Page 75 of The Thought of You

She was right. Liking him—and acting on it—will lead to nothing but trouble for me, but is the what-if worth it? Is not knowing what we could be worth the possible backlash at work?

“Shit,” I mutter as I tap on my screen to make a call.

Owen answers on the first ring, and at the sound of his voice, I clench my thighs together, my skin sizzling with the rumble of his simple greeting.

I blow out an unsteady breath. “I’m ready to beg, okay?”

“What room are you in?” He follows his question with what I can only discern as a strangled grunt.

“Riverview Inn and Suites, room 115.” I resume pacing. “Were you already on your way back to Sapphire Creek? How long will it take for you to turn around?”

Silence answers me.

“Owen?” I pull the phone back and realize he’s ended the call.

What the hell?

The man is simply incorrigible! He insists I beg, and when I tell him I’m ready, he disappears. What kind of game is that?

The no-good, frustrating giant with too-big muscles and an eye-twitching personality. How dare he be so?—

A knock on the door sounds, interrupting the tirade of unsavory things I’d like to say to him next time I see him.

But when I open the door and find him leaning on the frame, I nearly swallow my tongue. My tirade won’t be necessary after all.

“How did you get here so fast?”

“I’ve been waiting in the parking lot for your call.” Owen steps into the room, and I move backward with every foot he eats up, matching him stride for stride. “And I’m damn glad you did.”

“Really?” The word leaves my mouth in a squeak.

“I’ve been waiting for you for days—maybe even years, if I’m being honest with you and myself.” He rams his fingers into my hair as my back hits the grooves of the fireplace, the mantel hovering above my head. “I’m a mess. I think about you nonstop. You’re all I see during class. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Lockhart, but I fucking love it.”

Gasping, I cling to his shirt until I dig my knuckles into his ab muscles.

“Beg for me,” he says, but it’s more of a plea too. “Beg for my mouth. My touch. The way I make you feel. Beg for me,” he whispers, maintaining a firm twelve inches between our lips.

“Kiss me, Owen. Please.” Did that come from me? I don’t sound like myself. My voice is breathy and dripping with lust. “I need you to kiss me. I just… I need you.”

I never thought the day would come where I’d beg Owen Conrad to kiss me… but here we are.

And I don’t regret a single second.

“That’s right, baby.” His hold on my hair tightens on either side of my head, the extra tension heady. He’s clearly hanging on by a thread—or a strand, in this case—and it’s turning me on, hurling me into levels of horny I’ve never succumbed to. “Tell me how badly you need me to kiss you.”

“So damn bad,” I say on an exhale as he presses his body against mine. “Please. I can’t take it any longer. I need you to freaking kiss me before I explode.”

A low growl erupts from deep in his chest, and it vibrates between us. He shifts his hold on me, dropping his large hand to cup my cheek. “Finally,” he rasps and leans in, but I don’t angle my face to the side in time.

The bill of his hat hits my forehead, and I wince.

“Fuck. Sorry.” He releases my hair and swivels his hat until it rests backward on his head, the bill out of sight and no longer a problem.

“You should wear your hat backward from now on,” I say softly.

“Yeah?”

“That way, I can easily kiss you whenever I want.”

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