Page 45 of The Woman in the Garage

Almost.

Instead of doing the smart thing—letting go and nurturing a connection I so desperately needed—I let my hands slip from around his neck to go up the sides, then frame his gorgeous face.

Santo’s warm eyes were on me as I went up on my tippy toes so I could press my lips to his.

Just the first brush had little sparks coursing through me, catching fire, spreading.

By the time Santo’s hand went to the back of my neck, fingers almost crushing as his lips slanted over mine again and again, desire was a coiled spring in my core; it twisted tighter with each passing second.

Santo’s teeth nipped my lower lip, and there was no stopping the needy moan that escaped me.

He made that delicious rumbling sound in response, his hands gliding down my back to sink into my ass. Fingers sinking in, he dragged me more fully against him, making me achingly aware of his desire.

We were moving then, Santo walking backward through my home, deftly sidestepping all the various junk lying around until he felt the couch behind him and lowered himself down. He pulled me with him until my legs were on the sides of his, and his hands were dragging me down to straddle him.

I’d never been more thankful that I preferred to wear dresses than I was right when I dropped my hips down onto his lap and felt his hard length against the line of my panties, pressing up against just where I needed the friction the most.

“Really fucking love these dresses,” Santo said, lips against my neck as his hands sank into my ass under my skirt.

“Because of the easy access?” I asked, tipping my head to the side to give him more room to explore, his lips and tongue and the scrape of his stubble making my sex clench hard as he moved over my skin.

His chuckle was deep and sexy and vibrated against the shell of my ear. “Well, that’s part of it… now,” he said, fingers teasing the line of my panties. “But I just like them,” he told me, running his tongue up the side of my ear, making my belly go liquid.

I liked that more than he could know. That he liked how I dressed. The last guy I dated used to complain, saying my dresses always made him feel like he wasn’t dressed nicely enough. Like it was my fault all he owned were ratty jeans and worn-out t-shirts.

Santo’s lips claimed mine again as his hands slipped down from the waistband of my panties, teasing over the bare skin of my ass before moving forward. Over my hips. Across my belly. Then down.

“Fucking drenched for me,” he said as his fingers pressed between my thighs.

The moan rose to meet the pleasure, but the sound got cut off, replaced with a gasp when there was a loud crashing sound coming from the other end of the house.

Santo’s body went as tense as mine, his eyes clearing of desire in a blink.

“It’s probably just an avalanche,” I said, but even I didn’t sound sure of that.

“I’m gonna check,” he said, his hand slipping out of my panties as I moved off of his lap.

I’d love to claim my desire didn’t ratchet right up at the way he jumped into action, how he so confidently strode through my house, ready to face whatever it was that he found.

My mind immediately flashed back to another guy I’d dated. I’d woken up in the middle of the night to a weird noise. And when I’d shaken him awake to ask him to go check it out, he’d rolled over and told me to do it myself if I was that worried about it.

Taking a deep breath, I climbed off the couch, following Santo’s path toward my garage.

It was still one of the messiest parts of the house—second only to the basement. But I had managed to create a walking path down the center. Only now, things were spilled into that path.

“Probably a raccoon or opossum,” Santo said, waving over toward the garage door. “You might want to make sure that’s closed all the way. Raccoons can be nasty.”

My gaze followed his gesture.

And, sure enough, the garage door was up a solid foot and a half.

The thing was, I hadn’t left that open.

I knew for a fact—with one hundred percent certainty—that I hadn’t left it open.

Because I hadn’t even beenableto get it open.

I’d grunted and cursed for half an hour—wanting some fresh air while I worked—trying to get it to move with no luck.

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