Page 69 of All Signs Point to Malibu

I stop and give him a warm look. “Thank you,” I say with more sincerity than I’ve ever felt in my life. My gift has guided me to a lucrative, successful career, but I’ve never had help from another person before. No mentor, no support system... It feels nice.

Warren stops and turns toward me. “No problem,” he says gruffly.

We are standing toe-to-toe and looking deep into one another’s eyes.

A moment of tension simmers between us and the next we’re reaching for one another. Warren grabs my face and his mouth crushes mine with a passionate desperation.

I wrap my arms around his neck and jump, wrapping my legs around his waist. He grabs me and supports my weight with his hands under my ass as he deepens the kiss. My hands tangle in his hair as all the tension and buildup over the last few weeks comes pouring out in the impulsive yet inevitable kiss.

Warren lowers me to the poker table, scattering chips everywhere, and leans over me as we continue to make out. Hands and lips frantic as we kiss as though we can’t get enough of one another.

Maybe he’s been missing me too this past week.

His hands clutching my waist and his mouth searching mine certainly indicate that this has been a long time coming for him.

My body sparks to life and I raise my hips to connect with his as I slip my tongue between his lips and force his head even closer. I don’t want the kiss to end and I can’t get close enough to him, can’t get deep enough into this embrace.

Warren’s hands hold me tight to him, then one drifts to the edge of my tank top. His fingers slip beneath the fabric and goose bumps surface on my skin as he gently tickles along my waistline just below my belly button. His hand slides higher, dragging the fabric upward as he trails along my ribcage.

I can’t breathe and all I feel is longing as I pray for his hand to move higher...

But it doesn’t.

Fuck, his restraint and respectfulness is even hotter than if he’d ravaged me like a selfish caveman.

He pulls back reluctantly and his gaze burns into mine.

His silent question is met with an enthusiastic, resounding head nod.

Yeah, I fucking want this.

Warren picks me up, and my mouth presses against his again as he blindly, clumsily carries me up the stairs and into his room. We crash against the wall and door frame and I’ll probably find bruises in the morning, but I feel nothing but pleasure in the heat of the moment.

We break away from one another, panting for air, as we enter the room and I barely take in the surroundings as he tosses me onto the bed. There could be football-themed bedsheets and I wouldn’t care.

He climbs onto the bed next to me as I sit up and lift my hands above my head and nod at his questioning look. His fingers tickle my skin as he lifts the edge of my shirt over my stomach, slowly up over my ribcage, over my breasts and then up over my head.

Static catches my hair and I shake the strands around my shoulders.

His gaze takes in my lacy bra and breasts swelling over the top. The look of appreciation and desire steals my breath.

Warren Mitchell is a player. Making women feel desirable is his thing.

Yet, he’s looking at me as if he’s never seen breasts before and it’s absolutely intoxicating.

Well, if the sight of my bra is blowing his mind...

I reach around and unclasp the bra. I slowly slide it down over one arm, then the other, then let it fall away from my body.

Warren’s desire burns in his gaze as I take his hands and place them on my breasts. He moans and the pleasure running through me at his touch is far from expected. I’ve been touched before...not recently and my body count doesn’t exactly make me an expert at intimacy, but I know his touch affects me more than any other ever has.

He massages gently as he moves closer and lowers his head to my neck. He kisses tenderly along my flesh and my entire body reacts. Goose bumps cover every inch of my skin as I cling to his broad shoulders, my fingers digging into him. His five o’clock stubble tickles my skin from my ear to the hollow of my collar bone and I want to feel that sensation on every inch of my body.

“Hailstorm...” he mutters against my skin.

The sound of my nickname on his lips isn’t taunting or teasing and for the first time, I don’t tell him to stop calling me that.

In fact, I don’t want to stop anything he’s doing.

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