Free The Good Girl's Second Chance (The Bravos Of Justice Creek 2) by Christine Rimmer Page B

her nose. “No regrets, huh?”
    “But I do have regrets.” She slid her hands up over his thick, hard shoulders, and clasped them around his neck. “And I can’t just wish them away.”
    He shrugged out of his shirt and let it fall. Then he bent his head lower, smoothed her hair aside and pressed his hot mouth to the crook of her neck. “Forget ’em, then.” His breath so hot across her skin, branding her, burning her. “For now, at least?”
    She threaded her eager fingers up into his hair. “Help me with that?”
    “Happy to.” He breathed in through his nose. “You smell so good...” And then he scraped his teeth where his lips had been.
    She shivered and moaned as he kissed his way back up over the curve of her jaw to claim her lips again. She opened for him. Heat speared through her as his tongue swept her mouth.
    He lifted her hair off her neck with one hand. With the other, he took down the long zipper at the back of her dress and guided the dress off her shoulders. It dropped to the floor. She broke the lovely kiss in order to step out of it. He bent, picked it up and tossed it on the nearest chair.
    Unbuttoning and unzipping, flinging articles of clothing toward the chair as soon as they had them off, they undressed each other.
    Finally, when the only thing left was her pearls, he ordered gruffly, “Turn around.”
    She showed him her back. He unhooked the diamond clasp and took the necklace away. She faced him again in time to watch him reach over and lay the double strand on the nearby side table.
    That was it. They were naked. Completely naked. And it seemed such a very long way to the bedroom.
    Good thing she’d planned ahead.
    He asked roughly, “What are you smiling about?”
    And she pulled open the little drawer in the side table and took out the condom she’d tucked in there. Just in case.
    “God. Chloe.” He hauled her close, licked her ear and whispered in it, “You think of everything.”
    She whispered back, “A design teacher I had once told me that what I lack in imagination, I make up for in efficiency and good planning. I was really insulted at the time.”
    He took her earlobe between his teeth and tugged on it, biting down just a little harder than he needed to.
    It felt so good it made her moan.
    He whispered, “Put it on me.”
    She pulled back a little, far enough to meet his eyes. They were the color of some tropical sea right then, so deep, going down and down to deeper blue. Focused so completely on her. “Right now?”
    For that she got a slow, deliberate nod from him.
    She started to tear the top off the pouch.
    “On second thought...” He caught her hand. “Wait...” And he pulled her close and kissed her some more. She gave herself up to that, to the taste of his mouth and the heat of his breath, to the feel of him, fully erect against her belly, making her burn for him.
    Making her moan. She eased her free hand between them and wrapped her fingers around him, stroking. Oh, he felt so good—his powerful body pressed close, his mouth covering hers, the long, hard length of him held tight in her grip.
    He kissed her endlessly, kissed her and caressed her, his fingers tracing magical patterns over her skin, teasing her breasts, first cradling them so gently, then catching the nipples, rolling them, so that she moaned some more. He seemed to really like it when she moaned.
    He made a wonderful growling sound low in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Like that?”
    She couldn’t say “Yes” fast enough. So she said it again, moving her hand up and down the thick length of him. “Yes...” And again, “Oh, yes, Quinn. Like that...”
    And then his hand went lower, all the way to the feminine heart of her.
    She cried out as he stroked her, opening her. She felt her own wetness, her readiness for him. She didn’t want to wait a second longer. She couldn’t wait...
    “I...” She got that word out, and then couldn’t for the life of her remember what she’d