Free Bayou Bad Boys by Nancy Warren

breasts, and his throbbing erection aching to bury itself deep inside her, he forced himself to back away. To take his time. To this time, do things right.
    Gabe realized she’d mistaken his hesitation for second thoughts when she dragged a hand through her tangled hair.
    â€œI must look like a drowned cat.”
    Something in his heart turned over. “There you go, being too hard on yourself, chère. ”
    Gabe had never considered himself a particularly sensitive person, but he would have had to have been dense as a stone not to understand some of what Emma was feeling.
    Knowing that the lingering bit of insecurity was a legacy from that stick-thin, ice-hearted bitch of a mother who’d threatened to have his “trailer trash Cajun ass” thrown in jail if he ever so much as laid a finger on Emma, Gabe vowed that before tonight was over, Emma would realize exactly how desirable she was.
    He pushed some wild curls away from her face, then lifted her round chin. “You look wet, you. And fuckin’ hot.”
    â€œThis is too fast,” she said on a quick, shuddering breath as he bent closer. “Too much.”
    â€œNo, ma belle. ” He touched his mouth to hers. Her lips were soft as thistledown, as potent as whiskey. “It’s not nearly enough.”
    The blood was pounding in his head. His cock.
    God help him, he’d tried. She was right about things having gone too fast. Emma wasn’t some one-night stand he’d picked up in a Melrose Avenue bar. She deserved better than a quick, hard, anonymous roll in the sheets.
    After nearly taking her against the car, Gabe had vowed to slow things down. To take his time; do things right.
    But he hadn’t counted on her twining her arms around his neck. Or smashing her breasts hard against his chest as her hungry mouth opened beneath his.
    Half crazed, desperate to touch her, he peeled away the wet silk from her skin.
    â€œLift your arms.”
    She did as instructed, allowing him to yank the blouse over her head and onto the floor.
    Lacy cups framed her voluptuous breasts. Forget the Grand Canyon or Victoria Falls. Emma’s breasts were the true natural wonders of the world. And even more amazingly, unlike all the ones he’d come across the past few years in California, they were real.
    â€œDamn, Emma.” He cupped her breasts in his hands, embracing the warm weight of them. “You’re wearing white lace.”
    â€œColored would’ve looked tacky beneath the blouse.”
    â€œYou couldn’t look tacky if you tried.” Well, there was that fantasy of her wearing those black boots. Which wasn’t so much tacky, he decided, as hot. Hot and wicked. “Do the panties match?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œThank you.” He rocked forward on the toes of his boots, kissed her. “I fantasized about this,” he murmured as he skimmed a fingertip over the white lace flowers covering her taut nipples.
    â€œYou fantasized about me?” Her eyes, which had fluttered down to half-mast, opened.
    â€œKinda.” His touch circled, teased. Her nipples were the color of ripe strawberries, which brought up a fantasy of spreading chocolate on those amazing breasts and licking it off.
    â€œAfter my fictional fiancée broke our fake engagement by telling the world I had certain, uh, predilections of the kinky kind, women started bombarding my house with panties.”
    He slipped the straps over her shoulders. “They came FedEx, UPS, in the U.S. mail.” While his hands stayed busy with her breasts, his lips nuzzled her neck. “Some ladies were more direct and just tossed them over my gate.”
    â€œThose weren’t ladies.”
    He chuckled. “At least not proper Southern ones,” he agreed. He kissed her collarbone. “Most of the panties were black.” Her shoulder. “The rest were red.” The crest of her breast and inhaled her scent. “I