Page 16 of Heart of Stone
That was the plan.
So why the hell can’t I stop thinking about the way she trembled when I got close? The way her breath hitched when I touched her? How her lips parted just enough, like she was daring me to take, to taste?
I didn’t go there to kiss her.
Hell, I hadn’t even let myself consider it. But when she’d stood there, staring up at me with those wide, defiant eyes, lips pink and parted, it was like something inside mesnapped.
One kiss.
That’s all it was supposed to be—one taste, enough to break whatever spell she’d woven over me since the moment she stumbled into my life. But it hadn’t been enough. Not even close.
I tossed and turned all night, restless, burning. Thinking about the way she felt against me—soft, curvy, her body fitting mine like she was made for it. About the feel of her tongue against mine, the desperate little sound she made when I gripped her ponytail and tilted her head back.
And I wantedmore.
It wasn’t just the kiss—it washer.The way she looked up at me, fierce and vulnerable all at once. How she didn’t flinch when I crowded her. How she met my stare like she wasn’t afraid of what she saw in me.
Plenty of women made offers last night—slipping hands under my cut, brushing close with sultry looks, whispered promises. Easy, meaningless relief. And I didn’t give a damn.
Because none of them wereher.
Andi’s under my skin now, tangled up in ways I can’t seem to shake loose.
Fuck.
I round the corner of the porch to the sitting area and Ginger’s curled up on one of the deck chairs, Tank’s jacket draped over her like a blanket. She stirs when I walk past.
“Coffee?” she asks hopefully, brushing away stray hairs.
“Kitchen.”
She stretches, Tank’s jacket sliding to the ground. “You seem grumpier than usual.”
I grunt, scanning the street. The house across the road is quiet, dark.
Is she up yet? Are the kids?
Stupid to wonder. Stupider still to care.
“That new neighbor,” Ginger says, a smile playing at her lips. “She seemed nice.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? I’m just saying, the way you handled that baby...” She wiggles her eyebrows.
I shoot her a look that would have prospects pissing themselves. Ginger just laughs.
“Coffee,” I remind her, hoping she’ll take the hint.
She gets up, stretching again. “You know, some of us remember what you were like with your sister’s kids, before?—”
“Ginger.” My tone carries a warning even she won’t ignore.
She holds up her hands in surrender and heads inside, leaving me with memories I’d rather forget and the ghost of a kiss I can’t shake.
The clubhouse slowly comes to life around me. Prospects stumble to clean up, nursing hangovers as they collect bottles and trash. Tank emerges from somewhere inside, looking rough but giving off the air of a guy well satisfied.
Ginger must have found him.
