“The one you were kissing,” I blurted, a nasty edge of accusation I had no right to in my tone.
He froze behind me for a second and then spun me around so quickly I gasped and stumbled toward him, falling into his body and bracing my hands on his chest. He grabbed my wrists and held me away slightly so he was looking into my face, his expression intense and . . . baffled. “You’re jealous?”
I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to get hold of myself but feeling the misery rising up in me again, the embarrassment of this awful moment.
Preston’s eyes were moving intensely over my face as if he were trying to read my mind. I turned my head away, unwilling to answer him, unwilling to let him see what must be clear in my expression. But he let go of one wrist and put his fingers on my chin, turning my face and forcing me to look at him again. I let out another soft cry. “Yes,” I rasped miserably. “Yes, I’m jealous.” The anguished, painful emotion was clearly evident in my voice.
He stared at me for another tense second—something so thick in the air between us I was tempted to reach out and grab for it so I could examine it in my hand and figure out what it was. But then he made a sound that was almost a growl. It shocked me and caught me off guard, and before I even understood what was happening, he’d picked me up and was carrying me toward the house, his stride long and sure, his breath coming out in sharp bursts of sound.
What was happening? What was happening?
CHAPTER NINE
Preston
I barely registered the walk from the yard, up the stairs and inside the house, but suddenly we were there and I was setting Lia on her feet. The sound of my own breath, my own heartbeat whooshed in my ears, but above that, the vague sound of music came to me and I turned and locked the front door of the house so no one could disturb us.
Lia was backing up through the foyer, stumbling away from me into the kitchen, her eyes wide and her expression confused. I stalked her as if I were a predator, my physical hunger for her so intense I felt out of control. I was sweating and my heart was pounding like a drum. She was looking at me with the stunned fear of prey, but I couldn’t manage to find the words to reassure her. Yes, she’d said. Yes, I’m jealous.
I’d felt tense and angry all day, knowing Annalia would be here tonight and that she’d be with Cole. And then he’d driven her up on the back of that damn motorcycle he barely knew how to drive, and I’d had to hold myself back from kicking his ass on our front lawn. And then the torment of watching her sit with him, his arm draped around her, her slender body close to his. I knew just the way she felt, remembered the way she smelled, and the memory of it tortured me and made me feel like a caged animal.
Lia’s butt hit the large farmhouse table, stopping her retreat, and she let out a small squeak.
“Why are you jealous? Tell me why.”
I heard the desperation in my voice but didn’t much care. Suddenly it seemed as if my very existence hinged on her answer. My voice sounded far away as if this moment might not be real, as if I might be dreaming it.
Her eyes darted around as if she, too, was questioning whether this was actually happening, and then her eyes met mine again, filling with resolve, and her lips parted and she breathed, “Because I don’t want you to kiss anyone else. I want you to kiss me. I’ve always . . . I’ve always wanted you to kiss me.”
Oh God. At her words, my heart lurched. The desire that had been contained for so long surged inside me like a violent squall, causing me to sway on my feet as if in time to the internal motion. My body tightened, the tsunami that followed on the heels of the storm making my blood rush suddenly downward. I swelled and hardened, so aware of her and only her that nothing else existed in the room, maybe even the whole entire world. Only the two of us and the energy leaping between our bodies, the words she’d spoken echoing in my head. I want you to kiss me.
Our eyes held as I stepped forward, her gaze tracking me, her head tilting as I pressed myself into her. A guttural sound came up my throat. It had been too long. I’d suppressed my need for her my whole damn life, and in one unexpected moment, I’d given myself permission to release it. I struggled to hang on to even a small modicum of control. Her body was shaking and I thought maybe mine was, too, and so I wove my fingers into her hair, leaning my forehead against hers for just a minute as I attempted to rein myself in. I didn’t want to scare her. My God, I was scaring myself.
She tipped her face up, letting out a small gasp as if she’d held her breath for a few seconds too long. Her warm breath brushed over my cheek and I turned my head, bringing my lips to hers, brushing them together lightly at first, once, twice, breathing in the scent of her mouth, feeling the luscious softness of her lips right against my own.
She whimpered softly and I shivered, unable to keep myself from pushing my tongue into her mouth and tasting her. Sweet Jesus. She was delicious. I thrust deeper, and she met my tongue tentatively with her own, and then sucked gently on mine. My erection surged in my pants and I moaned, lifting her up on the edge of the table so I could step into the warm cradle of her thighs, wanting desperately to get closer to that soft, sweet place between her legs.
Oh God, was this happening? Lia, Lia, Lia.
Mine.
I tore my mouth away just so I could see the expression on her face and when she gazed back at me with half-closed, lust-filled eyes, her bee-stung lips wet and swollen from the pressure I’d exerted with my own, I moaned and returned my mouth to hers.
Her fingers pressed into my shoulders and we were both moaning and writhing against each other in a primal dance that our bodies knew how to perform even without rational thought, or maybe more so because of the absence of it. My own tenuous control slipped and I felt the hot rush of arousal increase, my brain foggy with lust.
I needed to feel her hot skin on my own, was shaking with the urgent desire to explore the velvety softness of it. I leaned back and attempted to undo the buttons of her shirt, but my fingers felt thick and clumsy. I couldn’t make them work properly, so I ripped at the material, the buttons popping off and scattering across the floor. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly and I took a moment to gaze at the silken skin of her breasts spilling out of her bra. “Annalia,” I groaned.