Down and Dirty by Christine Bell Page B

forward until their faces were only a few inches apart.
    “Why are you afraid of me?”
    “I’m n-not.”
    “Then why wouldn’t you let me into your bedroom?”
    “There was no need. I told you, I sleep flat on m—”
    “Bullshit.” He reached out a finger and trailed it over her cheekbone. “I spent a large chunk of my teen years at your house. You don’t think I walked by your room sometimes and saw you sleeping like some ginger chinchilla, all rolled up in a ball?”
    She drew back, his touch and that honeyed tone luring her toward a place she didn’t want to go. “Then why did you need to see if you already knew?”
    “I wanted to lay the bandage on and see if it would be an issue. But don’t try to deflect. Why the lie?” He closed the gap between them, his breath feathering her lips. “And why the goose bumps?” The fingers on her thigh tightened and suddenly, every good reason she’d come up with not to kiss him died.
    She let herself lean in that last scant inch, and his warm lips covered hers. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but the sweet rush of emotion clogging her throat wasn’t it. His smell felt as familiar as the sunrise, and she instinctively leaned into him, taking the kiss deeper. She traced the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, and he opened with a groan to meet it with his.
    He rose up higher onto his knees and pushed her back into the cushions, slanting his torso over hers, taking control of the kiss, hot and demanding. He ran his tongue over the tender inside of her bottom lip, then sucked, sending a shiver of need through her. Her nipples stiffened and she plunged her fingers into his hair, wanting more, needing more.
    Their harsh breathing was as sexy as any soundtrack she’d ever heard, and the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts slowly drove her insane. The skillful fingers that had been tracing circles on her thighs tightened, and he growled against her mouth. “I want you so bad,” he gasped, pulling away to trail kisses over her jaw, along the length of her collarbone, heading for her breasts, which strained against her T-shirt, aching for his touch.
    She froze, breath suspended, as he paused and then closed his teeth gently over her hard nipple through the thin cloth. She jerked forward as the touch blazed a path from her breast to her core. Moisture flooded between her thighs and she swallowed a cry.
    Music sounded in the distance, and they both froze. He sent her a pained expression. “ABBA?”
    It was. “ Fernando,” to be exact. Ever since Lacey had seen Mamma Mia on Broadway, she’d obsessed. Saved by the ringtone. “Yeah. That’s Lacey calling. If I don’t call her back, she’ll be worried about me.” Her heart was pounding so loud, it was a wonder she’d heard the phone at all, but thank God she had. She’d almost repeated the same foolish mistake.
    He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Yeah.” A muscle worked in his throat, but he released her instantly and stood. “And sorry about that. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me. You’re obviously having a rough day. Probably best if we forget it happened.”
    Forget it? Not bloody likely, but nice to know that he wanted to. Wait… “I kissed you? You kissed me .” Even as she said it, the memory of his face inches in front of her before she dove at him like a seagull on a french fry ran through her mind. Jesus, she had kissed him.
    He’d already grabbed his coat from the closet doorknob by the time she’d gathered her wits enough to respond, but he beat her to the punch.
    “Sure. At least I was awake this time, right?” He pulled the coat over his broad shoulders and gave her a wink. “Take two ibuprofen before you go to sleep. You might be a little sore tomorrow.” With that, he turned and walked out.
    Son of a bitch. She stared at the closed door, baffled. How did she keep getting herself into these situations with him?
    She snatched up her phone to