Page 67 of The Small-Town Seduction Plan

Duke’s gaze darkens, and suddenly, the air between us turns charged. “Say that again.”

Lust floods my body at the low command in his voice. “Baby?” I repeat softly, and he sounds a low curse.

“Yeah, you don’t get to call me that,” Duke says hoarsely, closing the distance between us. “Not unless I’m inside you.”

Holy shit.

I would swoon, except he’s already pulling me into his arms, yanking me tight against the broad planes of his body as his mouth captures mine in a hot, demanding kiss.

God. Yes.

This is what I’ve been waiting for all day, all night, but damn, it’s even better. Duke kisses me like a man possessed, his tongue plunging deep between my lips, his hands tangling in my hair. I hold on for dear life, losing myself in the heat of it all, even as the icy waves surge around us.

I can’t get enough.

The feel of his arms around me; the low groan sounding in the back of his throat; the delicious taste of him, still laced with butterscotch from the ice-cream we shared at the festival…

More, my body demands, arching up hungrily. He’s hard against me, and I can’t help grinding into the ridge of his cock. That. Yes. Mine.

“Christ,” Duke pulls back, breathing hard. He’s got a wild look in his eyes now, and damn, I feel it, too. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters.

“From the pneumonia?” I joke breathlessly, still holding on tight around his neck.

“Among other things.” He picks me up and wades back towards shore, carrying me like I’m nothing. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, and let him, my whole body charged and electric like a live wire.

Jesus. If this is what desire has always been like, then the universe owes me a refund. I want my money back, from all those guys who never came close.

By the time we reach dry land, I’m ready to pull Duke down right there in the sand, but he keeps on moving, dragging me back towards his truck. “I’ve learned my damn lesson about you and public places,” he says, practically tossing me up into the passenger seat. “Somebody’s always watching.”

I should be glad he’s got enough sense left not to give the paparazzi another payday, but all I can do is shift in my seat with impatience, as Duke hits the gas, and drives away so fast, it leaves a cloud of dust in our wake.

“Stop it,” he growls, looking over at me as the dark coastal road flies by.

“Stop what?” I ask, feeling fevered.

“Stop making me jealous of that passenger seat.”

I laugh, I have to– it’s either that, or melt in a puddle of pure longing on the floor. “It’s your fault, for making me wait all day,” I tell him, breathlessly. Feeling reckless. Feeling bold. “When I was yours to take, anytime you wanted. Hell, you could have had me in my bed this morning, when I was moaning your name in my pillows while I came.”

“Fuck.”

Duke wrenches the wheel, driving like a madman. I don’t know how we make it back to the cottage without combusting, but somehow I manage to make it to the front door and fumble for my keys. He snatches them from me, and throws the door open. “Upstairs,” he growls, slamming it shut behind us. “Now.”

We don’t even make it halfway up the narrow staircase before I’m up against the wall, pulling him to me, kissing him hard. Duke’s hands are everywhere, pulling at my wet clothes, and god, I’m doing just the same. “Off,” I order, clawing at his T-shirt. “Get it off.”

Duke strips it off, and reaches for me again; hiking my legs up around his waist, and carrying me the last steps to the bedroom. We tumble backwards onto the bed, and I gasp, already wild over the feel of his bare chest beneath me, and the way his hands are gripping tight to my thighs, molding me against him, already moving me on his cock. I try to pull my blouse off, but everything I’m wearing is wet through and stuck to my skin.

“Wait,” I scramble back, onto my feet.

“What are you--?” Duke lifts his head, confused.

And then I start to strip for him.

I was going to just rip it all off and throw myself on him again, but then I see Duke’s expression, and I pause. Because the way he’s looking at me…

He’s staring like I’m a miracle.

I feel a shiver. I’ve had men lusting after my body half my life. Hell, I’ve built a career off it: being sexy, being hot. But this is different, somehow. This is new. He’s not staring at a dolled-up fantasy, or the woman I’m pretending to be.

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