“Do you want me to be honest?”
“Of course.”
I put down my slice of pizza and wipe the grease from my hands. Might as well address the elephant in the room… “When you make those noises, all I think about is fucking you.”
Her eyes go wide. “That’s really honest.”
“I typically am. So if you don’t want me to think about dragging you to bed, peeling off everything you’re wearing, and kissing my way between your legs, maybe you should eat quietly.”
Sophie
Heat flashes through my body at his words. And one look into his dark eyes tells me he’s completely serious.
Suddenly, I can’t think about anything except him naked, on top of me, pleasuring me before I please him in return.
Don’t be crazy. You barely know him. What if he’s the type to kiss and tweet?
“Actually, I’m full.” I set my pizza crust aside and rinse off my plate.
“I shocked you. I’m sorry.” He approaches from behind, still a few feet away.
I’m painfully aware that all I’d have to do is turn and take a few steps to have my hands on him, my lips on his.
I swallow back the impulse. I might not care so much anymore about putting my image in jeopardy, but we’re two ships whose paths will probably never cross again. If I weren’t famous and I was the kind of girl satisfied with a hot fling, I’d jump on him—here and now. But that’s not me, and I shouldn’t distract him.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s”—making me wish I could say yes—“fine. I think I’ll take a nap. It’s not even two o’clock and it’s been a long day.”
“Can’t argue with that. Groceries will be ready in about an hour.”
“Thanks.” I nod and head to the back bedroom—anything to put distance between us.
As soon as I’m alone, I shut the door and tear off the slightly scratchy sweater, then crawl between the sheets and close my eyes. I’m tired, but sleep won’t come. I can’t erase the pandemonium of the parade or its terror. I also can’t escape the fact that Rand saved me. Or forget that he’s in the next room. I especially can’t deny that I’m terribly attracted to him.
Sleep isn’t happening.
What the hell am I going to do? I can’t stay in Granbury and hide forever. How soon will this killer come after me again? I hate being a sitting duck. But now I have another problem. If I spend too much time with Rand, I know what’s likely to happen between us. Maybe I could resist him for a few days…but what if our seclusion turns into weeks?
I close my eyes again. His face swims in my head—his dark, intent eyes. His scar. His brutally sensual mouth. I remember the way he held me and kissed me, the way his hot stare touched me when he said he thought about fucking me.
Maybe it’s all the stress, but I feel ready to explode. My options for relief are sorely limited.
I roll over. My hard-as-nails nipples drag across the blanket, and I can’t help but moan. I bite my lip and try to swallow the sound, but there’s no getting around the fact I’m wound unbearably tight. The need coiled between my legs keeps clenching and throbbing. I can barely remember the last time I had sex. It wasn’t memorable.
Or maybe I only feel that way because I’m fixated on Rand.
I need relief—now.
Even as I tell myself I shouldn’t, excitement flares as I cup my breasts and squeeze. My fingers slide over my sensitive flesh until I’m pinching the tight nubs between my thumbs and forefingers.
The sensation isn’t enough.
I focus on my nipples through the thin cotton, grasping harder. Pleasure jolts straight to my clit. I gasp, then bite back the sound and squeeze again.
Everything between my legs demands attention, so I slide one hand over my skin, down my abdomen, and inside the tighter-than-hell shorts. I’m beyond wet, and when I press a pair of fingers against my needy nub, desire shoots through my veins. I arch into the pleasure. This time, there’s no stopping my moan.
One hand rubs, the other clutches. Everything sharpens. My blood boils. The ecstasy is so thick I’m in a haze. I want orgasm. I need orgasm.
It comes fast and hot with deep pants and helpless moans. But my relief is short-lived. A killer is still after me. Rand is in the next room. And my body isn’t at all satisfied with self-pleasure. It keeps pulsing, my thoughts on a nonstop loop of Rand peeling off his clothes, toeing off his boots, then joining me on the bed as he works his jeans open, spreads me wide, and impales me deep.
Damn, I need to stop thinking like this. I need to stop wanting him and start thinking about my next moves.
A soft knock on the door has me scrambling.