Page 43 of Brewing Up a Bad Boy

“Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could. I need you.”

“You do?” she asked playfully, drawing him farther into the yard.

The spill of amber light from the house and the silvery shine from the moon kept the darkness at bay. The summer air was rife with brambleberries and a rich, earthy scent, which stirred that primitive part of him.

He lifted her off her feet, and she undid the knot at her side as she wrapped her legs around his hips. Cupping her butt with his hands, he stroked her through her thin cotton panties. She deepened the kiss, her breasts pressing against his chest.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he glanced around the yard. There was a picnic table. Bending over, he scooped up her scarf as he continued to hold her.

“I love your strength,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yes. All these muscles and the power... You always were so strong physically.”

“Is that a compliment?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said. “Will you get naked for me?”

“I was planning to.”

“I don’t mean just the sex parts,” she said as he set her on her feet next to the table.

She whipped her shirt over her head and tossed it on one of the chairs, standing next to him in a plain cotton bra and knickers.

“Ladies first,” he said, but only because he knew that the moment he was naked, he’d be on her, and he wasn’t going to come up for air until he was buried hilt deep in her.

She shook her head, her curls bouncing around her shoulders as she reached behind her back. A moment later, the cups fell away, and she shrugged out of the bra, drawing it slowly down her body. “Now you.”

He almost ripped his T-shirt in his hurry to get it off, tossing it behind him, his eyes on her body as her hands roamed over him. Her fingers moving along his chest, his pecs. She took her time exploring him, as if it was the first she’d seen of him.

He’d gotten a new tattoo since the last time they were naked together. He noticed that she still had her belly-button ring and that freckle cluster under her left rib. Had anyone else discovered these beautiful secrets since then?

She traced the tattoo over and looked up at him. “Why this?”

A broken teacup hidden in the Celtic symbol for rebirth. To him, it was his break from the family. The start of his own path, and a reminder that he wasn’t whole. That there was an emptiness that he was always trying to fill. That anger and arrogance wouldn’t fill it.

“To remind myself that I’m not Lancaster-Spencer,” he said.

“Good. I’m glad,” she said, then she traced the tattoo that was over his heart with her tongue. Her hair brushed against his skin, and he groaned, realizing that he might not need to have his pants off to lose control.

A broken bad boy. Almost like Alistair knew that was the one thing she couldn’t resist. He’d probably never thought of himself that way, at least not until whatever had happened at Lancaster-Spencer, but she’d always secretly seen him as such. That rich man-boy that everyone tried cultivating a friendship with. The one who wanted for nothing, who seemed to have a path to success just because of his pedigree. But she’d always seen past that.

Which was why it had been so much easier to get over him when they were in separate countries.

Tonight, on the walk up the Tor, the wariness she’d kept between them as a shield had floated away on the breeze. There was no going back. Right now, there wasn’t a situation she could conceive of in which she’d need it. Not any longer.

His skin was warm and tasted of salt and sweat. That sandalwood scent that he’d put on earlier was stronger here. She rubbed her nose in it as she closed her eyes, creating this memory for herself. It had been so long since they’d actually slept together. The other night had whetted her appetite for him.Ha.As if there had been a time when she hadn’t wanted him.

His hand was on the back of her neck, fingers kneading and massaging. Stepping back, he slid both hands down her neck to her shoulders, then paused to cup her breasts.

“You’re so beautiful. Even more so in the moonlight. It’s like... Never mind, I’ll sound an idiot,” he cut himself off.

“Say it, I’m not going to judge you.”

It was as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t make himself.

Wrapping her hand around his bicep. “I love how strong your arms are, and when you held me in front of your house, it made me wet just thinking about them.”

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