Free Smolder: The Wildwood Series by Karen Erickson Page B

and confusion coursing through her veins. “Aren’t you tired of fighting it? We’ve been working toward this moment for a long time.”
    “I’m not the right man for you,” he said through tight lips.
    She barely restrained the urge to roll her eyes at his statement. How many times had she heard a similar response from him? Always protesting, always claiming he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t right for her, that the two of them together would cause each other nothing but heartache and trouble.
    “Let me be the judge of that,” she said as she pressed on the back of his neck, her nails lightly scraping his warm, smooth skin. He drew closer, as if he couldn’t help himself, and triumph rang through her, setting off a vibration deep in her bones. “I’m a big girl, Lane,” she whispered as his mouth once again hovered above hers. “I’m not scared of you.”
    “You should be,” he muttered.
    Just before he kissed her.
    S HE WAS WARM . And soft. Oh, and wet.
    Her hands, at least. Yeah, they’d soaked the front of his T-shirt and there were trickles of water running down his back when she gripped his nape.
    He’d tried to fight it, tried to resist because damn it, he shouldn’t kiss her. He absolutely should not kiss her, not even once, just to try her out, but . . .
    He did. Ah, Christ, he fucking did, and her lips were so plump and damp and soft, and she tasted so incredibly good. He let her take over the kiss, curious to see how far she would take it, and so far she’d kept it simple. Too simple. No tongue, just deliciously slow kisses where their mouths clung and their breaths mingled and their answering sighs were barely audible.
    Delilah was kissing him. He couldn’t believe it. Delilah. The woman of his dreams. The woman who’d haunted him for years. Who’d teased him and tortured him and drove him out of his fucking mind with lust. Kissing him like she was a young innocent girl embarking on her first real encounter with the opposite sex, full of hesitation and seemingly unsure.
    He clenched his hands into fists, preventing him from doing what he really wanted: gathering her skirt in his fingers so he could pull it up, exposing her ass and giving himself a chance to check out what color panties she might be wearing. And the style. A thong maybe? He would be so lucky to catch a glimpse of her perfect little ass naked, with a thin gossamer string between her cheeks . . .
    His cock twitched at the thought, and he groaned against her lips, his mouth opening wider as he encouraged her to do the same. She gave in easily. Beautifully. She parted her lips on an inhalation, and he took advantage, thrusting his tongue inside, searching her mouth, curling it around hers. It was her turn to moan, and the sound was like a jolt of electricity sparkling through his veins. He gave in to his urges and unclenched his fingers, gathering up that wispy thin skirt, lifting it high, higher, the fabric crumpling in his fingers until he heard her gasp when he knew the cool air had hit her backside.
    Oh, he was treading on dangerous territory here, but fuck it. He could claim he was buzzed. Shove her away, tell her it was a mistake so she’d leave his house in a huff, hurt and upset. That was how they usually operated, so it wouldn’t seem out of character for him to do something like that.
    But . . . he couldn’t make himself do it. Now that he’d had a taste, he wanted another. He wanted more. He wanted to touch and feel and explore and kiss and undress and all those other bad, dangerous things he shouldn’t want. Not with Delilah.
    “Lane.” She whispered his name when he broke the kiss to slide his lips along the length of her neck. She smelled damn good. Sweet and floral with a hint of spice. Her hair was incredibly soft and brushed against his face when he kissed her ear, nibbled on the lobe, murmuring her name and making her shiver. “Don’t stop.”
    Why’d she have to go and say that? He lifted his head and