Free Project: Runaway Bride by Heidi Betts Page B

swipe of his tongue along the seam, he beckoned her to open, to let him in.
    And she was powerless to refuse. She’d wanted him—wanted this—for too long.
    The music swelled through the room, filling her head, sending shivers along her arms and down her spine. Or maybe that was Reid. His touch, his kiss, the anticipation of what was to come.
    His hands were stroking her from her shoulders down her arms to her wrists. Her waist down to her hips, then up again over the length of her back. Her own hands simply clutched his wide shoulders, afraid that if she let go, she would slide to a puddle at his feet.
    Dragging his mouth from hers, Reid continued to nibble at her jaw, moving assuredly toward the lobe of her ear. She moaned at the loss of his kiss, then again as he suckled a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.
    “If we do this,” he said softly against her skin, “are you going to hate yourself in the morning?”
    “Probably,” she admitted truthfully. Though right this minute, she wasn’t sure she cared.
    “Are you going to hate me?”
    At that, her eyes snapped open. Her head cleared, maybe because he’d stopped nuzzling her throat, her cheek, just behind her ear. He was watching her now, his brown eyes gone dark, his gaze intensely serious.
    He was waiting for her answer, and the entire direction of the rest of the evening depended on it.
    “No,” she told him. Simply. Honestly.
    She could never hate him, no matter what passed between them. No matter how much guilt it might leave her to carry around for the rest of her life.
    Whatever happened—here, tonight, with him—would be on her and her alone. And heaven help her, she wanted it. She wanted to be here with him, to be with him the way she’d imagined so many times, for so long.
    Anything else, she pushed to the back of her mind. Far, far away from Reid’s hands on her body, his gaze on her face, his mouth promising untold pleasures.
    “Good.”
    He drove his fingers into her hair, cupping her head and holding her in place while he ravished her mouth. Her own hands came up under his arms to clutch his back, fisting the fabric of his shirt.
    For long minutes, he kissed her while she all but sagged in his embrace. And then he released her mouth, dropping one arm to her waist and the other behind her legs to scoop her up off the floor.
    She wasn’t expecting it, but it didn’t surprise her, either. It felt right, and she relaxed in his hold, wanting to rest her cheek on his shoulder in true damsel-in-distress fashion.
    “Which way?” he demanded, and she didn’t need to ask, “To what?”
    She pointed toward the stairs and he marched in that direction, taking long, determined strides. When he got to the steps, he took them two at a time. Another lift of her finger told him which room was hers, and he pushed open the door, kicking it closed behind them with the heel of his shoe.
    He carried her to the bed, which was neatly made, two rows of decorative pillows looking as though they were ready for a House Beautiful photo shoot. Everything in her room was picture-perfect. Style and organization helped her feel more in control of the world around her.
    Reid clearly didn’t feel the same. Shifting her weight in his arms but not letting go of her in the least, he reached for the pillows, tossing half of them to the floor before snagging the corner of the duvet and flicking it to the end of the bed.
    Then and only then did he turn and deposit her in the center of her pressed floral sheets. They had tiny purple violets on them to match the solid purple of the coverlet and pillows, and she suddenly felt self-conscious about the overly feminine tones of the room when Reid was so very masculine. She almost expected the little violets to turn into footballs or some such from his presence alone.
    But he didn’t seem the least bit interested in the room’s décor. He only had eyes for her, as he towered over her with one knee on the bed, his gaze burning