When he broke away, her lips parted, anticipating the inevitable kiss. But he pulled back from her instead, his lids heavy, the color heightened on the crests of his cheekbones, and his hair tousled.
She licked her lips and swallowed. He snaked his right hand up the front of her shirt, and she tensed, waiting for the next swell of sensation which came at the pull of his index finger hooking into the center of the vee on her T-shirt. The stretchy fabric slipped down on one side, revealing the tops of her breasts and the bisecting black line of her bra. A strained groan escaped him at the sight of her sheer bra, sending a thrill up her spine.
“You’re so sexy,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Do you even have any idea?” He leaned his forehead against her sternum, then messily rubbed his hair against the sensitized, exposed skin.
She let out a giggle at the rough sensation. “What the hell are you doing?”
He looked up, hair a mess, lips swollen.
His gaze made her smile drop. “You’re so—” She began, but her words were cut off by the soft, lazy contact of his lips on her own.
“Mmm.” She grabbed the nape of his neck, pulling his head closer to her, her hands threading into his hair, tugging at the soft waves.
But he kept her at bay even through her frantic grasps. He lazily licked into her mouth, letting her lip catch with his, swirling their tongues together in a slow, intoxicating dance. Her head moved with the kiss, catching his rhythm, their mouths open, tongues sliding in and out, heat building low in her belly, nipples beading into hard points.
She dipped her hand in between them, letting her fingers latch at the waist of his jeans, fiddling with the metal button. His muffled, low growl reverberated against her mouth.
Encouraged, she let her fingers slip down farther, gliding to the hard protrusion in his pants, and then grasping its full heft in her hand.
He broke the kiss, his hand enclosing her own, dragging it back up between them. “Wait.”
Her eyes shot wide. “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted me to...”
“No, no. It’s not that.” He closed his eyes, his brows knitted together. “That thing I can’t tell you about... It’s... I need a little time. For your own sake really.”
She cocked her head. Excuse me? “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Don’t act like you know what’s best for my sake. I’m a fully grown woman.”
He nodded. “You’re right. I want to make sure everything is clear between us before we move ahead. Physically or otherwise.”
Presumptuous. “Is this about that Aubrey woman?”
He ran his hands through his hair, then looked back up at her. “Can you give me a little time?”
“Well, exactly how long will you be here?” She shuffled to the side, away from the heat of his body.
“Not sure.” He shifted his weight. “But if there’s a chance I’ll be here for a while, will you see me again?”
This fucking guy. She shook her head slowly. “You’re fucking with me. You know that, right?”
He rubbed his hand against his brow, then scrubbed it down his mouth. She was annoyed with him, but still painfully attracted, and that annoyed her more.
“I’ll make it up to you. Soon. I promise.” He reached out for her, fingering the hem of her shirt, a puff of laughter coming from him at the sight of the stain. “Give me a chance?”
She narrowed her eyes but was acutely aware of the tickle of his index finger against her stomach. Her whole brain zoomed in on that tiny little sensation like there was nothing else in the world. She let out a huff. “Maybe.”
He gripped the hem of her T-shirt, exerting pressure to draw her near again. “I’ll take a maybe.”
“But you’re being fucking weird.”
He nodded, wrapping his other arm around her back, closing the rest of the space between them. “Understood.”
“And I don’t like being—” But her words died off at the touch of his lips. He kissed her long and relaxed, his hand cupping her jaw.
“I don’t like being left in the dark,” she said dazedly.
He let out a long breath of air. “I should go.”
Perdie wanted to stamp her feet and throw a tantrum, demanding he stop being so goddamn cryptic and take her inside her house and fuck the hell out of her.
But instead she shrugged. “Okay.”
He turned to leave, made his way back down the stairs and into his big Southern SUV, and finally drove off out of sight. She leaned against her doorframe, her body slack but overly stimulated and aching. Carter Leplan has ruined my pussy, and I’ll never forgive him for it.
She fished her keys out of her pocket. Dammit, her car was still at the taco joint.
Chapter Seven
Lucille whistled. “Wow, you look fancy like a TV lawyer. But show me a little more leg, sweetheart.”
Perdie whisked past her in search of her favorite coffee mug that read Will Provide Legal Advice For Tacos.
“How dare you objectify me, creep.” Perdie hiked her skirt up, exposing a slit of thigh, then let the material drop while rummaging around the kitchen cabinets.
Lucille let out a hoot. “That’s what I’m talking ’bout, baby.”
On a clear morning, the wall-length window overlooking the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway was drowned with sun, and out the window, the waves were a crisp greenish-blue, the clouds thin and still above the reflective horizon. Bananas snored quietly in his plush bed pushed against the sunny window.
As if from nowhere, Lucille procured Perdie her mug, already filled with a blond roast.
