Free Make You Mine by Macy Beckett

priest on Sunday.” He didn’t mention that the old rumor was true. He had worked his way through the varsity squad—but always protected by a barrier of nice, safe latex.
    “Still, I can’t believe you blamed that on me.”
    “Not you,” Marc said. He’d never believed Allie meant him harm. “The curse.”
    “Same difference.”
    “Not really.” It was Allie’s great-great-grandma who’d cursed the Dumonts, not her. “One is beyond your control and the other isn’t.”
    “The other?” she asked.
    “You know. Hexing people on purpose.” At her piercing glare, Marc added, “Just speaking hypothetically. I don’t pay a lick of credence to that stuff.”
    “Uh-huh,” Allie said, clearly not buying it. “So you don’t even believe the curse is real anymore?”
    “Nope.”
    “Care to test it?” Her eyes—one the color of fine whiskey, the other grayer than a summer storm—twinkled with mischief and put a skip in Marc’s pulse. “Because I know a way to find out for sure.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Easy,” she said, raising one brow in a challenge. “Kiss me again.”
    Of its own volition, Marc’s gaze flew to her mouth, full and soft and still wet from the shower. He froze, unable to form a response to her proposal. He’d often fantasized about taking that pouty lower lip between his teeth and tasting Allie Mauvais—kissing her and doing it right this time.
    So what was stopping him?
    “What’s the matter, baby?” she teased. “You scared?”
    Maybe a little, but he’d never own up to it.
    “Of kissing a pretty woman? Never.” Marc accepted her dare, pushing up her robe sleeve and taking her hand in both of his. “But I think we should start small. You know, make sure lightning doesn’t strike us dead.”
    “Mmm,” she agreed with a mock solemn nod. “Baby steps.”
    “Yeah, exactly.” He trailed an index finger along her wrist, all the way up to the inside bend of her elbow and back down again, then peered at her and asked, “Feel anything?”
    The thumping vein beneath Marc’s fingers told him Allie felt a whole lot, but she shook her head. “Nope.”
    “That’s a good sign.” Holding her gaze, he lifted her palm to his mouth and placed a slow, lingering kiss there, hiding a smile when she shivered and bit her lip. “How about now?”
    Allie swallowed hard enough to shift her throat. “Nothing.”
    “Mmm, you don’t say.” It was time to dial it up a notch. Scooting nearer until their thighs touched, he swept back her dripping locks, then bent down and brushed his lips back and forth over her ear. He flicked his tongue along the rim before gently biting her lobe and whispering, “Now?”
    A whimper was her only reply.
    He was sure starting to feel something. Right behind his fly.
    He worked his way down the side of her neck. When he found a weak spot at the top of her shoulder, he teased it—licking and sucking and nibbling until Allie’s low moans vibrated the skin beneath his lips.
    He’d always wondered what she tasted like, and now he knew. Clean and savory, like honeydew. Marc couldn’t hide the lust in his voice when he tore his mouth away from her and asked, “Feel anything now?”
    Allie’s breath came in shallow gasps. She tilted her head for more of his touch and murmured, “Not a thing.”
    So he made love to her throat until she writhed in pleasure and leaned back onto the bed, sinking her fingertips into his shoulders to pull him atop her. A distant voice warned Marc he was going too far, but the blood drained from his brain and rushed between his legs, smothering his conscience with lethal force.
    Distractions eliminated, he covered Allie’s body with his own and pressed her soft curves into the mattress, then nibbled a path from her shoulder to her jaw. He reached the corner of her mouth and pulled back to look at her—sodden curls fanning out around her flushed face, eyelids heavy, lips parted in need. Lord have mercy, she was so gorgeous,