Brooklyn Flame (A Bridge & Tunnel Romance #1) by Mira Gibson

you.”
    He smiled and she suddenly realized the particular shape of his mouth was gorgeous.
    “It’s an observation, not a criticism.”
    “Well if you feel like a drink,” she said, finishing the thought with a quick flick of her finger towards the whiskey bottle that was resting on the coffee table.
    Indulging her, he glanced at it, but said, “No, I think I’m craving something else at the moment.”
    “Oh yeah?” She whispered, gripping his arms, his muscles so defined despite the material of his jacket that separated them. She helped the garment down his shoulders and tossed it to the couch. “Let me guess-”
    Suddenly serious, Hunter touched eyes with her. “I don’t have to know you well to know I’m into you.”
    “You don’t know me at all,” she agreed.
    “I sense you,” he countered. “That’s enough.”
    She couldn’t suppress the quirked shape of her grin, as she traveled backwards, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling him into her bedroom.
    “What do you sense?”
    “That you’d want to see me again, for one.”             
    “I don’t need the complication.”
    “No,” he challenged. “You don’t want the complication. You very much need it.”
    His statement, the confidence he exuded delivering it, had her flushing with heat that fluttered and stirred between her legs. There was something about him. She wanted him. And having him in this moment was thrilling, strangely disarming in a way that both scared and excited her.              
    If she was in the mood for anything, it wasn’t arguing further. She shoved him and he sat on the bed, gazing up at her, his green eyes widening with intrigue for what she might do next.
    Taking a step back, Greer discarded her sweater, pulling it up and off then letting it fall to the floor. Her bra was black and lacy and did little to ward off the chill in the air. Her nipples hardened, but she knew the response was because of Hunter and not the falling temperature outside.
    Slowly, he looked her up and down. “You look so fucking good right now.”
    “Take off your clothes,” she ordered; hungry to see him like she had when he was reclining on her couch, erect and longing for her from across the studio.
    Silently, he groaned out a heavy breath, his eyes softening, as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it. When he was free of the garment, he planted his palms on the bed behind him, leaning back and showcasing his abs, the musculature of his chest, his arms. Quickly, he flicked his eyes at the growing bulge beneath his jeans then met her gaze, encouragingly, as if he was interested in finding out what she was going to do about it.
    She kicked her boots off and wriggled out of her black, skinny jeans.
    Standing before him in nothing but her bra and matching lace panties, which cut up her ass in the shape of a thong, she drank in the sight of him.
    “Have you ever done anything like that?” She asked in a breathy whisper dripping with genuine curiosity.
    But Hunter seemed to startle, his face dropping long as if he’d been caught red handed.
    “What’s that look on your face?” She asked with a laugh.
    “What are you asking me?”
    “If you ever showed up to model for an artist and ended up fucking them.” She cocked her head, trying to get a read on him. “What did you think I was asking?”
    Relaxing, he was quick to say, “No. No, I haven’t.”
    She narrowed her eyes on him. Her instincts were good and though she didn’t know what his expression had revealed, she sensed it had betrayed him of something he had planned to keep secret.
    “Why?” He asked, acting suddenly off guard himself. “What did you think I thought you were asking about?”
    Greer screwed her face up then laughed. “I’ve had a bit too much whiskey to understand. Take your pants off.” As he did, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling his fly down, all the while leaning back even further on her bed, she off-handedly