Page 52 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
My adorable furball wants food or attention. Or both.
“All right,” I sigh as I pet her, then roll out of bed.
Half-awake, I stumble through the still-shadowy room, make use of the bathroom, then brush my teeth. It’s probably a good thing I’m up. Besides, I’ll have more time to read!
But as I head back into my bedroom to grab my e-reader from my nightstand, the hunk of musky man in my personal space stops me short.
Is that Rush Garrison lying in my bed?
The dawning sun just beginning to seep in behind my drapes tells me yes. It actually is.
Suddenly, I’m fully awake. My heart pumps furiously. OMG, he spent the night here. In my house. In my bed. What did we do, and why can’t I remember any of it? Damn it, I want to. It was epic, right? It had to be…
I scan my memories through my wine-induced haze and one memory penetrates immediately. There are just some things a girl will never forget, no matter how much booze she imbibes.
I think of you. I want you. I dream of you. I masturbate to thoughts of you. I would love to kiss you. I ache to spread you out on this kitchen counter and make you scream my name. And I would kill to fuck you.
Rush said all that. To me. It wasn’t a dream.
Yes, and what did I do? I freaking passed out.
Brilliant.
At my feet, Kitty Pie rubs against my ankles, darting between them as she looks up at me with a mournful meow. So I make a mad dash to the kitchen and open a can of kitten food. She’s right on my heels.
“I don’t know how you eat this,” I tell my feline as I scoop the food into her bowl. “It smells horrible.”
But she’s incredibly happy as she dives in face-first, apparently not caring about my opinion.
When I drop the spoon in the kitchen sink, I spy my missing knife. When did that turn up? Where?
Does it matter right now? Super-hot Rush Garrison is lying in your bed and he’s dying to have sex with you. What are you waiting for?
The punch line, I guess. But maybe there isn’t one.
I hustle back down the hall and spot Rush coming out of my bathroom, wearing an expression I can’t decipher. But then, I can’t think because I realize the only other thing he’s wearing is a pair of dark boxers. The rest of him is all hair-roughened bulges and inked muscle. His shoulders look as if they could hold up the world and still have strength to spare. The solid breadth of his wide chest narrows to his abs that have so many packs I lose count—along with my ability to speak. My mouth hangs open as my gaze keeps drifting down. Everything about him is so male and naked. And hard. There’s no denying he’s excited to see me.
I swallow.
“Vanessa?”
I’m gawking, and he knows it. How mortifying.
I manage—somehow—to wrench my glance down to the floor. “Morning.”
My feet come into focus, along with something totally horrifying—my nipples. Before I fell asleep last night, I tossed on the first thing I could find, an old, threadbare cami—and not a single other stitch. It’s plain. It’s white. And under the light filtering out of the bathroom, it’s basically transparent.
Kill me now.
I risk a glance around the room to see if there’s a robe in sight. All I find is Rush scanning me up and down, his eyes flaring hot as his stare brands between my legs, singes my breasts, then fastens on my own. “Morning.”
Oh, god. Everything about him arouses me. I can’t breathe.
What is he thinking? Wanting? Did he really mean those words he growled at me last night?
How do I respond? Indecision grips me. Cover up my feelings and hide…or go for it?
I know what I want.
