He suddenly flipped me to my back on the sodden grass, then bent over me, keeping the rain off my face, but he still kept me locked between his muscled thighs.
The big sexy jerk. Except, there was this look in his eyes as if he wanted to kiss me. I waited, my breath trapped in my throat as his heated gaze skimmed my face. His head lowered…and he licked my wet cheek instead—smelling of warm, enticing man, rain, and paint.
If he thought that was payback, he had no idea how turned on I was. “Eww, you didn’t just lick me?”
“Oh, Blue, I do want lick you everywhere, so damn much, starting from your pretty brow to your cute toes, especially your mouth, tongue, and your…nipples.” His gaze lowered to my chest. Yup, stupid nips were hard and tight. “And then feast on that delicious part between your—”
I slapped my hand over his mouth. His deep blue eyes crinkled with laughter, and my face burned. He removed my hand and rose.
I lay there so darn disappointed. The truth was, after that first kiss in his truck days ago—a mere press of lips for my IG pic—a part of me longed for more.
Exhaling my frustration, I sat up. He dropped down to his haunches, at my side this time, his eyes pinning mine. No teasing laughter in sight. He reached out and gently swiped away the wet strands of hair sticking to my face.
I blinked, feeling as if I’d been knocked off my feet even though I was sitting. I remained on the wet ground, unable to look away from his intense stare, despite knowing I should scramble up and run to keep my heart safe.
Yet I couldn’t seem to move.
His fingers slid to my nape, his mouth lightly brushed mine, and whatever functioning brain cells I still possessed washed away in the falling deluge.
War drew me to my knees, and then he was kissing me with soft, sensual demands. Every part of our rain-wet bodies aligned, and the heat in him swamped me, those powerful arms wrapping around me, his touch setting me on fire. And I sank into him, into the searing, heady sensation of his mouth moving on mine, where nothing mattered, but him and me. His tongue swept into my mouth, slicking and sliding over mine, claiming me in a kiss of possession.
My fingers tangled in his wet hair as I kissed him back. War groaned, the sound raw, dark, and sexy, amping up my own desire.
He drew me up, swung me into his arms, and then he was walking, still kissing me. A moment later, he lowered me onto something hard. The sounds of pelting rain had dulled.
Panting hard, I broke free of his kiss and found myself on the kitchen counter again. He was so close, our mouths a whisper apart.
I gulped in lungfuls of air, finally coming to my senses. I put a hand on his heaving chest, his heart thumping against my palm. “We can’t, War. This will just complicate things.”
Slowly, he straightened, didn’t say anything, his dark stare making me uneasy. A faint smell of…burning cheese drifted to me—
“The food!” I blurted and crawled to the opposite side of the counter and jumped down. I donned the oven gloves he’d tossed on the granite worktop next to the eye-level oven and rescued the dish.
Lasagna. The edges had crisped to a darker brown, but it looked good enough. Besides, I like the scorched cheesy bits.
“It doesn’t look too bad.” I set the ceramic pan on the counter, aware he watched me from across the island. “We better change and eat before this gets cold.”
“You’re running.”
“I’m not running. I want to get out of these wet things and eat. I’m hungry,” I lied. Heck, that kiss knocked my hunger straight out of the window. And the man could kiss, leaving me wanting more.
“I like you, Charli, and you like me,” he said softly. “Why can’t we try this, see where it goes?”
Blood thundered in my ears. My heart careened like a ping pong ball let loose, slamming into my ribs. He wanted this to be real?
My problem was, as much as I longed to say yes, I was scared. I’d been hurt badly before. And I was the worst judge of men. All of them were nice in the beginning, and then it went to hell fast.
Or maybe—as painful as it was to admit to myself—I wasn’t as interesting once the first flow of excitement wore off.
And when I look at my mother, I wonder if love does exist.
“What are you afraid of, Charli?”
Of you.
Of me ending up hurt again.
“It’s all too fast,” I rasped. “Can’t we just be friends?” A tick started on his jaw. “I’m cold. I need a hot shower.” Then I hurried off, my mind in total conflict with my body, longing for his touch, for him.
If I stayed, I just might cave, and being in lust didn’t always end well, not for me.
