Page 134 of Holding On To Good

She rose onto her toes and met him halfway.

Together. They were in this together.

Their lips touched and a hard, heady shock went through Willow’s body. His fingers tightened on her waist, his other hand lifting to stab into her hair. But he didn’t just hold her head steady for his kiss. His fingers rubbed her scalp, his hand moving through her hair, clutching a handful of it then combing through the short strands.

He leaned back, breaking the kiss so abruptly she would’ve toppled over if he hadn’t steadied her, that hand on her waist keeping her upright. His gaze raked over her hair, fierce and strangely possessive.

“Better,” he murmured.

Surprised, confused, she glanced at the French doors where her image was reflected against the dark glass. No longer smooth, her hair stuck out at odd angles, waving wildly as it usually did when not straightened into submission.

She lifted her hand, grazed the ends of her hair above her ear. Had to force herself not to slick it back again. “You didn’t like it?”

“I liked it.”

“Then wh—”

“I didn’t like that you did it that way for someone else.”

Her heart simply fell. It wasn’t the least bit fair how he left her stunned and speechless with a few words.

“I’m not crazy about that shirt, either,” he continued softly, his gaze skimming over her shoulders then down to her torso.

The heat of his gaze had her breasts growing heavy. Her nipples tightening. They jutted against the material of her tank top, visible proof of her desire.

Visible proof she wasn’t wearing a bra.

His expression turned ferocious. “Turn around.”

Captured by the command in his tone, she turned without thought. Without question. Facing the kitchen, breath held, she waited, could feel his eyes on her, taking in the four sets of double straps that crisscrossed her otherwise bare back.

“Fucking shirt.”

Contrary to the harsh words, his tone was husky. Soft. Almost like a benediction.

And spoken so closely to her, his breath washed across the nape of her neck.

She turned then watched, mesmerized, as Urban slowly lifted his hand. He hesitated, his fingertips mere millimeters from touching her. Met her eyes.

Giving her a chance to step back. To say no.

To change her mind.

But it was too late for that. Too late for second guessing. She was too far gone and wanted him far too much to stop now.

Reaching for him, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and placed his hand on her breast.

His fingers twitched and they both watched as he cupped her breast. It was an incongruous sight, his large tanned hand, calloused and scarred, against the silky material of her shirt. The soft swell of her breast.

He lifted his head and held her gaze as he dragged the pad of his thumb across the tip of her nipple. Once. Twice. Three times.

The touch was light. Too light. More teasing than satisfying, it had need seeping into her like a drug until it thrummed through every inch of her body and she had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering. To keep from asking for more.

But then Urban bent his head and took the opposite nipple into his mouth, sucking on it through her shirt. His mouth was hot. Wet. Each light pull was met with a responding tug low in her belly. Between her thighs.

He let go then blew on the damp cloth and her nipple puckered even more. Then, looking up at her, he opened his mouth and scraped his teeth gently against it.

She moaned, the sound coming from deep within her throat.

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