Page 41 of Ashes of Saints

“Good god woman, how many drinks did you have?”

“While painting?”

I drop my head into my hands.

This is pointless.

“You need to go to bed,” I say, lifting my face after taking three long breaths. A technique my therapist said would make me a more patient man.

It doesn’t.

Aurora pushes her shake away on the table and tucks her feet underneath her, then flops back on the arm of the sofa lying sideways to me. I stare down at her sexy body and clench my teeth.

She’s so trusting.

And drunk.

Green eyes twinkle invitingly at me.

“Why didn’t you kiss me the other night?” Her arm lifts above her head, the black fabric of her dress tightening around her breast.

Fuck.

I need to get out of here.

I should be driving home and arranging for someone to source the list of attendees at her mother's funeral so I can review them.

“I’m a gentleman.” I move to the edge of the sofa, as if making to leave, and my cock thickens in my pants.

“Did you want to?”

Shit.

“What do you think?” I say and kick myself.

Don’t ask that. Get up and leave. Now.

“I think you want to fuck me.” Her leg stretches out, moving her dress so it exposes more of her thigh. Her bare foot lands on my leg and all I need to do is run my hand up the inside of it. I could so easily slip inside her panties.

Leave!

“Touch me, Parker.”

Fuck.

“I don’t take advantage of drunk women.” I stay where I am, my mouth watering, cock as hard as granite, reminding myself of all the reasons I can’t do this.

“I’m giving you permission.” Aurora purrs. “Touch me.”

Jesus, no. Begging is my fucking kryptonite.

Before I know what is happening, I’m telling my body to stand up and move, but instead I’m twisting to face her, running my hand up her thigh and tugging her so she’s wrapped around me and my mouth is inches from hers.

All in less than two seconds

“Don’t play with fire Aurora.” I growl.

“I want to.”

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