Page 69 of Grace on the Rocks

“I’m sure you say that to all the ladies.”

“Ladies, gents,I’mnot fussy,” he teased, immediately regretting being glib, but she laughed nervously, and he pressed his lips to her throat to absorb the vibrations of her mirth.

She stopped laughing then, breathing in sharply, right in his ear, a little whimper that made every hair on his body stand on end.

They snogged on his grandfather’s loveseat for what felt like hours as the sun dipped to almost the horizon on its journey through nautical twilight, never quite setting, as though they had all the time in the world, without looming deadlines or rampant expectations.

The whole while,Bryankept his hands where she could see them, though he desperately wanted to run them the length and breadth of her gorgeous body, cover every inch of silky skin, slip up beneath her sweater before dipping down into her waistband, but he knew better than to rush.

She was an inexpert kisser, although an enthusiastic one, clashing tongues with him like a fencing match, give, then take, changing it up, keeping him guessing.Shekissed with her entire personality, and it was the most intoxicating thing he’d ever experienced.Hecouldn’t get enough.

When she ran a hand over his chest, it made his breath judder to a halt, and when she kept going down the rock-hard length of him aching against his joggers, he thought he might never breathe again.

Then she froze.

Perhaps copping a feel had been an accident.

He opened his eyes.

Hers were wide, a trapped doe, as a flush spread hot across her cheeks like so much spilled bourbon.

“Sorry,” she gasped.

“It’s f-f—It’s…Noworries,” he replied, leaning in to take her mind off it with more kisses, but she turned her head and pulled back.

“I’m on my period,” she whispered.

“All right,” he said, confused. “Iwasn’t trying to?—”

“Of course not,” she interrupted him.

He scanned her eyes, searching for the minefield beneath the surface.Whatwas the right thing to say?Ithad sounded like a brush off.Didshe actually mean she wanted him but was merely offering a warning?Orwas this some kind of fact-sharing game?Everypossible reaction seemed like the wrong one.

“I mean, if you’re keen—” he offered.

“No!Don’tbe ridiculous.”

He tried not to let irritation at her repeated interruptions bloom and spread across his face.Itwas an old wound, one she wasn’t responsible for.

“I’m not,Iwouldn’t,” she said.

“Fine.Onlyif you did, it’s no harm. ’CauseI?—”

“I said no.”

“Right.”Heslid to the edge of the loveseat, staring straight ahead instead of facing her. “Thatyou did.”

“I should go to bed.”Withthat pronouncement she scrambled off the bench careful not to brush against him again. “Lotsto do tomorrow.”

“Aye,” he agreed, bewildered by the change in her.

“Good night,MacNeil,” she said, returning to their earlier formality.

“Night,Rios,” he managed to return, but she didn’t let him get the words out before slipping through the door.

And it wasn’t a good night, not forBryan, as he tossed and turned, unsure what had happened, what she thought of him, what she wanted from him.Morningand a chance for a fresh start on that stone wall couldn’t come soon enough.

ChapterSeventeen

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