Free Break On Through by Christie Ridgway Page A

jumped, guilt washing over her. “I’m not thinking,” she lied.
    “You’re staring.”
    Oh, crap. She was doing that. “I was deciding whether or not to wake you.”
    His eyes flipped open and he straightened on the seat. Cleo took a step back, startled once again by his sudden movement. With both feet on the floor, he stretched out his arms on the back of the loveseat and gave her a leisurely once over. “I don’t think you’re ready for me to spend the night, Cleo.”
    “No!” Oh, God. Surely she was going red again. Lowering her voice, she tried pasting on a smile. “I mean, hah hah.”
    Reed cocked a brow. “Hah hah?”
    She made wild gesture. “As in, very funny.”
    “You don’t think I want to go to bed with you?”
    What was she supposed to say to that ? Was this how men talked now? Did they just come right out with bold truths? “I don’t know what you want,” she muttered.
    “Tonight,” he said, rising from the cushions, “I’ll settle for a kiss.”
    “Oh. Well.” Her gaze darted away from his face searching for something else to land upon. “I’m sort of unpracticed.” Gah! Where was a “No, thank you,” when you needed one?
    “That’s all right,” he said, moving forward. “Afterward, we can critique each other.”
    One more step, and his body was aligned with hers, his body heat at her breasts, her belly, her thighs. Everything was quivering and quaking again, especially her will to deny him this. Licking her lips, she looked up. With the light behind him, his face was in shadow, his eyes dark pools. His hand sifted in her hair at the side of her head.
    Cleo’s knees went soft at the touch and she grabbed onto his shoulders to remain upright. Then his mouth descended.
    The first touch of lips-to-lips was dry, hot, an almost rough brush of super-sensitive tissues. Her fingers dug into heavy bone as he played with her again, another stroke that wasn’t a kiss, just…foreplay of a kiss.
    The bastard.
    Because every cell in her was yearning for a heavier touch, and he had to know it. His thumb caressed her cheek, as if to soothe her, but it only made her want more. Made her want to suck, bite, have .
    Please, she screamed inside her head. Kiss me!
    And then his head dipped lower, tilting to come to her at a different angle. She felt the contact with his mouth, the wet dab of his tongue on her lower lip, and she gasped at the goodness of it.
    He surged inside.
    She made a noise at the back of her throat and stepped into him. His free hand slid around to the small of her back. His fingers found bare flesh beneath her shirt, and it flashed hot as he pressed her closer to the thick bulge at his groin.
    Her blood sped up, need rushing through her body, a burning, pulsing line of fire. His mouth worked, greedy on hers, and she took all that she could, sucking on his tongue and clenching her fingers in the cotton of his shirt.
    Then, on his own low noise, he lifted his head. His breathing came in hard pants as he stared down at her. “Show me to the door.”
    What? She couldn’t move. If he let her go, she’d slither down to the ground and stay there, a puddle of sexuality too long ignored. With only that kiss, her panties were damp and her clit was pressing against the silky fabric, already swollen.
    “Show me to the door,” Reed said again, and this time he walked backward, taking her with him.
    Determined not to betray her unsophistication—her rampant, urgent neediness—Cleo steeled her spine and ordered her legs to be steady. Somehow they made it to the entry.
    There, Reed hesitated, a ghost of a smile on his face and cockiness written in every line of his body. “So…how’d I do?” he asked.
    Stepping away, she shrugged, then ran a hand through her hair to fluff her bangs. Gather some dignity! she ordered herself. “I’ve had better.”
    His laugh was low, soft. “Bad Cleo,” he whispered, turning the knob. “ I’m the fiction writer.”

Chapter