Buns (Hudson Valley #3)

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I warned back, digging my hands into his hair and pulling it back, tilting his neck and allowing me to nip at his skin there. It was warm, and sweaty, and sticky, and I could taste salt on my tongue.

One hand shot up and slapped at the stone behind me, while the other tugged me closer, circling his hips against mine and pressing himself farther between my thighs.

“You’re infuriating,” he said, his voice heated steel. “And you’re too short.” And with that, he picked me up against him, my legs wrapping clumsily around his hips as he held me against the tower.

Now eye level with him, I glared. “I’m exactly the right height.” And as he pressed his lips against my neck, his tongue darting out to lick and suck at my skin, I let my head fall back against the stone with a thud. “And you’re an asshole.”

His hips surged forward, my legs spread wider, and as he ground into me I held his head, his mouth trailing down, pushing under the edge of my jacket, his lips dropping hot wet kisses along my collarbone. I kissed the very tip of his ear softly, then whispered, “And I’m sorry.”

He froze. Then his head snapped up, his eyes, which had been filled with lust, began to be crowded by confusion and sadness and . . . fear.

The moment was over and he set me down, gently unwrapping my legs from his waist and, as I tried to tilt his face back up to mine to tell him again that I was sorry, he shook his head.

“I’m . . . Jesus, I can’t do this.”

He backed away, turned, and headed down the mountain.

I didn’t chase him this time.



I stayed up there for a good thirty minutes, watching the morning take over the valley. My mind was racing, running through possibilities, calculating the risk and benefit and realizing that I needed to step down, step away. With Archie, I’d scratched at something I had no business scratching at. This was bad on so many levels, and I needed to shut this down, tie it off, and forget it ever happened.

But did I want to forget this happened?

My fingers fluttered up to my lips, feeling the heat that was still there. I could still taste him, could still feel him as he pressed his mouth against mine again and again. It’d sparked something deep within me, an instant heat, an instant lust, a carnal reaction so quick and fiery, I had to admit I was surprised by the intensity. I’d never felt something like this before.

But it’s for your boss, so . . .

Right. Right! I shook my head to clear it, taking in big gulps of cold, clean mountain air. He was my boss, and I needed to straighten this out. A couple of great kisses couldn’t derail everything good I wanted to do up here, no sir.

I loved it up here, would have loved to stay up here and do everything I knew how to do to make this right. But I’d stuck my foot in it, and now my tongue, and I knew better than to get in deeper.

I wandered toward the top of the trail and saw the resort from this angle. It had been photographed from this place many times, and was really the million-dollar view. The lake, the grounds, the dock, everything was beautiful from up here, as the website, postcards, and prints in the gift shop boasted.

I took one last look, then headed down, ready to search him out, find him, and explain to him exactly why this could never ever happen again.

Waiting for me at the bottom of the trail was Archie, looking way hotter than I needed him to be.





Chapter 9


“?We need to talk.”

Good goddamn he was attractive.

“We need to talk,” he repeated.

Like not just attractive, insanely handsome. Classic good looks, strong jaw, broad shoulders but a nice tapered waist, maybe he—

“Ms. Morgan?”

“Hmm?” I asked, my eyeballs not able to move up from the white T-shirt peeking out above his fleece.

“I’m asking you to listen to me,” he interrupted. His lower lip was puffy from my teeth, and I could see at least one scratch on his neck from my fingernails. His hair was tousled, his jacket was almost completely unzipped, and I smiled in spite of myself when I saw the muddy prints my shoes had left on the sides of his running pants.

I shouldn’t talk. I shouldn’t get in any deeper than I already was. But I’ll admit I was curious. And dammit, I was still 100 percent turned on by this gorgeous but infuriating ass.

See, dangerous.

Get in your head!

“Mr. Bryant, yes, got it, right here with you,” I said, dazed. But regaining control. “No need to talk, we’re good. Won’t happen again, this isn’t a thing, doesn’t need to be a thing, let’s just move on, shall we?”

“Oh, I think we better talk before we move on,” he replied.

Against every part of my brain screaming at me to push past him, to go directly to my room, I nodded and let him lead me toward a small summerhouse a little ways off the main trail.

Settling onto one of the wooden benches, I waited to hear him out. Like he said, I’d chased him up the side of a mountain, so I wasn’t about to be the one to go first this time.

He paced a few times, walking the length of the gazebo back and forth, his gait smooth and even. I should’ve known he was a runner, his frame practically ensured it. Long and lean, every step measured. Conserving energy.

But when he let that energy run wild and free? Damn. I shifted a bit on the seat, the feeling of his fingertips digging into my skin still burning. I’d be willing to bet that by tonight I’d have ten little bruises on my hips.

Why the hell was that so thrilling?

“What’s the longest relationship you’ve ever been in?”

Whoa. “Um, what?” While I’d been ruminating on my hips, he’d stopped pacing and asked me a question. He repeated it.

“I don’t know that it’s any of your business.”

He looked skyward, dragging his hands over his face. His hair really was still messed up.

“I’m asking because I’m trying to explain why I had such a reaction to you asking about Ashl”—a look of pain crossed his face—“about my wife.”

Oh boy. “Listen, I’m really sorry about that, I never meant for you to hear me and it wasn’t like I was trying to gossip or anything, I just . . .”