Page 59 of Lucky Puck

Trouble? What’s wrong with a little trouble added to the pot of boiling water I’m already in with our fake marriage fiasco? May as well see what Brody has going for him behind that devilish dimple. Did I just think those words?

Even though I know these are the words of my bad angel sitting on my shoulder from hell egging me on to make crazy decisions, I can’t do a thing about it because sometimes decisions are made for a person without rational input from the brain. I’ve been here before, and no matter how much I regretted it then, I can’t seem to make that matter now.

Instead, I lean in and kiss him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

BRODY

Shock doesn’t stop me from kissing her back, and as soon as our mouths touch, it feels nothing like our previous kisses. The sensation is mind-blowing, like she’s uncorked some kind of secret sensuality that sends a buzz through me, exploding all over, everywhere my tongue meets hers, where my hands caress her curves. My head feels like a freshly corked bottle of champagne when the top blows off, shooting into another universe.

Her breathing is as heavy as mine, and I feel her enthusiasm in her hands as she runs them through my hair, and the whimpering moan that seems to come from her depths when I take her bottom lip between my teeth to claim her.

Her mouth wanders eagerly down my jawline, and I try to catch my breath, try to catch up with her and where her head’s at.

“What’s all this about, honeybuns?” I whisper as I lick her irresistibly soft earlobe, pristine and innocent without perfume or earrings or piercings of any kind. The thudding in my chest speeds up in appreciation for her authenticity, her complete lack of guile—except she hasn’t answered my question.

I pull back enough to look at her, and the startling absence of her hot mouth on my skin jars me. “I thought we were platonic? I thought you didn’t want to⁠—”

“I changed my mind.” Her eyes hold a question as if she’s asking my permission, and I smile.

“Bianca, you can always change your mind. About anything at any time.” I inhale a shaky breath and take her face in my hands, needing to touch her soft skin. There’s a slight tremble in my hands and a question floats through my head about whether the tremble is from my concussion or… something else. I let the question fade away unanswered.

“Are you sure you want to have sex?” I need to hear her say it. The tremble in my hands intensifies. Shit. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m never hesitant like this. And I never fucking tremble.

She nods her head vigorously. “I know it’s um, surprising that I’ve changed my mind, but I feel close to you, like it’s natural to want you, to want to, um…”

“Jump my bones?” I supply, my casual words belying the wild leap in my chest like my heart turned into an Olympic high-jumping frog. My brow furrows as all her words sink in. “What do you mean you feel close to me?”

Her cheeks heat up and turn pink so fast it’s like I turned a switch, and I remove my hands to give her space.

“I mean that we share something. We have a connection.” She stops abruptly like she’s holding her breath and stares at me with the kind of admiration and hope that nearly drowns out the spark of desire underneath.

“A connection.” I repeat, trying to digest her words, to figure out if her feelings are harmless or—not.

“Do you feel it too?”

My mind blanks, and I do what I always do at a time like this, when emotions rise to the surface and I don’t want to handle them, or in this case, I have no idea how. I caress her face and lower my mouth to hers to demonstrate the kind of connection I feel.

I take over her mouth with alarming intensity, as if I’m trying to prove a point, and I may be losing some control because what’s my point? When our mouths finally part, we both heave in gulps of air, and I find her fingers clamped on my shoulders as if she’s holding on for dear life.

As I suck in air and take in her face, soft and bright and hungry, the reason she’s off-limits hits me upside the head like a cold smack. She’s not off-limits because of Jett’s warning. She’s off-limits for the reason Jett warned me away from her. She’s innocent and vulnerable and the kind of woman who needs—and deserves—a guy who’s serious about her, who will treasure her, not a guy like me who wants to drain every last drop of pleasure from her and then move on to the next woman.

That’s what I’ve always done. Since my first time with Nora. She’s the lesson I learned about romantic relationships, and I learned it well. Love ‘em and leave ‘em—using the term love strictly in the carnal sense.

And I can’t do that to Brooks. She’s my agent. She’s good and efficient and smart—and yes, she’s also hot as hell and seemingly wantonly willing as she wriggles closer to me.

Fuck. She feels so good nestled against me.

“I’m serious, Brody. I want you. Here. Now.”

I hear the unspoken words that come across in her expression, in everything she is—before I change my mind.

Double fuck. I can’t do it. She will change her mind and literally hate me—and probably herself—in the morning. Then I’ll have an emotional disaster on my hands. And Jett will have my balls for breakfast.

With all the gentleness I can muster, I pull away from her, trailing a regretful finger down her cheek and feeling every ounce of the disappointment as I do.

“I’m sorry, Honey—I mean Brooks. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”