Free Jaded by Anne Calhoun Page B

but rather than hiding behind the curtain she tucked it behind her ear.
    For a split second she studied him. An odd mix of emotion flickered through her eyes, hesitation and nerves blending into a need that would have knocked at his heart if she hadn’t told him flat-out that she wanted to get over a mistake. No problem. If she wanted to go home with a sabbatical fling behind her, he could do that.
    Then she straddled him, planted her palms on either side of his head and kissed him. It was hot and wet and sliding, pure visceral demand. A bolt of electricity splintered inside him, and he wrapped one arm around her waist while the other cupped her skull. Her tongue slid into his mouth, rubbed against his. He growled and fisted his hand in her hair at the same time he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her tight against his erection.
    Easy . . .
    But she rocked against him, the movement hard and slow, just like he liked it, and easy incinerated in the heat combusting between them. He used his grip on her hair to tug her head back and expose her throat. Lifting his head, he nipped and licked and nuzzled his way along her jaw to her pulse point. A faint scent rose from her skin, and it was all he could do to refrain from biting the town’s librarian in a place not even a turtleneck would hide the mark.
    “Jesus,” he muttered.
    She tugged her head free from his grip and straightened her elbows to loom over him. Shiny hair clung to her flushed cheeks, and he took a primitive satisfaction in the fact that her sexy mouth now crossed the line into provocative.
    The corners of her lips lifted, telling him she not only knew what he was looking at but why. Once again, he exhaled long and slow, fighting to keep control.
    When she bent and put that mouth to the hollow between his collarbones, his hard-won control slipped a little more.
    No expectations. Just take what she’s giving you. Don’t ask for more. Hope is what burns you. Not disappointment.
    “I want to taste you,” she said.
    His heart stuttered in his chest before he answered. “Be my guest,” he said roughly.
    She put her lips back to the hollow, slowly, thoroughly exploring the landscape of his chest and shoulders with her mouth. He took in the arched line of her spine, the flare of her hips in jeans until he couldn’t take any more, then closed his eyes. The blunt-cut ends of her hair added texture to the soft, wet kisses, while the contrast between trailing hair and her teeth made him tense and grunt.
    “Too much?” she asked, concern in her eyes.
    Fuck no. He managed to filter his response to a curt, “No.”
    “Good,” she said, and shifted down, nuzzling into the mat of his chest hair, then the line disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. She sat up, straddling his thighs, and tucked her hair behind her ears.
    He knew what was coming next. She’d unbutton his jeans. Instead she trailed her fingers over his hip bones, sending another flare of heat to his cock.
    “I’ve never actually seen these muscles defined before,” she said.
    Suits with desk jobs had no reason to work out enough to get that kind of muscle. In Denver, he had had good reason. Sure the chief and the mayor developed high-level strategies to combat gangs and drugs, but strategy didn’t mean shit at two in the morning when it was him and a tweaker. Strength and smarts lowered the odds he’d get zipped into a body bag. In Walkers Ford, he’d increased his odds of dying of old age, but old habits died hard. All he had left of the life he’d imagined for himself was Duke and his workout routine.
    In response, he linked his fingers behind his head to elevate it and nodded at her. “See something you want?”
    She smoothed her fingertips inward from his hip bones. The muscles contracted and her gaze flashed up to his. “Does that tickle?”
    “Not hardly,” he replied.
    Confidence renewed, she slid her fingers into his waistband and began to work open his button fly.