Page 27 of Brazilian Surrender
Jaeger scratched his head and sat on the bed. He never kept the same lover long enough for them to analyze him. If they questioned his preferences, he bolted. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t run this time. But that didn’t mean he enjoyed amateur therapy sessions. “You didn’t enjoy it?”
She looked up to him, still propping herself on her elbows. She pushed up the sheets to cover herself, and he appreciated her modesty. You didn’t find much of it in this world anymore, particularly after what they’d just done. “Three orgasms say I did. But is that your usual routine?”
He nodded. If she thought him a perv and didn’t want to screw anymore, it would be a blessing in disguise and a clean end to what was clearly a mistake on his part. How much longer would they pull off an affair anyway? “Touching during sex brings out emotions, feelings that can mess up my common sense. ”
She rolled on the bed with a sigh, and the sheet followed, but got stuck and her beautiful, smooth back was bared for his enjoyment. “That’s probably the least sexy thing I’ve heard after sex. My vagina just dried up.”
He bit back a smile. He’d never said he was perfect, had he? “I’m sure I can find a way to change that quickly.” He stroked her arm, his finger lazily sliding down her flesh. He noticed a path of goose bumps raising on her skin and couldn’t help to feel proud of himself for making her that way.
She shook her head and jerked her arm away, scooting on the bed so they still faced each other, but he’d have to reach a little bit farther to touch her. Smart move. “Hands off, IMP.”
“IMP?”
“International Man of Pleasure. Suits you.” She winked. “Anyway, I want to improve your pillow talk.”
“Trying to teach an old dog new tricks?”
She chuckled, the features of her face softening again. “Don’t talk like you’re a character from Downton Abbey. You’re just ten years older than me.” She wrapped herself with the sheet as if to ensure he wouldn’t try anything. Oh crap. He’d taken a beating or two during his NYPD days, and something told him they were easier to deal with than the survey the gorgeous Brazilian was about to run.
“I’ve seen a lot in those ten years.”
“Good. Maybe you can use your experience to figure out why your personal communication skills are lacking, and don’t say it’s because you excel at a different kind of communication,” she said, making clear he couldn’t condescend his way out of this chat.
“I was an only child; my parents were much older. I was always the quiet kid,” he said, remembering with a tad of nostalgia the lovely Sundays his doting mother would cook them lasagna. Her pasta was wonderful, but because Aunt Gesa always chatted with her while she baked her homemade garlic bread, it always burned a bit on the edges. His father would never mention the black crust, instead settling for winking at Jaeger like they had a special secret.
“And when they named you they weren’t counting on you being an international man of pleasure, er, I mean, mystery?”
What was it with the James Bond references? “No. My father was German. I don’t think he watched a lot of those movies.” He would have enjoyed them, but Lars Bauer had always been far too busy providing for his family and a better future than for self-indulgence.
“Why did he move to the United States?”
His shoulders relaxed as the images of his father teasing his mother flooded his mind. For the second time tonight he thought of them, which surprised him. Not because he didn’t remember his parents, but life had a way of taking a bit of them from him. Or maybe he’d decided it was easier that way. “He wanted to flee WWII, so that’s why he brought my mom and her sister, Aunt Gesa, here. It wasn’t easy in the beginning…maybe that’s why they waited a while to have me. They wanted to make sure everything was good. They ended up owning a little delicatessen in Queens.”
“Do you miss them?”
Yes.“How do you know they’re deceased?” How much exactly had Aunt Gesa told Camila about his life?
“Your voice…there’s a tenderness to it.”
Tenderness—the type of soft, sweet word that set off an alarm inside of him. “If you say so. We should go to sleep.”
“Okay,” she said, yawning on cue. She grabbed a couple of pillows and arranged them to her liking. When she handed him a third one, he took it but didn’t lie down with her.
He took a deep breath and slid out of the bed. “I’ll take the sofa.”
She frowned. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” he said quickly, almost expecting her to try to convince him otherwise. He headed for the dresser and grabbed some extra sheets, tossing them on the sofa along with the pillow.
“Your loss. If you change your mind, I’ll be here. Good night,” she said, and flicked off the lamp.
