As ZZ Top liked to say,Every girl’s crazy ’bout a sharp-dressed man.
Since she’d been born and raised in one of Chicago’s many working-class neighborhoods—where men usually wore work boots, hard hats, and coveralls—Emily figured she was more susceptible than most to the visual feastof a well-heeled gentleman. It was as if she’d spent her life looking at chickens, and suddenly she was faced with the stunning beauty of a peacock.
Of their own accord, her eyes flitted to his mouth. He had the kind of lips that managed to look hard and soft at the same time. The kind of lips that scattered thoughts and obliterated resolve.
Her voice was husky when she said, “So whathappened to ‘That won’t happen again’?” She imitated his accent. Or at least shetriedto. She could never get it just right.
“Never let it be said that I’m the sort of bloke who doesn’t give a woman a fair shake. Here’s your chance to show me your oral expertise, darling.” The worddarlingsounded more likedahling.
“Hit me with your best shot,” he added when she didn’t make a move. Simplystood there gaping up at him like an addlepated nitwit.
“You stole that line from Pat Benatar,” she accused. But really she was stalling, and they both knew it. “And someone once told me that a girl worth kissing isn’t easily kissed.”
“You think there’s anything easy when it comes to the two of us?”
“No.” The word was a breathy exhale.
His eyelids lowered to half-mast, but thelook in his eyes was anything but lazy. It was hot. Hungry. Full of things she couldn’t have and therefore shouldn’t contemplate. The same look she’d caught a brief glimpse of in the truck.
So shehadn’tbeen imagining things. Her blood heated and raced through her veins at the realization.
She expected him to slam his mouth over the top of hers like before. But, no. Oh no. He took histime. He used the callused pad of his thumb on her bottom lip. Rubbed. Rubbed.Rubbed.
Her eyes fell to that tempting indent in his chin. She couldn’t help herself; she reached up and pressed her finger to it. His skin was warm, his beard stubble scratchy.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she whispered.
“Then you should have.” He used his thumb to open her mouth. Then slowly, so damnslowly, he bent toward her.
His warm breath feathered over her lips. It still held the faintest lingering hints of the buttered croissants with strawberry jam he’d eaten that morning.
Yes, he’d cooked a full English breakfast for the rest of them. But he’d satisfied himself with croissants because the man had a sweet tooth. Given the choice between sugar or protein, he chose sugar everytime.
“If you fancy me stopping,” he murmured, so close she could see the rings of gold circling his pupils, “now is the time to tell me.”
Her voice was gone. All she could manage was a shake of her head.
What was she doing? What thehellwas she doing?
He smiled. A flash of white teeth before his lips claimed hers with a gentle pressure that allowed her to settle in and get thefeel of him.
She’d been right. His lipsweresoft and hard. The skin like velvet. The insistence like steel.
He nibbled on her lower lip, sucked it into his mouth so that her toes curled. Then he angled his head and fit his lips more securely over hers, his tongue a demand as it sought entry to her mouth. She didn’t hesitate, even though she knew she probably should. She opened to him,and he wasted no time sweeping inside.
Sweet Jesus! The man couldkiss! It was like he took the act as seriously as he took everything else in his life. There was such precision. Such expertise. Such…control.
Her kneecaps disappeared. She figured she should put some serious effort toward finding them, but she couldn’t think much beyond the heat of his mouth on hers, his tongue inside.Tasting. Delving. Mapping and…Shit!
It was happening again. She was so overcome by the fact that Christian Watson was kissing her that she was standing there like a boneless, brainless moron. Which would never do. Especially since she’d just been talking big about her oral expertise.
He may have started the kiss, but she was damn well determined to finish it, toshowhim she wasn’t alltalk and no action.
Her hands got lost in his hair as she went up on tiptoe and pressed herself against him. Her nipples had tightened into painful points, and she couldn’t decide if the pressure of his chest hurt or helped. She only knew she wanted to get closer. Sink deeper into his heat. His solidity. Hismaleness.
Catching his tongue between her teeth, she sucked, giving him an ideaof what it would be like if she had another of his body parts in her mouth. He must’ve had a good imagination because the noise he made in the back of his throat was so guttural and raw that her womb clenched.
She suspected she could be in the middle of pruning the bushes or doing her taxes, and if he made that sound, she’d be close to coming on the spot.
