Page 166 of Beat of Love
Clearly, the shower had done nothing to rinse away her earlier pique.
Rafferty set down his mug and shoved aside thoughts of Kamila and looming threats.
“Don’t play games with me,” she snapped.
His brows drew together. “Games?”
“You got up and showered.”
Call him dimwitted, but it took a second for the accusation to land.
When it did, a soft chuckle escaped before he could stop it.
She swatted his arm. “Don’t laugh at me.”
He slid his hands to her shoulders, thumbs instinctively finding the warm, still-damp pulse points at her neck. Leaning in just a little, voice low and unapologetic, he said, “I got up and showered … to masturbate, Red.”
Her mouth dropped open. Closed. Then opened again. “But… why?” she croaked.
Rafferty shifted his hand, catching a rope of wet hair and twisting it gently around his fingers. He gave it a soft tug, drawing her closer, his gaze roving across her face — the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the confusion swimming in her eyes. Her freckles stood out stark against skin still pink from the shower.
“Because sleeping next to you was sweet torture,” he murmured. “I woke up with the king of all hard-ons, Red. If we’d had sex, it would’ve been over in two seconds. I’d prefer to savor our first time together.”
She blinked, eyes wide. “Oh.”
“Hmm.” His grip on her hair tightened just enough to tilt her face upward, baring the long line of her throat. His other hand slid around her shoulder, fingers splaying wide across her upper back, drawing her in. He nuzzled the soft skin beneath her ear, inhaling deeply. A hint of citrus soap, warm skin, and steam.
“I miss the smell of leather and horse,” he murmured.
Brandy-Lyn stiffened. “Did you just insult me?” she hissed in his ear.
He held firm as she tried to pull away, grinning against her skin. “I love the way you smell, Red,” he murmured, then grazed his teeth along the underside of her jaw in a teasing nibble.
“Rafferty.” Her voice was a low mix of protest and want, a half-groan that betrayed her resolve. But she melted against him anyway, her fingers diving into his hair, her hips pressing into the hard line of his arousal.
48
Celtic cowboy
Strange how, in the cold hard light of day, reality had slapped her upside the head. Waking, and discovering the space beside her empty,hearing water run in the bathroom, Brandy-Lyn had berated herself for forcing his hand last night. What the ever-lovingfuckhad she been thinking, inviting him tobathewith her.
A foolish woman, that’s what she had been, momentarily lost in the magic of the man taking care of her.
It was the Irish bloodline.
The ancestry of sorcery and otherworldliness.
Rafferty had cast a spell over her with freakingkindness.
And she had left the bathroom with a clearcut plan, determined to set things right.
Play the fake fiancée. Get the kids. Get back to Texas. Set things back to normal. But now …
This man …
His lips, his tongue, his teeth …
The sting on her scalp as he tugged her hair.
