She sat up straight and tried to inch back from him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The other night at the diner … you pulled away when he walked in. You didn’t want him to see me touching you.”
Then why, in my dreams, is it all that seems to happen?
She kept her dreams out of it and said, “I didn’t mean to.”
“I believe you. That doesn’t change the fact you have feelings for him.”
“But … that’s…” She wasn’t even sure how to explain it.
“That’s what, Bailey?”
“Rafe doesn’t want me,” she blurted, feeling guilty all over again.
“I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”
She wasn’t, but how would Holt know that? He hadn’t been here that long and as far as she knew, he hadn’t spent much time with Rafe. If they were old friends, she would’ve expected them to catch up, but from what she could tell, Rafe was keeping his distance. Because of her? Because of their history? She didn’t know.
And since Holt had avoided talking about it when she’d asked, she knew it wasn’t any of her business.
“I don’t want to talk about Rafe,” she said, the heat between them slowly diminishing.
“Then I won’t bring him up again.”
“Me either.” She seriously doubted either of them could hold to that promise, but for now, it was settled.
“Provided you do one thing for me.”
Her head tilted again. “And what would that be?”
“Kiss me.”
She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, smiling despite the awkwardness of the situation.
Holt’s voice lowered again. “Like you mean it, little rabbit.”
She really loved that gravel thing he did with his voice. He sounded so assertive, so … dominant. It turned her on, made her want to do whatever he told her to do.
Bailey held his gaze, then gave herself free rein to prove to him that she could be bad when she wanted to be. She slid her fingers along his corded neck and urged him down until their mouths touched. She licked his lower lip, then slipped her tongue inside when his lips parted.
“Your lips are sweet,” Holt rasped against her mouth. “I want to run my tongue over every inch of you to see if you’re as sweet all over.”
She shivered, her brain practically building out the fantasy of him stripping her right there in the kitchen and ravishing her on the countertop. She wanted his mouth on her. On her lips, her breasts, between her legs.
She groaned, unable to hold the sensations inside.
“You want that, too. Don’t you?”
Bailey nodded, never letting her lips move from his.
Holt took over. He pulled her in close, banding his arms around her, his tongue thrusting against hers. It was zero to sixty in a single second, and Bailey lost herself to the passion that engulfed them. Her body heated and throbbed with a desperate need that he created with his presence. She was intimately aware of every inch of him, his hands moving along her sides, his thumbs almost grazing her breasts.Almostbut not quite.
“Touch me,” she whimpered, trying to shift to get his hands where she needed them. She was desperate for him. Hell, she wanted him to make love to her right here in the kitchen. She was that far gone.
Actually, no. She didn’t want him to make love to her. She wanted him tofuckher. Bailey had never wanted a man to fuck her before. She’d always considered the terminology crass and unnecessary, but Holt inspired dirty, raunchy thoughts, and she figured that was deserving of a good fuck.
“Slow down, little rabbit.”
