Free Saint and Scholar by Holley Trent Page A

and met his gaze face-on. He was smiling at her, and not a teacher-to-student smile, either.
    “Neither of us are attached to the university at this point, right?”
    “Well, not officially.”
    “Right.” He slid onto the cushion beside her and twirled a swath of her hair around his second and third fingers. “I always liked your hair. It reminds me of old paintings of angels and female saints.”
    “I’m no saint,” she whispered when he started to glide along her jaw with his fingertips.
    “Angel, maybe? You know, Ireland is actually called the Land of Saints and Scholars.”
    “I see where you fit in.” When her voice came out sounding huskier than she liked, she cleared her throat. She closed her eyes as he tickled the underside of her neck with the ends of her hair.
    “I think we can fit you in, too. You can be the patron saint of lonely hearts.” He dropped her hair, and slid his hands up from her knees, pausing at the tops of her thighs.
    He grazed her lips with his, but didn’t linger, laying whisper-soft kisses across her cheek and at the lobe of her ear, which he took between his teeth and pulled. When a breath escaped her lips, he said, “If you kiss me and really mean it–not like last night, but because you want to–there’s no turning back for me. I’ve waited too long for you.”
    She didn’t know whether to trust him. Sweet words from a liar had enticed her in the past, and falling victim to such cajoling again seemed folly. Her last relationship was a textbook case of a small fly getting caught in a spider’s web. But, when she pulled his head back by the hair and studied his face, there was something in that solemn expression that had never been there when Otto was cajoling her: fear. So, she kissed him. She pressed her lips to his and straddled his torso with her knees, because maybe Grant meant what he said.
     

 
    Chapter 6
     
    Carla lay back on the sofa, with Grant on top of her peppering her neck with kisses and working loose the buttons of her blouse. While she worked his shirt over his head, he asked through the fabric covering his face, “Hey, you want to go to Ireland?” He didn’t want to leave anything unsaid, unasked. If there was a chance, he’d grab it.
    His shirt discarded, she sat upright to access one of his pebbly nipples and took it into her mouth while reaching into the back of his pants to grab two handfuls of his rear. Something low rumbled in his chest and he wrapped his hands around her wrists to halt her exploration. “Hey, answer me.”
    She released her latch on his nipple and licked upward toward his collarbone. “I’m sorry, what?”
    He pushed her shirt off her shoulders and down her arms. “I thought women were supposed to be good at multitasking.”
    “Whoever originally said that didn’t factor foreplay into consideration.”
    “Perhaps you’re right.” He held her still for a moment so he could admire the way her breasts mounded in her push-up bra. They were small compared to what Francesca had purchased, but he’d always thought anything more than a handful was a waste. They were perfectly proportioned to her narrow waist and feminine hips. Carla didn’t need artifice. “I asked if you wanted to go to Ireland. You could do your research in person.”
    She put a bit of space between them so he could see her furrowed brow. “I haven’t given making that trip very much thought. It’s not something I considered for the near future.”
    “Well, no time like the present. Come with me.” He reached around her ribs and deftly unhooked the catch of her bra. With her breasts freed, he laid her back and pressed his bare chest to hers as he resumed the work of marking her neck.
    She closed her eyes and moaned, digging her nails into the skin near his waistband as he carefully clamped his teeth onto her flesh.
    He propped himself up on his arms to assess his handiwork. Not bad, but she wouldn’t likely agree once she saw it. “Well?”
    Her