She wasn’t very well-endowed, but her blouse draped over her slight breasts like a lover’s hand, and his palms tingled, itching to mold their shape.
She carried herself toward her door, her high heels clicking over the concrete as she talked on her phone. Even without her heels, she would be tall. He wouldn’t have to bend down very far to claim her mouth. Her long legs would wrap around him and anchor him nicely.
Her shoes were sexy as fuck—nude, a shade darker than her legs. He imagined gripping those heels, flinging them over his shoulders as he wedged himself between her thighs. He would slide his hands along that infinite stretch of skin as he drove inside her.
Obviously he had been with all body types. When he first got paroled he couldn’t get enough sex. Anywhere, any woman, he was down for it. Women and good barbecue. For the first few months he indulged himself in both at every opportunity. He had twelve years to make up for, after all. Twelve years of jacking off and eating crap food on a tray. Understandably, he gorged himself.
Except lately his appetite had been tapering off. Instead of sex every night, once a week was enough. Same went for barbecue. Although a brisket sandwich sounded good tonight. Staring at those legs through the blinds, he decided getting laid didn’t sound too bad either.
His gaze skimmed the long lines of Faith Walters. He felt his cock stir. It wanted. Without even seeing her face, it wanted her. Her body was built for taking everything a man could give and giving it back.
He stopped abruptly at the thought, killing it. He didn’t need to be thinking this way. He didn’t want to be thinking this way. Not about her. There were other women out there to fuck. He needed to forget about this one.
He glanced down. Too bad his body wasn’t of the same school of thought.
He still hadn’t dressed. His cock jutted out, hard and aching, the head flushed a hungry reddish hue. All for a woman whose face he hadn’t even seen.
Once upon a time, he could have been with a girl like her. He’d applied to a half-dozen colleges and planned to attend Texas A&M alongside Knox, who was there in his second year. Their lives took a different turn, however, the night they went after Mason Leary.
Now, a woman like her wouldn’t so much as touch him. He scoffed. She wanted to talk to him at his earliest convenience. He shook his head. Fuck that.
He avoided trouble. Ever since he’d been paroled he had managed to stay out of trouble, and he intended to keep it that way.
Granted, his impulse control was low when it came to women, but he hadn’t broken any laws. No, it was simply fucking—trouble of a different sort, but the good it did him, the need it served when he slaked his lust in a woman’s body, far outweighed any risk he courted.
Suddenly the idea of meeting her was a sour concept.
He didn’t want to exchange niceties. Some sixth sense told him to avoid her, and he had long ago learned to trust his instincts.
She was his neighbor, so it wouldn’t be an easy matter to escape her. She was proper . . . what Uncle Mac would have called a lady. She was the type that would want to cuddle with any man to warm her bed.
His partners were women into casual sex. Women that didn’t mind shacking up with a former con. One look at this female told him that she would very much mind that. There was nothing casual about her. She probably only ever fucked tax attorneys and men who played golf on Sunday afternoons—oh, and it wasn’t fucking for her. It was making love.
Turning from the window, he grabbed a beer out of his fridge and marched upstairs to get dressed, deciding he would forget all about her.
He rubbed at the center of his chest where the dull, twisting ache was flaring up again. It was his earlier thought of Katie. It chased him like a fog that would never fully fade.
His cousin was dead and it was partly his fault. He knew he wasn’t to blame for her attack, but what he’d done afterward to Mason Leary . . . yeah, he was responsible for that. Killing Leary hadn’t been right. He knew that now. Not that he and Knox had set out to kill the bastard. They’d wanted him to admit what he’d done to Katie, but things had gotten out of hand. Especially once Leary started mouthing off and calling Katie dirty names.
Killing Leary wasn’t what Katie needed to heal. She had needed North and Knox to be around to support her. She needed them to not go to prison.
North had been closest in age to his cousin. She’d talked to him about everything. Confided in him. He still remembered when she had told him about her upcoming date with Mason Leary. She had been so excited, and he’d been happy for her. She’d tried on and modeled her outfits in front of him that night. They had both agreed that the blue shirtdress with boots was the way to go. The old familiar bile rose up in his throat when he remembered the state of that dress after Leary was finished with her.