Page 26 of Broken Hearts
The corners of his mouth tip up. “Like what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“Angel, around you, I don’t have to play. You make me stupid. I can’t get anything right.”
“Looking like that, who needs a brain?” I mutter.
He stalks toward me, a cocky glint shining in his eyes. “Are you trying to say that you like what you see?”
“I mean, it’s whatever.” My gaze dips over his chest, though, and my nipples tighten. “Gah.” I can’t even pretend. “Your body is ridiculous.”
“I’m glad you think so. I might never wear a shirt again if you keep looking at me like that.” He gently places the T-shirt over my head and pulls it down. The heat of the fabric and the nearness of our bodies does funny things to my insides. My heart rate climbs, and my chest feels tight. I slow my breathing out of habit.
“Like what?” I reach out and slide my fingers over the ridges of muscle.
He inhales, and those blue eyes darken. He ignores my question. Not that it requires much of an answer. “Your hands are cold.”
“Someone tossed a beer on me.”
“I’m really sorry about that.”
“You say that a lot.”
“I’ve fucked up a lot. And I’m sorry for that too.”
“The list keeps getting longer.” My laugh dies when he places a calloused thumb at the corner of my mouth.
Staring at my lips, he traces along the bottom one with the pad of his thumb. “Add this to the list.”
I’m in an alternate reality as he leans forward, still distracted by his body and the way mine feels when he’s this close. It’s only when his mouth slants over mine that my brain processes he’s kissing me.
His hand on my face slides down to my neck in a possessive hold that contradicts the softness of his lips. My back is to the vanity, legs hitting against it, and Rhett crowds into my space as his tongue slides into my mouth.
My heart pounds in my chest. Somewhere in the very back of my mind, I'm aware that I'm doing a potentially very dumb thing. Kissing Rhett when I know it won't go anywhere beyond tonight. Still, I can see why he leaves a path of crying girls behind him. He kisses like a champ. He’s sweet and tender and hard and demanding all at once, and my head is spinning.
He lifts me up and sets me on the vanity, then pushes between my legs. His fingers thread through my hair, and he tugs gently, exposing my neck. His nose grazes down the curve of my neck, and his mouth nips and kisses along the way.
My legs tremble as he moves those big hands of his to my legs. They inch up my bare skin and slide under the hem of my dress that’s now hitched up very high on my thighs. My core aches, and I will him to move his fingers just a little higher.
His chest presses against mine, and I remember that I have a half-naked man in front of me. A half-naked man with a body built to make good girls want bad things. I slide my palms over his pecs and down his sides. My exploration encourages him, and one long finger finally touches my soaked panties.
“It’s the beer,” I say. It isn’t, or at least not entirely.
We both groan as he circles my clit through the silky material.
I'm ready to let him fuck me here. Correction, I'm ready tobeghim to fuck me here. And I’m not even the drunk one.
A knock at the door pulls us from the moment, reminding us there’s a line of people waiting to get in here.
“We should probably go,” I say, even as I spread my legs farther apart.
He pulls back, smug grin firmly in place, hand still rubbing me gently. “They can wait.”
Unfortunately, they don’t. The door opens, and the girl that asked if we needed company, walks in. She studies us for a beat before declaring, “Don’t mind me. I just need to pee.”
Rhett straightens, removes his hands from under my dress, and pulls the hem down to cover me.
“Ready, angel?” His voice is gruff with want, and no, I’m absolutely not ready.
