Page 57 of The Burbs and the Bees
“Yeah.”
Walk away, dude. Nothing good can come from this.
“I want…” I stop talking and brush my thumb over her bottom lip. Where do I start? Honestly there are so many things I want to do with this woman, starting with my mouth on her body. I let my gaze roam her beautiful face. She stifles a yawn, and it snaps me out of my trance. My brain screams abort, even though my dick is begging to calls the shots. I back up an inch, put a measure of space between us, hoping to dissipate the sexual tension.
“You’re tired,” I say, a statement, not a question.
“I am.”
“Let’s put you to bed.”
Her gaze latches on mine, holds for a long moment, and then, taking me by surprise, she reaches out, touches my T-shirt, and drags me to her. Her lips once again find mine, and her kiss is so steeped in desire, so delicious and needy, even if I knew better than to start anything with her—and I do—the reasons no longer matter.
“Bed,” she murmurs into my mouth. “Yeah, I like that idea.”
Chapter Eleven
Alyson
I have no idea what I’m doing or saying. Kissing and inviting a guy I barely know to my bed is so out of character for me. Playing hard to get is usually my thing, but he’s sweet and kind, and hot as hell, and my life is already a big black cauldron boiling over with mistakes.
I shouldn’t be taking my eye off my goals or bringing someone into my messed-up life—especially if I can’t keep it purely physical. I can’t lose sight of that. I won’t. But if I regret this hookup come morning, I’ll just add it to the growing list of errors I’ve made. Right now, however, as arousal takes center stage, I’m dying to touch him, see him naked, and have him touch me in return.
“Alyson,” he whispers, his voice a soft rasp as his mouth moves over mine softly, so tentatively and carefully, I fear he’s having second thoughts. I really should be, too.
“One night. You and me.” I know where he stands and realize he’s been hurt deeply and is not about to put himself out there again only to be rejected. To reiterate where I am on the matter, I say, “Nothing more.” Tonight isn’t about love or bonding or a future—and I’m not sure why I keep reminding myself that. It’s about calming the storm between us and snuffing the heat we generate whenever we’re in close proximity.
That’s a lie. My body heats just knowing he’s on the farm next door.
He groans into my mouth, deepening the kiss like a man starved of affection far too long. I know the feeling. I’ve not been with anyone since my ex dumped my sorry ass and got engaged to my friend. Like Jay, I’m not up for the rejection, and getting emotionally involved with this guy can only lead to that, especially since I still don’t know who I am or what I want or even where I’ll be next month.
The kiss changes, his lips more determined, demanding as he lifts me from the island. Glued to his body—yeah, this is the kind of stickiness I can, well, stick to—I wrap my arms and legs around him, mimicking my earlier position. But this time I’m pressed to his chest, not his back, and the hardness straining against his zipper lets me know he wants this every bit as much as I do. We’ve both been dancing around this thing between us—whatever it might be—since our dip in the Atlantic.
His footsteps echo in the old house as he carries me up the stairs and stops at the top. He glances down the narrow hallway.
“Which room?” he asks, his voice thick and rough as it slides over my skin and elicits a shiver.
“Second door on the left,” I say quickly, giving up on trying to appear unfazed by this man. “Spare bedroom.”
Long strides take us there in seconds, and in a manly move that teases the needy spot between my legs, he kicks the door shut behind him and presses me against it. God, that is so sexy. The men in my world would never carry me, much less use their foot to close a door. It might make a mark on their designer shoes. Heck, who am I to talk? I love my Louboutins. But there is no time for those thoughts, not when his mouth is all over me.
“This is happening,” I say, not realizing I spoke the words out loud until he groans.
“It’s happening,” he murmurs against my skin, his hot open-mouthed kisses on my lips, cheek, and neck filling me with heated anticipation. “As long as you want it to.”
“I do.” I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a man quite like this before. It’s heady, arousing, exhilarating, and mind-blowingly insane. His chest presses against mine, and my nipples harden in response. He groans his approval and shifts his stance to run calloused thumbs over my hard buds.
“Yes,” I murmur, heated sensations raising my need, making it hard to focus.
“When you stripped down to your underwear on that boat, I tried not to look.” A tortured noise catches in his throat. “Believe me, I tried to be a gentleman, but you are so goddamn beautiful, Alyson.”
A burst of pleasure moves through me as his flattery goes straight to my head—I’m so not used to praise—and it boosts my confidence. I gaze at the gorgeous man who just complimented me, and my thoughts turn wild and wicked.
“Who says I want a gentleman?” He snorts and I add, “Just so you know, I wanted you in my bed the second I set eyes on you,” shocking myself with my boldness. Jay groans and carries me to the bed. I sit on the edge and inch my legs apart.
“I caught you staring a few times,” he admits and then with a chuckle adds, “I learned the fine art of subtlety after gawking too hard at a woman when I was a stupid teen. It only took a couple of good, hard kicks to the nuts before I got a clue.” His voice thick and needy, he taps his head and offers me a goofy grin that is so adorable I nearly climax then and there. “Slow learner.”
“I don’t want subtle, Jay,” I say and pinch my eyes shut, afraid I’m dreaming, that I’m not in rural Nova Scotia with the hottest farmer on the planet. But when I open my eyes again, he’s right there, staring at me with want and desire, like he’s too good to be true. Hell, this isn’t a dream, but it’s a dream come true, and I damn well plan to make the best of it. Heart racing, I add, “I want you. Right now. Inside me.”
