazes down at me, and smiles gently. I brush my fingers through his hair, then cup the nape of his neck and pull him down to me. I nuzzle his nose and kiss him chastely.

“Touch me,” I whisper.

He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, and sighs deeply.

“I won’t be able to stop.”

“So don’t stop.” I grin at him and he glares at me, making me laugh.

“You can’t change the rules, Meg.”

“Why not? It was my rule.”

“Because, you’ll resent me for it later.” His hand clenches on my hip for just a brief second, and then glides back down my thigh.

Okay, he’s going to be all gentlemanly. Damn him.

“Will,” I whisper and kiss him again.

“Yeah.”

“I really need you to touch me.” God, please touch me.

In one large, smooth move, his hand glides up my thigh, over my ass, to my back and back down again. I groan and push my hands under his shirt, running my hands over his smooth, warm skin.

“Can I take your dress off?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

It’s dark in the living room now, the only light coming from the glow of the muted television. He sits up and pushes me to my feet before him, grips the hem of my dress and pulls it over my head and tosses it on the floor. He sucks in a loud breath and his deep blue eyes are hot as he looks me up and down from my hair, down my black-bra covered chest, my stomach, waxed pubis and legs, and then they travel back up again and find my own eyes.