Break Me Down by Roni Loren Page A

hair. “Clean up the rest, gorgeous. You made quite a mess.”
    He glanced up, his eyes so focused and intent that it was like a physical impact to have his gaze on her. For a second,she thought he would balk, that she’d pushed him too far. But then he held on to that gaze and leaned forward. He did as she asked, taking his time and cleaning the tender skin of her belly, nipping at her here and there and making sure to get every drop. Then he sat back and swept his tongue over his lips in one slow swipe, somehow looking like a triumphant king on his throne instead of a man at her feet.
    “Damn.” The word whispered out of her, unbidden.
    His lips quirked as he rocked back and then got to his feet. He gathered her against him. “Anything else, mistress?”
    There was dryness in his tone, that smug flavor of Gibson sarcasm, but she let it slide. It was part of what drew her to him in the first place. She’d be bored if he didn’t fight back a little. His cockiness was her crack.
    She pushed up on her toes and brushed her mouth over his, tasting their mingling flavors there. “So I guess you’re staying.”
    His dimple appeared, his gaze hooded. “Glad you finally figured that out.”
    She gave him a slow smile. “It’s cute that you think you won. You might not think that by the end of the day.” She gave his ass a squeeze. “Get dressed, Andrews. Jeans only. No underwear. You’ve got a floor to refinish.”
    His hand traced below the hem of her T-shirt, caressing her tailbone. “Gonna make me work for it, huh?”
    “Oh, you have no idea.”

Chapter 6
    Gibson’s shoulders were aching and his back sore after an afternoon of staining the dining room floors, but when he stepped back and saw the finished product, an unexpected sense of accomplishment moved through him. At work, he usually felt some of that satisfaction when he’d finished a particularly difficult project or PR campaign, but having physical evidence of a completed job was a nice change. Sam would now have a beautiful floor in this room, one that would last her decades, and he’d had a hand in it. It was also the first glimpse he’d gotten of what this house could turn into with some TLC. There was beauty in its old bones.
    He tried to imagine what the floors had seen in all their years, tried to picture Sam as a little girl, dancing along the worn boards, thinking she was safe, thinking she was home to stay. She hadn’t told him much about her childhood, but he knew some from Tessa. Sam had bounced around foster care for a long time, hadn’t had an easy time, had never been adopted.
    He couldn’t imagine how any family had ever turned her away. She was so . . . Sam. Bright and quirky and big-hearted. The kind of girl who rescued elderly dogs from the side of the highway and turned knitting into some kind of punk sport. He still had a scarf she’d given him last Christmas that had blinding red and white stripes. She’d told him his black and gray suits needed a little oomph. He got shit from his coworkers every time he wore it, people randomly calling out, “Where’s Waldo?” But he didn’t care, it’d become his favorite. It smelled like her.
    That alone let him know how far gone he was with this girl. He’d come to terms with that a long time ago. Had accepted that he could live with the wanting. Sometimes you wanted things that weren’t meant for you.
    But now he was playing a perilous game. He was the guy on a diet who’d just given himself leave to gorge at the most decadent restaurant for a week. When Sam had topped him earlier, every part of him had lit up like neon—the whole world brighter, sexier, more intense. She’d told him this could be their safe place, and he’d let himself believe it. When else would he have the chance to step outside his real life for a week and live that fantasy that plagued him?
    So he’d said yes. And he’d enjoyed every damn second of it. But it’d given him an insidious thing—hope.