Her hands clenched, but she forced her face upward, bracing herself for whatever she was going to find there.
Blue fire raked over her as his eyes traced the planes of her face. “You do yourself a great disservice, Ms. Beaumonde, with those clothes you wear. What’s beneath is even better than I imagined that night I stroked my cock thinking of you.”
Oxygen forgot to move through her lungs.
He planted a hand on each side of her on the counter, caging her between his forearms, and leaned in. She closed her eyes, absorbing what he’d just told her, inhaling him. Clean sweat, grass, and man danced around her in a heady elixir. No aftershave or fancy cologne. Only the most erotic scent she could ever remember smelling in her life.
He nuzzled the spot behind her ear, drawing the tip of his tongue along her lobe. “Are you wet for me, Charli?”
The honeysuckle twang of his voice was like a hot lick to every one of her erogenous zones. She shuddered and he pressed against her, the soft denim of his worn jeans revealing the erection restrained behind that zipper.
“Shit, yes,” she murmured.
He bit her earlobe, the sharp nip sending a zap through her. She gasped.
“Yes, what?”
“Sir,” she corrected in a hurried rush. “Yes, sir.”
Hell. What was he doing to her? She could barely grab on to her thoughts.
“Good girl.” His hand found her waist, then traced down and over her hip bone in a slow, tortuous trail. His thumb brushed her mound. “You’re so lovely here, Charli. Nothing sexier than a natural redhead.”
She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, knowing that her skin was probably blotchy from a full-body blush. She was no virgin, but her encounters had mostly been casual, low-key romps. A little kissing, a little touching, and then the usually lackluster main event. She’d never felt so observed before. “Thank you.”
His palm dipped lower, his finger parting her sex and finding her damp heat. The callused pad of his finger slid over her clit, causing her to arch against him.
“Mmm, good girl,” he breathed against the side of her neck. “So wet and eager for me.”
The dirty words were so different from the way he talked to her normally, so opposite the gentleman cowboy. But somehow that made it even more effective. Knowing that he was showing her this secret, darker side of himself had her insides fluttering. He stroked her with firm confidence, and a soft moan passed her lips.
“But no coming unless I say so,” he added.
“Are you kidding?” She couldn’t help it. Her mouth had a mind of its own.
He moved his hand away, stopping the decadent stimulation, and took a step back, leaving her there naked and aching. The disapproval on his face was like a lash to her skin. “Turn around, forearms on the counter.”
Her heartbeat raced, her limbs tingling with a rush of fight-or-flight, but she turned around nonetheless and followed his instruction. The cool granite pressed against her arms and an overwhelming wave of vulnerability washed over her. His belt buckle clinked.
Whoa, was he going to take her right here, like this?
The idea shouldn’t have been so damn appealing.
But instead of feeling his hands on her, she felt smooth, supple leather brush across the base of her spine. “Lace your fingers together and put your forehead against your hands.”
“Grant, I—”
“Wrong answer.” He planted a hand between her shoulder blades forcing her down into the position. Her blood was roaring in her ears and ribbons of dread curled in her stomach. It was like that moment before she’d bungeed the first time—fear and exhilaration twining together. She laced her fingers together, putting herself in a sort of praying position.
She probably needed to pray.
“Ready to press the escape hatch, Charli?” Grant asked, the question deceptively soft.
Escape. She could walk out right now. Go back to her safe, little existence where she had all the control, where everything was nice and predictable.
“No, sir.” The answer was automatic but truthful. She shifted restlessly, both worried and desperate for whatever was to come.
“We’ll see.”