Page 84 of American Hellhound
Then the reality of it hit her. “So that’s why Stephanie painted that on my car. To tell everyone I’m a groupie.”
“Baby, ain’t a person in this city who’d look at you and think that.”
“No.” Her voice turned dull and flat. “Those are just the kind of women you’re actually attracted to.” And why hadn’t she thought of that earlier? Because she was sixteen and stupid. Had she really thought a guy like Ghost – an outlaw, for God’s sakes – wasn’t drowning in women? Women who would do anything – who weren’t stranded debutantes with angry mothers and homework?
She started to shift away.
His arm tightened. “Hey,” he said, softer. “Hold up.”
“No, I’m being stupid…”
“Mags.” She looked at him, utterly helpless when he called her that. His expression was serious. “I’m divorced, I’m not dead. But I…I haven’t been with anybody since I met you.” His cheeks colored, and a muscle flexed in his jaw, like he was embarrassed by his own admission, but didn’t want to break eye contact.
“You haven’t?”
“I’ve been a little preoccupied with this gorgeous jailbait blonde who’s been driving me crazy.”
She swallowed. “’Jailbait’ doesn’t feel like a compliment.”
“The truth isn’t that complimentary, in my experience. And Ididsay gorgeous. That’s trueandit’s a compliment.”
She had to smile again, and he smiled in return.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I couldn’t have made it through this stupid week without you.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice was a deep velvet purr, vibrating through his chest. His eyes went to her mouth.
Weeks ago, kissing him had felt reckless and stupid. Now, it felt like seeking comfort, like leaning into something strong and dependable. It felt like something sheneeded. So she stretched up and pressed her mouth to his.
Nineteen
Then
This kiss, their third,this one, was the best.So far, she thought with a giddy thrill, because he just kept kissing her, and there were bound to be more.
She felt the warm, rough pads of his fingers against her cheek as he cupped her face. His arm dropped to her waist and pulled her closer, up into his lap. Which turned out to be a very good place to be: his strong thighs beneath her, his chest supporting her, his arms a shelter as his mouth slanted against hers. It wasperfect. It was almost too much. Sensory overload.
His hand pushed back through her hair, and when he broke the kiss, she whimpered – a sound that turned into a startled little gasp as he skimmed his lips along her jaw, to the sensitive place just beneath her ear, to the side of her throat he’d just revealed. “Oh,” she said, chills coursing through her. His mouth was hot against her pulse, lips opening, tongue touching her. She closed her eyes and leaned into it.
His hand moved to the other side of her neck, holding up her heavy head. The other slid down to her ass, broad sweeps across the swells, squeezing.
Her hips shifted, even as the rest of her went boneless, a restless seeking of friction. She needed him,neededhim. Too-warm and damp between her legs, her jeans too tight. Too many clothes, and not enough skin.
This was what it felt like to want someone. Not the aimless, innocent curiosity of seeing him on the street. Not thinking he was beautiful, and dark, and rough, and wondering if he’d bite like a wild dog if she reached out to him. Virgin or not, her body was sending her very explicit demands about where she wanted his hands, his mouth…his cock. God, shewantedhim. Wanted him inside her.
He kissed the collar of her throat, tongued her collarbones. Lifted his head and kissed her mouth again, licked inside her, wilder, more demanding, hand tightening on her ass.
She needed to touch him, now. Not just rest her hands on his chest, but get to his skin and dig her nails in.
“Can I?” she asked, panting against his lips, as she fingered the hem of his shirt.
He sucked in a breath. “Damn, baby. Yeah, yeah, touch me all you want.”
She leaned back far enough to push his shirt up to his neck; the air was cool on her damp lips, tingling, and she missed kissing him – but oh, the view. Golden tan and more defined than any man she’d ever seen in person; heavy pecs and a discreet six-pack. Something in her own stomach clenched at the sight, another desperate surge of desire.
He inhaled sharply when she put her hands on his chest, slid them down slowly, flicking at his nipples with her nails. A quiet breath of, “Jesus.”
She traced the stark grooves between his abs, watching them tense and leap beneath the pads of her fingers. When she started down the narrow trail of dark hair that led downward from his navel, he caught her hand in his.
