Page 122 of Grace on the Rocks

Grace turned around then, straddling his lap, and for a moment, she outlined his fine lips with her thumb before capturing them with her own, losing herself in the swirl of heat and sensation, kissing until the bathwater turned tepid and they abandoned the tub for his bed.

Once stretched out facing each other in his soft, clean sheets, however,Gracelost some of the bravado she’d found in the tub.

“You are truly breathtaking,” he said, and she hid her face shyly in the pillow. “Rios,Imean it.”Hetook her hand away from her face and interlaced their fingers once more. “Breathtaking.”

“I don’t know what to do now,” she admitted.

“Lady’s choice,” he reminded her, cupping her face in his hands and looking deep into her eyes before kissing her again. “Don’toverthink it,” he breathed.

“What ifIcan’t?”

“It’ll still be fun,” he promised. “Ourdeadlines are over.There’sno goals here.Onlypleasure.”

No braggadocios,Challengeaccepted, baby.Ican make you come.Justpure acceptance of time spent together, joy in the companionship and whatever else they got up to, without an end goal.

“That’s a novel concept for an overachiever.”

“I believe in you,” he whispered, grinning at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Grace traced theCelticbee on his forearm once more, back and forth in a soothing sort of way. “Youknow when we first met,Icalled youMr.Beein my head.”

He chuckled at that and made a buzzing sound before kissing her earlobe.

“Did you get this because your family took away yourB?”

He tilted his head in surprise and then rolled onto his back, bending his arm up at the elbow so they could both see the tattoo. “Maybea little,” he said, like it actually surprised him to realize it.

She snuggled closer, still fingering his tattoo, and he took a breath.

“WhenIwas about seven, there was a bumblebee on the playground.Itswing was damaged after a kid gave it a good whack with their workbook.Couldn’tfly and they wanted to step on it, butIgot it into my lunchbox and took it toGrandad’s.”

“It didn’t sting you?”Graceasked.

“I was theCrocodileHunter, remember?Anyway,Grandadfound me an old cigar box.Thehinge was broken, so it wouldn’t close, and we filled it with moss and rocks and planted a few fragrant flowers.Therewas even a little tin can filled with water.”

“You had a pet bee.”Herheart was officially a melted puddle of warmth.Shereally could not love him more.

“I did.CalledhimBrandon.”

“Brandon theBee,” she cooed.

“Aye.Tookhim outside every day for sunshine.Kepthis flowers fresh.Ithink he was happy in his little cigar box home.”

“Your first renovation,” she said, and he laughed out loud.God, she could get used to the sound of theStoicScotlaughing.

“Grew rather obsessed with saving the bees after that.Muchto the annoyance of the neighbors.”

Grace didn’t know what to say, so she raised up and kissed his tattoo.Bryanbrushed the hair out of her eyes and ran his thumb down her chin, drawing her up to his lips for another kiss, long and sweet.

“Will you touch me?” she finally asked.

“It would be my absolute pleasure,” he whispered, leaning over to kiss her as he spidered his fingers softly down her neck and along each breast, making her breath change each time he brushed in an unexpected direction.

He smoothed his hands over her belly, along her bottom, cupping her in a way that caused heat to build within her, and then traced the rim of her hip around to the sensitive inside of her thigh.

He touched her everywhere until she was almost rocking with desire, teasing her until she hesitantly guided his hand between her legs.

“Needy,” he whispered, grinning as he tugged at the tight, bath-damp curls for a moment before moving back up to her breasts, determined to make her squirm.

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