Page 20 of Saving Jared

He winced as she gingerly felt along the sides of his nose and lightly pressed over the bridge. She applied more pressure to the right side.

“Does this hurt?”

“A little.”

“And this?” She used the same pressure on the other side.

“Ow," he complained, grabbing her wrist while peering into her mirth-filled gaze. "I thought you said you’d be gentle."

"I barely touched you." Her lips twitched some more. She was definitely laughing at him. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“I’m not a baby. But, damn, you have a hard head.”

“I’ve been told that before." She grinned as she continued to feel around his nose. "Well, it’s not broken," she said, dropping her hands. "But it might not hurt to put some ice on it."

“What about you?" he murmured, searching her face. She was close—their bodies nearly touching—but not close enough. His gaze dropped to her parting lips, while his hands took her by the hips—squeezing ever so slightly. "Did you hurt yourself when you abused my face?”

She barely shook her head.

"Let’s make sure." He squeezed her hip with one hand and lifted the other to feel along the back of her head. He liked how her eyes nearly fluttered closed when he tenderly smoothed over her hair. He’d missed out on seeing her reactions in the dark. Her next stuttering, deep breath brushed her breasts against his chest. “Hmm…”

“What?” she whispered, reaching back and tangling her fingers with his. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his lips, then back. “Do I have a lump or something?”

Their eyes locked. He’d bet anything her nipples were hard, just as parts of him had gone harder with each heartbeat. But with his jacket in the way it was hard to say. They had too many layers between them.

“No," he said, trailing his hand to her jaw. "But my nose still hurts. Will you kiss me and make it better?” He cupped her face and ran his thumb to the corner of her luscious lips. He’d missed her taste and the smoothness of her skin.

Her widening eyes flicked from his to his nose, then back. “You mean kiss it—your nose—and make it better.”

“No." He lowered his mouth and ghosted his lips over hers. "Kiss me.” They shared a breath. “Nothing would make me feel better than that.”

"Well…" She licked her lips and he nearly came unglued. "My job is to help those in need," she murmured, lifting to barely touch her wet lips to his. "So, I guess I’ll have to."

Her lips parted beneath his and he took the invitation. No hints of coffee or sweets or any other flavors filled him as he crushed his mouth against hers. Just…

Willa.

He needed more. So, he leaned back against the counter, pulling her with him, until her body molded to his. She was a perfect fit—just as he’d remembered. Her busy, clever hands ran between them, going down to the top of his jeans. He moaned into her mouth as his shirttails came loose before she pushed at his jacket.

"God, Willa," he groaned as he lifted her trembling weight. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he turned and took the few steps to the table. The wooden surface was just the right height, so he set her on the edge before shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it behind him. Then he settled himself between her legs opening wider, before she once more wrapped them around him. It was relief, but not enough, when her core pressed against his aching cock straining his zipper. But he would take it where he could find it.

For now.

"Jared," she whimpered as she ground against him and wound her arms around his neck.

"Shhh… Shhh… I’ve got you, honey."

Their lips met again as she plastered herself against him. And though they’d only been parted mere moments, it was like coming home for him.

I’m definitely in trouble.

The implications of his thoughts didn’t register as their lips tasted and tongues tangled, while his hands traced over her shoulders and down her back. Nothing and no one else mattered.

Not the back porch screen door banging as his hand tightened on her bun while he plundered her mouth. Not the feminine voice raised in anger accompanying boots stomping across the wooden porch as his other hand worked its way under Willa’s t-shirt.

Only Willa.

Willa, who stiffened in his arms with Kinsley’s loud, "I still don’t like it," when the kitchen door slammed open. "Asshat Fre—"

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