No, it’s not the earth that’s not solid. It’s me.
With his eyes fixed on hers, he moved toward her, and she stumbled again, taking a step backward on shaky legs. She grabbed hold of his arms, gripping the stiff leather of his jacket.
He kept coming and a sudden surge of heat seared the entire terrain of her body as though he were fire itself—his eyes, his lips, his chest, his thighs. She felt the weight of him—all of him—bear down upon her.
She couldn’t be sure if it was the heat but something broke the sound barrier. And she heard it. A rushing sound.
Where is it coming from?
Her heart was pounding as she looked left and right. Were they near a body of water?
No.
It’s not coming from outside. It’s coming from me.
It was her own blood coursing through her veins, her own breath blazing through her lungs. And it was all she could hear.
He loomed over her, blocking out sun and sky.
He was all she could see.
She had nowhere else to go.
Her back was up against a tree.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
NICO
He inched forward, and placed his lips on hers.
It felt as though that Ducati was still humming between her thighs.
She could feel his hard chest, his torso, those thighs—even the damp of him that was wafting from his flesh beneath the racing suit.
His hot, urgent breath entered her, hers entered him, until she couldn’t tell where hers ended and his began.
She gripped his head, pulling him in deeper. She made a move to turn and put his back up against the tree. But he stood fixed, just like the tree behind her as though he had roots planted deep into the earth too. He pulled away, grabbed her wrists, and pushed her hands down beside her, holding her palms against the rough tree bark.
She thought of that kiss outside Drink and Dive.
There was no question in his eyes like there had been that night. And she suddenly wondered what her eyes looked like to him. He looked as though he knew something, and she couldn’t escape the uncomfortable feeling that he could read her thoughts, that he was doing so …
Right. Now.
The bark of the tree was rough. His hands held her wrists so firmly, she couldn’t move them.It should hurt, she kept thinking,but it doesn’t.
He let go and placed one finger on her lower lip.
That finger drifted, gliding down the base of her throat, stopping when it reached the zipper of the racing suit. He’d kept his eyes on hers until he reached that point. But now he stared at the spot wherehis finger had landed, and he followed that finger as the zipper slid south.
“This suit doesn’t fit properly,” he muttered in a voice that managed to hum between her legs as though he’d placed his mouth there.
“It’s too small. Here,” he said, cupping her breasts, brushing his thumb across her rigid nipples. “And”—he gripped her hips with such force she rocked forward—“here.”
He grabbed the tab and pulled the zipper down to her navel as far as it would go.
She opened her mouth, but he swallowed her words, placing his mouth upon hers. This time, the kiss—deeper and more urgent. He held his hands on either side of her throat, and her body went liquid and limp. When he pulled away, there was a moment she thought she might crumple to the ground like tissue paper. Before she realized it, the racing suit lay in a pool around her ankles, and he had his hands on the button of her jeans.
