Page 19 of The Worst Man

I nodded slightly, my eyes dropping down to stare at the puddle of condensation circling the base of my glass.

“Please look at me, Miranda.” Slowly—hesitantly—I raised my eyes back up to his. “Believe me when I say that none of those women mattered. You’re the one that I want.”

“I believe you. I do. But it turns out that I’m insanely jealous of them. I know it’s ridiculous and it makes me look weak and insecure, but …” I blew out a frustrated breath. That was the extent of it. There was no but. I was insecure about Hank’s past and how it might impact the future he claimed to want with me, and that made me weak. Which made me feel even worse because I despised weak, simpering women who measured their worth by the stock men placed in them.

“You think I enjoyed seeing how comfortable you were with Samuel in Vegas? We’ve been going to that conference for three years, and every year I’ve wondered why you are so much more relaxed around him than you’ve ever been with me.”

“I’m relaxed around you now,” I countered.

Hank smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “True. But finding out that you used to date was like a punch to the solar plexus. I like Samuel, truly I do, but when I saw the way he touched you and how he spoke of old times so fondly, I wanted to drown him in the fountains outside the Bellagio.”

I lifted my lips in a rueful grin. “You don’t have anything be jealous of, I assure you. We are much better friends than lovers.” I left it there, unsure whether or not I should explain why. I didn’t know how open Samuel was about his kink, and besides, it wasn’t my secret to tell.

Hank groaned and leaned back, slapping his palm over his eyes. “And now I’m picturing him fucking my wife.”

Something about the way his voice sounded when he spoke pulled at a hidden place deep inside of me. Some strange, dormant emotion I’d never known existed. I wouldn’t have thought myself capable of it, but a part of me enjoyed being claimed by him in such a gruff, proprietary way. “Say that again.”

His hand fell from his face and one eye shot open. “You want to talk about another man fucking my woman? Don’t tell me you’ve got some Indecent Proposal fetish I wasn’t aware of.”

I laughed out loud at his response, which loosened some of the tension that had taken root in my soul. “No, Hank. I don’t have an Indecent Proposal fetish. Besides, even if I did, Samuel’s no Robert Redford, and he certainly doesn’t have a million dollars laying around to spend on one night with me,” I joked, recalling the synopsis of the 1993 movie starring Redford, Demi Moore, and Woody Harrelson. Incidentally, it too had taken place in Las Vegas.

“Can we please stop talking about what it would take for Samuel to be able to fuck you again?”

I clamped my mouth shut and leaned back in my seat, bringing my bare heels up onto the edge and bracing my chin against my knees. I stared at Hank, who stared back at me. We sat that way for several long seconds until he blew out a breath and ran his hands through his hair, sliding them backward until he linked his fingers together behind his neck. “Okay, I get what you’re saying now.”

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I hate learning this about myself.”

“It doesn’t, and it’s okay,” he said, his eyes finding the harbor again. “We’ll start looking for a new place tomorrow.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No, I’m not mad. I see what you’re saying. It feels terrible, picturing him laying in your bed, your body curled around his.” He pulled me in tighter against him, and in one quick, fluid movement, hefted us both up and out of his chair.

I yelped in surprise as he strode through the open doors, past the kitchen, and straight up the stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” I gasped, anticipation pooling in my belly … and lower. I’d learned a few things about myself this past week. Chief among them that when it came to sex, when Hank got all growly on dominant with me, I was puddy in his supremely talented hands.

“Where does it look like I’m taking you?” he asked, turning down the hall toward his bedroom. Kicking open the door, he moved to the foot of the bed and set me down on the edge of his mattress.

In one quick move, he had my blouse off over my head and my skirt and underwear in a pile at my feet. His own shirt swiftly followed, and then he was kicking his way out of his designer denim. Setting his hand to my sternum, he pressed me down onto the mattress until I was flat on my back, his lean, hard body looming over me. Taking his cock in hand, he lined himself up until he was positioned at my center, his thick, hard shaft nudging at my opening where he found me wet and ready for him. He paused. “Yes?”

I nodded my assent. “Oh my god, y—”

Before I could even get the words out, he entered me in one hard, driving thrust, and just like in my dream, I came apart, screaming his name in a voice that didn’t sound like me. He linked our hands together above my head, his hips pumping into me as he chased his own release. “I’m yours. No one but yours,” he said, squeezing my hands tightly. “Let me hear you say it.”

“You’re mine,” I repeated, feeling the ghost of another orgasm creeping up on me as my back bowed up off the mattress, chasing the rush.

“And you’re mine,” he bit out, sweat glistening on his brow in the hot July afternoon as he filled me with his love.

“And I’m yours,” I agreed when he collapsed down next to me. “Always.”

Keep reading for a sneak peek at the first book in the Rocky Cove Series, where you’ll meet Hank’s best friend David Carstairs and find out how he found love with the most unlikely partner you can imagine.

One perfect night with a man I just met ... what could possibly go wrong?

Last night I met the most perfect man. With his crystalline blue eyes and sexy five o’clock shadow, David Carstairs was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. Add in his dry wit and easy charm, and I was hooked.

What started as a conversation about our favorite books led to the most romantic night of my life. And by the time he dropped me off at my hotel this morning, I was already halfway in love with the man.

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