Free Sugar Daddy by Lisa Kleypas Page B

chemistry between you, that’s not your fault. Or his. It just means…someone else would suit you better.”
    “Do you have chemistry with a lot of girls?”
    He didn’t look at me, just rubbed his nape to ease a pinch of tension in his neck muscles. “That’s not something you and I are going to talk about.”
    Now that I had started along this line, I couldn’t stop. “If I was older, would you feel that way about me?”
    His face was averted. “Liberty,” I heard him mutter. “Don’t do this to me.”
    “I’m just asking, is all.”
    “Don’t. Some questions change everything.” He released an unsteady breath. “Do your practicing with Gill Mincey. I’m too old for you, in more ways than one. And you’re not the kind of girl I want.”
    Surely he couldn’t mean the fact that I was Mexican. From what I knew of Hardy, there wasn’t a bit of prejudice in him. He never used racist words, never looked down on someone for things they couldn’t help.
    “What kind do you want?” I asked with difficulty.
    “Someone I can leave without looking back.”
    That was Hardy, offering the brutal truth without apology. But I heard the submerged admission in his statement, that I wouldn’t be the kind he could leave easily. I couldn’t keep from taking it as encouragement, even though that wasn’t what he intended.
    He looked at me then. “Nothing and no one is going to keep me here, do you understand?”
    “I understand.”
    He took a ragged breath. “This place, this life…Lately I’ve started to understand what made my dad so mean and crazy he ended up in jail. It’ll happen to me too.”
    “No,” I protested softly.
    “Yes it will. You don’t know me, Liberty.”
    I couldn’t stop him from wanting to leave. But neither could I stop myself from wanting him.
    I crossed the invisible barrier between us.
    His hands lifted in a defensive gesture, which was comical in light of the difference between our sizes. I touched his palms, and the taut wrists where his pulse rampaged, and I thought, If I never have anything from him except this one moment I am going to take it. Take it now, or drown in regret later.
    Hardy moved suddenly, catching my wrists, his fingers forming tight manacles that kept me from moving forward. I stared at his mouth, the lips that looked so soft. “Let go,” I said, my voice thick. “Let go.”
    His breath had quickened, and he gave a slight shake of his head. Nerves were jumping in every part of my body. We both knew what I was going to do if he released me.
    Suddenly his hands opened. I moved forward and pressed my body against his, length to length. I gripped the back of his neck, discovering the embedded toughness of his muscles. I tugged his head down until his lips caught mine, his hands remaining half-suspended in the air. His resistance lasted for a matter of seconds before he gave in with a rough sigh, putting his arms around me.
    It was so unlike what I had experienced with Gill. Hardy was infinitely more powerful, and yet so much gentler. One of his hands slid into my hair, his fingers cradling my head. His shoulders hunched over and around me, his free arm clamping across my back as if he wanted to pull me inside himself. He kissed me over and over, trying to discover every way our mouths could fit together. A gust of wind chilled my back, but heat surged wherever I touched against him.
    He tasted the inside of my mouth, his breath coming in scalding rushes against my cheek. The intimate flavor of him confounded me with desire. I clung to him tightly, shaken and aroused and wanting it never to end, desperately gathering every sensation to hoard as long as possible.
    Hardy pried away my clinging arms and urged me back with a forceful push. “Oh, damn,” he whispered, shivering. He moved from me and grasped the pole of the backstop, resting his forehead against it as if relishing the feel of chilled metal. “Damn,” he muttered again.
    I felt sleepy and dazed, my