Page 17 of The Good Girl (Nashville Neighborhood)

“Jesus,” he groaned.

He glanced at me, and I could see the war raging inside his head. His gorgeous eyes were chaos, and his chest rose and fell like he was chasing his breath. Part of him liked hearing this, but the other part of him didn’t.

Or maybe he just didn’t like how much he enjoyed the idea.

“And you, like, ruined kissing for me,” I blurted.

For a moment, he ignored me. Perhaps he only wanted to think about where we were going. But then he shifted in his seat as if a decision had been made.

“Is that so?” He sounded, of all things, irritated. But I couldn’t tell what was causing it.

There was a break in the field up ahead. A thick group of trees sprouted up beside the road, and a gravel path disappeared between them. When he turned off the road and the car slipped under the shade of the large trees, loose stones crunched under the tires.

He pulled to a stop, put the car in park, and then turned to give me his full, undivided attention.

I didn’t understand the expression on his handsome face. Why was he pissed at me? His gaze sliced down my body, then returned to meet my eyes. Heat was building inside his, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t blink.

“You should know,” his voice was rough, “you ruined kissing for me, too.”

“That can’t be true,” I whispered.

I’d mistaken his heat for anger, but it was something else. The corner of his mouth quirked. “You calling me a liar?”

I was dumbfounded by his revelation. Had his last year been filled with lackluster kisses that left him craving someone else? Did he kiss people and secretly wish they were me, like I did with him?

My brain couldn’t comprehend that.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached up to massage the back of his neck. “Fuck. I tried to forget it, but I remember every goddamn detail from that night, okay? I remember what you were wearing, and how you grabbed my shirt, and how you made that sexy-as-fuck moan when I put my tongue in your mouth.” His hand fell away as his gaze drilled into me. “I wish I didn’t remember, believe me. And I really wish I wasn’t sitting here right now, wondering if you’d taste the same if I kissed you again.”

I sucked in a sharp breath and thought drained from my mind. All that was left was an urgent clamoring for him to do it—and to do it right fucking now.

But he didn’t.

Preston sat disappointingly still in his seat and frowned.

“If I did that,” he said, “I’d be risking more than just my friendship with him. I could be blowing up our partnership and my company.”

“But you want to kiss me.” I said it like I could convince him.

He exhaled. “I want to do more than just fucking kiss you. I want to,” he struggled to find the right way to say it, “get to do all the things you want to do. To show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

“You can,” I said. “You could, like, teach me.”

His gaze ran away from mine, and he turned his head to stare out the windshield. The muscle running over his jaw flexed, and as he wiped a hand over his mouth, I got the strange feeling he’d only done it to stop himself from saying what he wanted to.

Finally, he spoke, and his tone was quiet. Filled with regret. “I shouldn’t.”

Except his posture was tight, and his body language screamed how uncomfortable he was. How badly he wanted to say yes to me.

“Just a few lessons.” I shifted, subtly leaning over the center console so I could be closer. “He doesn’t have to know about it.”

He peered at me, and the interior of the car was suddenly too small to contain the tension between us. Our intense stare was back, a string connecting us and pulling us together. There was a pressure valve inside me screaming toward release.

“Lying to your brother?” The leather of his seat squealed quietly as he moved, matching the way I’d leaned in, and his voice thickened with sin. “That’s bad.”

“Yeah?” I went breathless. “Well, maybe I’m a bad girl now.”

“Hmm.” His head dipped down so his lips were right at the shell of my ear. “We’ll see about that.”

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