Page 14 of Bringing Home the Bad Boy

"Later," I growl, sweeping her up into my arms. She lets out a small gasp of surprise, but her arms go around my neck, trusting. Always trusting, even after everything.

"Which way to the bedroom, sunshine?"

Her answer is another kiss, one that steals my breath and my sanity. I carry her down the hall, nearly losing my mind when she begins trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck. Her teeth graze my pulse point and my grip tightens reflexively.

The bedroom is ahead, moonlight spilling through gauzy curtains. I set her down, but she immediately presses against me, her body molding to mine in all the right places. When her hands slip under my shirt, nails scratching lightly across my abs, I growl low in my throat.

"I've missed you," she gasps as I back her toward the bed. "Every inch of you."

I strip off my shirt, watching her eyes darken with desire as she runs her hands over my chest, my shoulders, mapping changes time has made. When she leans forward to press her lips to my collarbone, I shudder.

"You're driving me crazy, sunshine."

Her sweater joins my shirt on the floor. The sight of her bare skin in the moonlight nearly brings me to my knees. She'sdifferent now—softer curves, fuller breasts—but still perfect. Still mine. When I lower my mouth to taste her skin, she arches against me with a moan that shatters my control.

Our remaining clothes disappear in a desperate rush. Every touch is electric, every kiss an inferno. She gasps my name as I worship her body, reminding her with lips and hands and tongue how much I've missed her, needed her, loved her.

When we finally come together, it's with an intensity that borders on religious experience. Her nails rake down my back as I move within her, our bodies remembering this dance like we've never been apart. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I think I might die from the pleasure of it.

"Look at me," I demand, needing to see her eyes. When she does, the love I see there nearly undoes me. "You're mine."

"Yours," she agrees, then cries out as I show her exactly what that means.

Later, our bodies cooling in the moonlight, she traces the new scars on my chest while I play with her hair. Everything feels different now. Deeper. Like we've forged something unbreakable in that fierce joining of bodies and souls.

"Tell me everything," she whispers against my skin. "I want to know all of you."

I pull her closer, knowing the peace of this moment can't last. There are still secrets to reveal, still truths that might drive her away. But for now, I just hold her, memorizing the way she fits perfectly in my arms, the way her breath fans across my chest, the way everything else seems to fade away until there is only this.

Only us.

Chapter 7

Why ruin it with questions? God, it's crazy. Stupid. Insane. Necessary. I tell Trace I'd be his lady no matter what. But part of that is the passion speaking. The woman who worried that she'd met the prince only to lose the shoes. Now, the prince is offering the shoes on a velvet pillow. Swearing the shoes don't fit any foot but mine. But Jelena proves that isn't entirely true.

I rub my hand across his chest and waist, enjoying the differences in his body. There's more hair than he'd had as a younger man. His chest is broader. Good God, I could park one of his trucks on his ribcage and still have plenty of room. He strokes my back, his actions mirroring mine.

"Trace," I whisper his name and wait. I made assistant principal three years ago. And if I've learned anything from recalcitrant students, it's—ask and wait. People tend to jump in and fill silence like it's an empty bowl, ladling words instead of teaspooning it.

When he shifts under me, I raise up so that he can have his space. But I don't allow his retreat. "Don't turn away. Talk."

"What version do you want?" he asks, looking at the ceiling. "The sanitized one that I'd share in court or the one where you slice me open, and I leave my guts on the ground."

Sighing, I kiss his chest, lean forward to claim his perfect coral-colored lips, and snatch his gaze. "Just your truth, whatever, and however much you want to share. I don't want to eviscerate you. You said we should get to know each other. We put the cart before the horse, but I still want that—needwhat you offered yesterday. But only if you want to share."

"Just remember," he says in a half-growl. "You asked for it. You don't get to walk away if it's something you don't want to hear. My life hasn't been pretty or fair."

I trace a scar on his chest with my lips, and he sucks in a quick breath. "All I want is you. All of you."

"You'll get more than a little bit of me if you keep that up," he offers with a wry grin. "But here goes... Within a year of leaving you, I was locked up. Jailed for three years. I guess I was determined to prove everything your father said about me was true."

"It wasn't," I say when he stops and seems to wait for either my judgment or condemnation. When I offer nothing other than my ear, he continues.

"It was." His voice is rough, like he's dragging the words from the bottom of his soul. "I was drunk most days. Lost my job for showing up wasted first thing in the morning. Then I did something stupid. Broke into a shoe store. Tried to steal the latest sneakers.Who does that?I didn't even need them. Could've earned them if I'd tried. But I was so angry, so hurt..." He trails off, his hand stilling on my back.

I stay quiet, letting him find his way through the story.

"That's where I met Bandit in lockup. We patched into the Desperadoes together after I got out. With a felony for assaultand robbery, plus a history of being drunk on the job, legitimate work wasn't exactly falling into my lap."

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