Page 6 of Illinois Innkeeper
Lifting her chin, she asks, “What if I think itisa good idea?”
“Trust me, it isn’t,” I answer in a flat tone.
At her narrow-eyed gaze, I expand. “I can’t go into the details with you, but it’s for your own good.”
“How about if you let me decide what is in my own best interest?” Miranda asks, as she stands up and whips her hoodie and T-shirt over her head.
The air bursts from my lungs as she reaches down to unfasten her jeans. Trying not to watch, but mesmerized by the glorious sight of her undressing for me, I say in a gravelly tone, “You’re making it damn near impossible for me to resist you.”
Stepping out of her jeans and standing before me with her luscious curves covered only by thin wisps of lace and silky fabric, the irresistible woman says simply, “Then don’t.”
6
MIRANDA
My mother would be appalled by the forwardness of me undressing in a man’s hotel room and practically demanding that he fool around with me, but she’s not here to judge me. I like Graham––a lot, and I get the distinct impression that he likes me, too. His misguided attempt to ‘protect’ me by keeping his distance is horse pucky. I get to decide who is right for me, and I have decided on Graham.
If he truly doesn’t want to be with me, then I will immediately leave with no questions asked, but I can tell by the lusty way he’s gazing at me that he craves me––at least on a physical level. Of course, I’d like for our relationship to be more than physical, but desire is a start. At this point in my practically celibate life, I’ll take what I can get.
Graham looks at me for a long moment. His gaze travels up and down my barely covered body. A less confident woman might try to cover herself, but I refuse to give in to that urge. Instead, I lift my chin higher as my skin burns under his perusal.
When our gazes lock again, he breaks into a wide grin, and I immediately know I’ve won him over.
He stands and eliminates the distance between us. Leaning down, he presses a soft, tentative kiss to my lips.
He’s so close, and his surprisingly soft lips feel amazing. It’s been far too long since I’ve been kissed, and I’m unable to contain my enthusiasm. I moan into his mouth as I deepen the kiss.
My fingers glide through the hair at the nape of his neck as we passionately explore each other’s mouths.
When he pulls back, we’re both breathing heavily. His eyelids are droopy as he stares down at me and whispers, “This isn’t a good idea, Miranda.”
“I think it is,” I whisper back, already tipping up for more kisses.
He leans further away from me and says, “There’s so much about me that you don’t know, and you wouldn’t like any of it.”
“Okay, then,” I say amiably. “Let’s talk about what Idoknow about you.”
I take his silence for agreement and begin ticking off his features with my fingers as I voice them. “You’re incredibly hardworking and independent. You love a stray cat that no one else wanted, and more importantly, that cat loves you back. You are kind, even to people who don’t quite deserve it––like grumpy Mrs. Swindell. You’re handsome, sweet, and charming.”
Unsure whether to bring it up or not, I decide to go all-in, “Oh, and you lost everything today.”
His gaze is downcast at the reminder of his devastating loss. I reach up to cup his scruffy cheek with my palm as I say, “So, I think it is high time for you to accept some comfort from someone else. You deserve to forget about everything and feel good for a little while.”
He still seems somewhat wary, so I add, “No strings attached.”
Those seem to be the magic words because he tips down and kisses me with renewed fire. This time, he doesn’t hold back at all. His tongue delves into my mouth as his hands create a searing path across my bare skin.
I press into him, aching for more.
He pulls back just long enough to remove his shirt. When I reach for his pants, he doesn’t stop me.
My eyes are drawn to the hefty bulge straining against his underwear. The man is even sexier without his clothes than I imagined.
I lick my lips. Unable to stop myself, I do it two more times.So much for being a sexy siren. He’s going to think I’m an obsessive-compulsive weirdo, who can’t control her own tongue.
If he notices my tick, he gives no indication of it. In fact, he’s gazing at me as if I am the sexiest person that he’s ever laid eyes on, and I like it––a lot.
Addicted to that look, I sidle forward in what I hope is a sexy manner and cup his manhood over his underwear. My voice emerges as barely more than a whisper when I say, “You give off serious B.D.E., Graham. Although I haven’t encountered very many of them, I’d have to say that swagger is justified.”
