Page 20 of Wild Hearts

"So fucking pretty," he murmurs.

I sway closer to him, my body suddenly lethargic. I want a repeat of our first kiss, but he keeps the distance between us, teasing me with the slow drag of his thumb over my mouth.

Emboldened, my tongue peeks out for a quick little lick, causing his eyes to darken with need as they return to mine.

"My baby wants to play?" The endearment spoken in his possessive tone shoots straight to my clenching core.

Despite the cool fall weather, sweat gathers on my skin as arousal blazes a path from my breasts to the throbbing of my clit.

Until the intense moment is broken by kids bursting through the shop door.

I jerk away from Wes, embarrassed to be caught in such an intimate position. Holy fuck, what just happened? I was minutes away from crawling into his lap and begging for a kiss—on a public patio where anyone could see us.

"I… I think we should probably go. My clothes need to be put away, and so do yours." I stand abruptly, the metal chair scraping against the concrete sidewalk.

"Baby… I mean... fuck. Grace, wait!”

Wes’s truck is parked next to my car, so there’s not much space between us but it could be an ocean after the intimacy of earlier.

"I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have… Shit, I don't know what I was doing." He reaches out before stopping himself, crossing his arms instead and causing the muscles to flex with his restraint.

"It's fine," I say, overly chipper. "But we were done eating, and I really need to get home, so..."

Please don’t push this.

I don’t regret what happened, but I also don’t know how to process it right now. Which means putting some distance between me and Wes so I can think straight.

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you around?"

"Sure!" An awkward smile stretches my cheeks as I sink into the driver’s seat.

Before exiting the parking lot, I glance in the rearview mirror. Wes has both hands on the hood of his truck, his head bowed between them, and I wonder what the hell all of this means.

CHAPTER EIGHT

WES

Grace is on my mind for the rest of the night.

I shouldn't have touched her. The day had been perfect until I fucked it up by trying to put a move on her.

But catching her look of appreciation had short-circuited my self-control. I gladly would’ve laid back and let her gaze to her heart's content if it meant having her eyes on me.

And the temptation to see if there was more behind Grace’s perusal was too much to resist, especially when I’ve been craving another kiss from her for weeks.

She'd seemed as drunk on the moment as me. The flush of desire on her skin couldn't be faked.

Hell, she licked me!

The brief touch had sent fire straight to my cock before everything ended as quickly as it began, and she fled like a hunted doe in the forests surrounding Suitor’s Crossing.

Deciding to add salt to the wound, I search for the books we talked about at the laundromat because curiosity gnaws at my gut. I need to know more about that Bingley guy and why her friends think Grace belongs with someone like him.

Clicking on the first link for Jane Bennet, an article loads that describes a kind, intelligent, and beautiful girl.

Definitely Grace.

The author uses a similar description for Charles Bingley. Both characters are gentle personalities who see the best in people—a perfect fucking match.

---