Gabe might be a sweetheart, but there’s no way I can make it through an evening with the man without blurting:Do you know how many orgasmsI imagined you giving me while I was under my polka-dot comforter late at night?
The answer? Countless.
But the man wasn’t only my teenage crush. He was my college fantasy too. When I saw him at his aunt’s eggnog-tasting party, I pictured him throwing me over his shoulder and stalking up the stairs, then manhandling me against the door of her guest room.
Stop, Ellie. Just stop.
I can’t linger on those dirty dreams.
I’m simply going to act…cool, casual, and totally unruffled by the filthy forbidden fantasies of my younger years.
I head into the speakeasy. Sensual lounge music greets me, a tune about how longing can drive you mad. It’s the kind of song you listen to on a hot afternoon as the fan rattles overhead, and you pour a stiff drink while lingering on thoughts of a lover.
Not helpful, sound system.
I should have suggested an alternative to Gin Joint. Counter offered with the Surf Shack or Tony’s Beachside Darts and Brew. Something easy with fries and margaritas and sunlight.
Gin Joint is low lights, pulsing music, and plush velvet couches. It’s foreplay.
But I’ve got this. I’mReformed Ellietonight, and I’m on a good-guy mission.
I avoid the chaise lounges and head straight for the bar. The bar is safer than the inch-closer-to-me vibe of the couch. As I weave past couples and groups of guys and gals, I’m hunting for the six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, steel-chested football player. But I don’t see Gabe, so I set my helmet on the bar, grabbing a stool at the end of the sleek metal counter. I’ll just take a moment to catch my breath before he comes in.
As I hop up on a black stool, a big hand spreads across my lower back, right below my tank.
On my exposed flesh.
It could be any guy, but instinctively, I know it’s Gabe.
Big and strong.
Then, as his fingers tug on the end of my tank, a deep, growly voice floats past my ear. “Better than jean shorts.”
So much for Cool Ellie. I’m already lava hot.
8
EARLY BEDTIME
Ellie
I turn to face my good-guy date, breath hitching as I take in his dark, broody eyes, and his lush lips.
Then, the rest of him.
And Gabe looksgoooooodin well-worn jeans that hug his thighs and a black T-shirt that stretches deliciously over his pecs. Not too tight and sayinglook at me, but not too loose and saying he doesn’t care.
The whole casual ensemble is just right for this Goldilocks.
His T-shirt hits his biceps, showing off the ink on his right arm. His skin is lined with black art, from flames to abstract geometric designs, with stars and sunbursts curving over and under the fine lines.
A well-designed sleeve makes me murmuroh, yes.
My curious gaze travels to his face once more. His mouth is sinful, and his dark chocolate brown eyes are already undressing me.
“You look good, Ellie Snow,” he says, in a sexy rasp that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. “And I knew pink would be just your color.”
My brain goes haywire with lust.