Free His Kind of Perfect (Sugar Bay #1) by Kinsley Gibb

explored, smoothing a path up from his chest. The mounds of hard muscles so different from hers.
      She snaked a hand behind his neck, pulled
him down to her level while he waited in silence. She saw the question in his
eyes. She knew he wasn’t certain she would follow through. For a second, she
closed her eyes, committing the moment to memory. She would relive each second over
and over again in private.
    The clean scent of soap, peppermint and hot
male wrapped itself around her. For the rest of her life, she would associate Irish
Spring with this man.
    Derek shifted closer and placed his palms
below her waist, his hand burned through the thin material. She shuddered, her
resolve to ensure distance between them weakened but then she remembered his
age, her mother’s censure, and the small town gossip she couldn’t escape.
    She nudged the pool cue between them.
“Hands on the stick.” She glared in case he thought she was kidding. She
wasn’t. She was tired of being the subject of pity and gossip. He eyed her in
amusement but obliged, only nudging it a little to the
left so he could see her better.
    Her gaze slipped to his lips. The firm, sensuous
flesh beckoned. It would be easy to get lost in his kiss. The public venue
would ensure nothing untoward could happen. This was her chance to discover
what a kiss with a heterosexual man entailed.
    Still, she waited. Indecision gripped her.
Want and fear warred inside her.
    A quick glance at his expression told her
he’d wait as long as she needed. He seemed to understand she was on the cusp of
change.
    Her eyelids drifted closed, she stretched
and brushed her lips against his.
    Once.
    Twice.
    She pulled back and waited for his
reaction.
    A smile flirted at his mouth. He licked his
lips. “You call that a kiss?”
    She narrowed her eyes.
    “That was pathetic.”
    So for all the spinsters in the world, all
the forgotten ones, all the wallflowers who yearned to be a part of the game,
she closed her eyes and let her inner slut loose.
     
 
    Derek groaned against her lips.
    Son of a bitch.
    He’d long suspected Anabelle was a
reservoir of untapped fire, but this kiss…it was beyond his expectations. It
was hot, wet and luscious. Tongues tangled, teeth grazed until they found the
perfect angle, lips were nibbled then bitten, before the hurt was sucked away. Anabelle
climbed his chest and he urged her with his free hand. The other still held the
damn pool cue so tight, he was afraid he might break the thing. He was glad
she’d insisted on her “protection” because that was the only thing saving them
from public indecency.
    Anabelle was a closet sensualist.
    Have
mercy.
    Somehow he found the willpower to break
their kiss. It wasn’t easy but if they got arrested for lewd and lascivious
behavior, she’d retreat into her shell again and never come out. After a year
of waiting, he didn’t want to start at square one again.
    The sight of her soft, swollen lips parted
in welcome made him groan. He dropped his head for one last kiss when the sound
of breaking glass stopped him and he was never more grateful for the intrusion.
Slowly the sound of their harsh breathing was overridden by the chattering of
patrons, the clanging of the glasses and since it was retro night, the snarling
of Def Leopard singing about pouring some sugar.
    “Derek—“
    “Annabelle, please. Give me a second.” He
held her away and focused on breathing.
    She blinked a few times, almost like she
didn’t know what had happened. He wanted to laugh but he couldn’t, his body was
in too much pain. The next few moments were spent reigning control over his aroused
body.
    When he succeeded, he let go of the damn
stick and stepped away from temptation. The mindless chore of applying chalk to
the pool cue helped to remind him of the ultimate prize. Because he wanted that
more than anything, he needed to focus on winning.
    “Where were we?”
     
 
    Anabelle blinked. To say she was bemused
was an