Page 9 of Tice's Kind of Trouble
“Dammit,” Tice rasps against my mouth, “I need to stop.”
But I fist his shirt, locking him to me, raking my desperate nipples against his chest, murmuring, “No. Please don’t.”
Tice’s body flexes, the ridge in his pants glaringly hard, incredibly big. “Careful, Bethany, this is dangerous territory.”
With a rough swallow, I lean into the feeling that’s expanding behind my breastbone. “I trust you to keep me safe.”
He looks up at the ceiling, his lungs working hard, his body strung into rock-like ropes of muscle.
“Let’s…” he bites out, “go inside. You don’t need to deal with me right now.”
A whoosh of cool air hits me when he takes his heat away. Sudden awareness that we’re in his garage falls back into place, like reality materializing in the mist.
Whew.
That was intense. My lips are hot, full, and more than a little bereft.
But I feel grounded.Safe.
And when Tice laces thick, calloused fingers between mine, tucking my hand against his palm and pulling me toward the door to the inside of his house, I know that something fundamental has happened.
Maybe it was love at first sight.
If nothing else, it’s blatant that our chemistry is going to set something on fire.
Or break my heart.
Tice opens the door, letting a cool blast of air out.
Clean. It smells fresh. And vaguely like…
“Is that basil?”
“You’re very perceptive.”
“Absolutely.” A grin turns my lips as I walk next to him down a long hallway. “I’m curious about you.”
“Well, I was cooking last night.” His gaze falls down my body before looking into my eyes. “Alone.”
The crackling hot awareness grows more—this time mixed with possessiveness.
I hadn’t even thought about Tice entertaining, but now that he said he was alone, I’m immensely pleased. “What did you make?”
Desperately curious, I watch his profile as we near the entryway to a massive kitchen.
“Hand-thrown pizza,” he offers a quick grin, “with basil.”
“Sounds delicious.”
Tice stops my forward motion, using my hand to spin me toward him. His other hand hooks the belt loop on my jeans and cinches my front against his front again.
“It was pizza, Bethany. It wasn’t delicious.You’refucking delicious.”
My mouth parts, but no sound comes out. I’m too busy choking on my shock.
A devilish grin tilts up Tice’s lips. “I like the way you look at me. Now stop. Make yourself at home. I’m going to make that call to the police department.”
So abruptly my head spins, he turns me toward the wall of windows.
