Free Hunte by Rie Warren Page A

to my left.
    She sipped from her glass of wine with a nod in my direction.
    Quaint, charming, homey . . . all those words came to mind as I took in her refuge. Cushions and throw blankets covered the cream-colored chairs and sofa. Antique-looking bookshelves and side tables sat on spindly legs. I felt like a big bull in a china shop until I spied a pile of greasy motorcycle parts laid on top of newspapers . . . next to a stack of auto parts books.
    That was what I liked about JB. She was all woman and hardcore at the same time. I grinned, sitting next to her.
    “Welcome to my palace.” She blushed and ducked her head. “It’s not much compared to your spread.”
    “I like it. It’s intimate. It’s you.” Unlike my house, which was virtually unlived in, this place was a veritable open book about her. “It’s pretty. Like you.”
    “ Hmm ,” her face averted, she hummed.
    I stretched out my legs, enjoying the heat from the fire on my feet. “Thanksgiving decorations too.” I pointed my chin toward the cornucopia on the mantelpiece.
    She leaned her head against my shoulder. “I have to celebrate every holiday. I work with kids, remember?”
    I gently kissed her forehead and she laid her arm across my chest.
    “Why are you here, Hunter? For real this time.”
    “Couldn’t stay away from you.” My voice lowered. “Sometimes I get tired of fighting, and fighting what I want.”
    She remained silent, her face tucked against me.
    “Plus, you smell damn good.”
    I felt her smile against the skin of my neck.
    “You were working?” I indicated the school papers fanned out beside her.
    “Oh. It never stops. Class prep, tests to grade, special help to give . . . instruction courses to take.”
    “And you’re still wearing your school clothes,” I remarked.
    Her hair was unpinned, a glorious sable mane down her back and over my arm, but otherwise she had on the hot for teacher clothes. An outfit that was professional and totally seductive to a man like me. Another nine-to-five skirt molded against her sweet curves. It had ridden up, showing the lace at the top of her sheer thigh high stockings. She’d loosened a few buttons on a rose-colored blouse and still had on a pair of killer black heels.
    “Teachers didn’t look like you when I was in school.”
    “I bet they were all mean old hags.” She shook with laughter.
    “Truth.” I tickled my fingers along her side and whispered at her ear, “I’d say let me massage your feet, but I really like the shoes.”
    I heard the quick hitch of her breath.
    “So how about you sit right here”—I patted between my legs—“and let me rub your back.”
    Jessica moved with easy grace until she sat between my thighs, her back resting against my chest.
    “Is it okay if I unbutton your shirt? Easier to work out the kinks.” Oh, I had an ulterior motive all right.
    One she saw straight through. “Work out your kinks, maybe.” She winked over her shoulder.
    She didn’t say no, so I went to work on the front her blouse, sliding the buttons free, tugging it from the waist of her skirt. I skimmed the soft material from her shoulders, and set it aside. Then I choked on my breath as my cock expanded in my jeans.
    My hands shook and my eyes dried up because I refused to blink. I touched the strap on her shoulder, staring at her body in goddamn speechlessness.
    When I remembered that thing called speaking, I choked out, “What the hell is this?”
    Her palms skimmed up her sides and landed just beneath her breasts, lifting them higher. “You like it.”
    “Woman, I can’t even form a coherent sentence. Like? I am way beyond like.”
    She snuggled deeper against me with a satisfied hum. I looked at the seductive lingerie, telling myself I was here to show her I was sorry, to make it up to her, not screw her six ways to Sunday no matter how much her sexy body was a Siren call to me. Constructed of body-forming sheer lace and mesh, the teddy hugged her curves,