“I admire a man who’s willing to battle cobwebs and lace doilies to make me happy,” she said, watching him balance three full hatboxes and step back down. The muscles in his legs and ass clenched and her mouth watered. She was going to be a giant puddle before this was over. She hastily cleared the counter.
He set the boxes down between them. “Anymore balancing acts I should know about?”
She shook her head. “Not this week,” she said as he grabbed his coat and hat. She didn’t want him to go but if he didn’t there was a real threat that she’d start rationalizing a quickie, drag him into the storeroom and fuck his brains out among the clutter and cast-off furniture. There was a fainting couch but the upholstery was shot and the stuffing was marginal.
Oh damn. She’d been without sex way too long.
He turned the handle and the door popped open. “I know I locked this.”
She shrugged. “I have to use the deadbolt if I want to lock it securely.”
He frowned. “Were you afraid of being in here alone with me?”
“Not for the reason you might think,” she said, smiling because the thought worried him enough to ask. And he did look worried. “You’re almost too good to be true and I don’t want to screw it up.” He shut the door, deliberately and she cringed. “I open my mouth and—”
He crossed the shop in quick, deliberate strides closing the distance between them.
“Open your mouth, Bella,” he whispered, lowering his head. His soft command swept through her and brushed away any doubt that this was what they both wanted.
Even in the impossibly high stilettos she had to stand on tiptoe until he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her closer. His mouth was warm and sweet, restrained for the second it took her to accept him and then he claimed. His hands were everywhere, around her, caressing her.
She pressed against his erection, hot and ready. The upholstery on the fainting couch in the storeroom wasn’t that bad. She could throw a blanket over it. Or she could lead him upstairs to her delicate, wrought-iron bed. And they could make the bed shake and the windows rattle.
She drew back and took a deep breath. She wanted to reach down and touch all that pulsating energy wedged between them but he pulled away, his fingers trailing down her arms.
“Do you care about any of them enough to want them back?”
Still dazed by his kiss, she shook her head. “I didn’t care enough about any of them to consider how terrific make-up sex would be,” she said, still fixated on his mouth.
He looked stunned for a moment. “Let’s not make that our first time,” he rasped, drawing her out of her trance. He pushed his arms into his jacket, put on his hat and slung his scarf around his neck. “I can’t believe there isn’t someone in your past smart enough to want you back,” he said, pinning her with a heated gaze that just missed being a glare.
He unceremoniously grabbed her for another lingering kiss, cradling her head in his big hands and taking her mouth as if he were staking his territory. And then he was gone.
She watched him cross the street between lights, still hungry for his touch, another kiss. Rhys Vincent had to be the most passionate man she’d ever met. Lust was definitely part of the equation—and he wanted her.
Copyright 2018 by Paris Brandon. All rights reserved.