Free Gypsy Love: A Gypsy Beach Novel by Jillian Neal

glass of wine she’d ever had, trying to get a grip on her mind and her body. Undeniable lust fought for dominance over the loss, and the possible answer to every issue she’d dealt with lately was sitting across the table from her, admitting that he wanted to kiss her.
    She’d never talked with any guy that was so completely honest, as if he really didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought. His freedom seemed to spring open the door to the cage that she’d been desperately trying to loose for the last decade of her life.
    “Eat, sweetheart. I swear I’m not trying to be an asshole. I’m not trying to rush you, but patience is definitely not my virtue.” His urgency continued to stir her body and ignite her blood. The fire in his eyes grew exponentially as he watched her slip the tongs of her fork out of her mouth obediently.
    His command was met with a mischievous grin as she complied. The blood flow in his body had been slowly directing itself from his brain to his cock all evening. He’d offered up about as much law talk as he could muster. Those lips, pinked from the warmth of her pasta, and the timid light that sparkled in her eyes were just too damned distracting. Slow down, Rowan! Geez! She’s been through hell and had her heart not only broken but trampled on by some motherfucking douchebag that didn’t deserve to even hold her coat. His mutinous eyes tracked back to her mouth. She licked a little of the cream sauce from the bite she’d just taken off of her lower lip, and he fought not to groan aloud.
    “You’re not rushing me. I wanted to kiss you this morning while we were talking on the beach, but I didn’t want you to think I was …”
    “Hey, Arley, to me, you’re an extremely talented author. What could possibly be more difficult that capturing the emotions of human beings falling in love? Every thought I have about you is good. You’re a brilliant and beautiful woman that I’m extremely lucky to be having dinner with. Me wanting to kiss you has nothing to do with what you write and everything to do with wanting to get to know you better, the real you, the person you don’t let many people see. Are you really starting to believe that people that write Erotica are somehow sluts? Have you been told that so many times now that you believe it?”
    The way he stripped away the nonsense of her life in one fell swoop left Arley short of words and breath. “No.” She shook her head and tried to slow her racing heart. “I think I just started to think that everyone thought that.”
    “Well, not everyone does. I don’t think that at all.”
    Yeah, you don’t, and yet somehow I know you’re not going to stick around either. That reminder paralyzed just a little of her lust. Reminding herself that she was determined to see where this ended up, she rushed through the rest of her dinner anxious to see what might be coming after those kisses he kept promising her.
    He apologized again for rushing her and then seemed to force himself to slow down, much to her chagrin. They walked hand in hand down the long pier out towards the water. The wind whipped her hair around her face and bombarded her senses with his intoxicating smell. Fresh cut grass, coffee, his cologne, and a musk that was all John filled her lungs. She inhaled deeply. Lost in thought, she was startled when he halted her progress down the wooden planks. There was a large walled and roofed structure near the end of the pier. The slight covering kept the wind at bay. Arley wasn’t certain what the purpose of the half-building was unless it was for unloading the fishing boats out of the sun, but a moment later John turned her and caged her body between himself and the wall.
    Her breaths sped as he locked those gorgeous blue eyes on hers in the moonlight. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I suck at being patient.” His right hand traced her cheek and then cupped the nape of her neck as he drew her in. He brushed his lips over hers in a hesitant