Bree continued to tell herself that every few minutes as they walked to the café and placed an order. By the time the food was delivered, she even halfway believed it. Out of desperation, she’d asked Colby more about the story he’d been working on. It was one guaranteed way to get him talking so she could focus on the task of getting herself together.
When he talked about writing, he got animated. She could all but see the way it was unfolding for him. Sometime during his response, she managed to relax, even managed, just barely, to quit clenching her knees together with the hope of easing the empty ache inside her.
Yeah. She could get through this.
But then they finished eating and started back outside.
Right when they got to her bike, as she started to wrap up her personal pep talk, Colby turned to her. Bree was reaching for her helmet, but he caught her wrist. With a faint smile on her face, she lifted her eyes to his. The smile died, though, at the look on his face.
“If I did something I probably shouldn’t do, would you forgive me?” he asked, rubbing his thumb along the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.
“Ah…I guess that would depend on what the ‘something’ is.”
His voice was gruff and low. “This.” He let go of her wrist and used both hands to cup her face and tilt her head back. Then he kissed her.
Not some friendly peck on the cheek, either.
His tongue pushed inside her mouth, delving deep. Her knees buckled and she instinctively brought her hands up, wrapped them around his wrists to steady herself. It was a waste of energy though—nothing could steady her. They barely touched, his mouth on hers, his hands cupping her face while hers clutched at his wrists. But that contact was enough to shatter the foundation of her world.
He eased up, lifted his head just a little. An involuntary whimper escaped her and she swayed toward him. He growled low in his throat and reached for her, hauling her against him until they were plastered together. Her breasts pressed flat against the muscled wall of his chest and his cock cuddled against the mound of her sex.
He took her mouth again, tracing the outline of her lips with his tongue before pushing inside. One hand stroked down her side, his fingers grazing the outer curve of her breast, then down, down, down, until he could palm her ass. He did so, drawing her closer and holding her steady as he pumped against her.
She shuddered in response. Her * went hot and slick with need, aching, yearning to feel him inside her. Her nipples stabbed into his chest—burning hot, swollen, sensitive.
She needed more. That was all she could think. She needed more.
Everything.
Fisting her hands in his shirt, she rocked to meet him. Whimpered. Might have even begged, if he hadn’t been feasting on her mouth as though he were starved for the taste of her.
She might have even believed he was. If she believed in fairy tales.
A car horn blared, shattering the silence. She jerked, would have torn away from him if he had let her. Panicked, she stared up at him. Colby returned her gaze levelly, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “That’s the something,” he whispered roughly.
But her mind couldn’t quite process his comment.
Her mind had stopped working, and if he hadn’t closed his fingers around her wrist and helped her climb on the bike, she might have just stood there indefinitely.
Stood there on legs that trembled while her body ached for his and her mind spun around in dizzying, confusing circles.
She wanted to ask him why. Why had he kissed her like that? He took her helmet, put it in her hands but she couldn’t quite get her hands to work the helmet.
Colby ended up taking it from her, sliding it on her head and fastening the chin strap. Bree was pretty damn sure her brain had short-circuited on her. She barely even remembered him taking the keys from her and mounting the bike—a feat that took some skill because he climbed on in front of her.
Her body slid forward to press against his. Now that she could remember.
The heat of his body, the muscled line of his back and thighs so close to her own. Overheated brain or not, she’d have to be dead to not remember the way he felt.
But even the ride home passed in a blur. A fogged, aroused blur where every breath was both heaven and hell because she could feel the strength of his body pressed against her own, where the vibrations of the bike rocked through her, and each small shift had her panties rubbing against her swollen clit. It was one hot, aroused blur.
She didn’t remember getting home. She did remember him walking her through the garage, pausing at the door to press his lips to hers one last time—light and quick—before he locked the door behind him. None of it registered until she heard the rumble of her bike once more.
On watery legs, she made her way to the front of the house and watched through the picture window as he rode off.
Abruptly, her brain turned back on and she started to shake. Her legs gave out beneath her and she collapsed to the floor. Drawing her knees to her chest, she pressed her overheated face against them while her mind replayed the past two hours.
Colby had kissed her.