as a lover? Would he be desperate? Out of his mind with passion? Or slow, using utmost control while turning her into a puddle of orgasmic bliss? Hadn’t she waited long enough to find out?
Her alarm rang, sharp and shrill as it sliced through her senses. She jumped, her eyes opening wide and startled as she rolled onto her back…and found no one behind her. She curled her fingers into fists, angry when residual shocks fluttered through her belly at her own touch.
“Son of a…” Damn it! It happened again! She sat up and looked around, just to make sure she hadn’t accidentally knocked Cole off the bed. No trace of a six-foot-tall man with long legs, edible abs and longish dark hair. Amanda flopped backward into her pillows with a small scream of frustration.
So all the delicious things that had seemed so clear in her head through the night were just more fictions of her repressed imagination. Great.
She could just kick someone. Preferably Cole. Maybe her brother. Mostly Cole. After all, it was his fault she was so worked up.
Oh, she’d had her little fantasies get the better of her before. Who wouldn’t, in her situation? But this morning’s dream she could put squarely on the shoulders of the man who’d spent the night before stirring up her desires like a snake charmer, leading her down his path just to get what he wanted.
Which, apparently, despite all the obvious hints, was not a path to her bedroom.
“Best score overall wins,” he’d said, his dark eyes making promises to various parts of her body that he definitely did not keep.
The minigolf course wasn’t new. She’d been to it a dozen times with her younger brothers and even with Susie, when the idea of going to yet another bar was just too boring to be borne. She should have been able to navigate it and kick the ass of The Uncoordinated One with ease. But that wasn’t what happened.
The first hole had been a simple downhill, three-stroke par. Down the zigzag, through the pipe, into the cup. Easy. For Cole, it had been. For her , he’d kept her laughing, messing up her strokes right when it counted with well-timed jokes about her brothers. The second and third holes had gone much the same way, until her aggressive, competitive nature had noticed she was four strokes back.
That was when he’d pulled out the big guns.
The long, wordless stares at her legs, gazes she could feel inching up the back of her thighs. But the worst, the absolute worst, was when he’d take away the putter and twine their fingers together as they walked between holes.
Bastard!
She’d thought she’d make it up on the back six. Surely the windmill would do him in, but all his endless video gaming had made him an expert at timing.
Blinded by his unrelenting interest and all the small, caring touches he’d showered on her, she hadn’t seen the trap until it was too late. Suddenly, it was the last hole and she had no hope whatsoever of catching up. That’s when the jerk got a hole in one. On a par four!
He’d laughed when she’d threatened to intimately acquaint him with his putter, the jerk. In fact, the only reason he’d gotten out of that park without a bent club up his ass was because he’d taken the starch out of her with another kiss. A slow one, with his tongue gliding into her mouth and teasing the corners of her lips. She’d gotten drunk on his chocolatey taste, the feel of his chest against hers and the tempting stroke of his thumbs slipping under the waist of her panties through the back of her dress.
At least she’d gotten that. The stunned look on his face when he’d pulled away suddenly had actually been sort of worth not winning. As if he were as floored as she was at the deliciousness of their mouths coming together.
He’d gotten her melty enough to go to dinner with him, where they talked about her plans for her house and—of all things—her work schedule. She almost didn’t want to know why her hours were of such importance to him.
Her alarm rang, sharp and shrill as it sliced through her senses. She jumped, her eyes opening wide and startled as she rolled onto her back…and found no one behind her. She curled her fingers into fists, angry when residual shocks fluttered through her belly at her own touch.
“Son of a…” Damn it! It happened again! She sat up and looked around, just to make sure she hadn’t accidentally knocked Cole off the bed. No trace of a six-foot-tall man with long legs, edible abs and longish dark hair. Amanda flopped backward into her pillows with a small scream of frustration.
So all the delicious things that had seemed so clear in her head through the night were just more fictions of her repressed imagination. Great.
She could just kick someone. Preferably Cole. Maybe her brother. Mostly Cole. After all, it was his fault she was so worked up.
Oh, she’d had her little fantasies get the better of her before. Who wouldn’t, in her situation? But this morning’s dream she could put squarely on the shoulders of the man who’d spent the night before stirring up her desires like a snake charmer, leading her down his path just to get what he wanted.
Which, apparently, despite all the obvious hints, was not a path to her bedroom.
“Best score overall wins,” he’d said, his dark eyes making promises to various parts of her body that he definitely did not keep.
The minigolf course wasn’t new. She’d been to it a dozen times with her younger brothers and even with Susie, when the idea of going to yet another bar was just too boring to be borne. She should have been able to navigate it and kick the ass of The Uncoordinated One with ease. But that wasn’t what happened.
The first hole had been a simple downhill, three-stroke par. Down the zigzag, through the pipe, into the cup. Easy. For Cole, it had been. For her , he’d kept her laughing, messing up her strokes right when it counted with well-timed jokes about her brothers. The second and third holes had gone much the same way, until her aggressive, competitive nature had noticed she was four strokes back.
That was when he’d pulled out the big guns.
The long, wordless stares at her legs, gazes she could feel inching up the back of her thighs. But the worst, the absolute worst, was when he’d take away the putter and twine their fingers together as they walked between holes.
Bastard!
She’d thought she’d make it up on the back six. Surely the windmill would do him in, but all his endless video gaming had made him an expert at timing.
Blinded by his unrelenting interest and all the small, caring touches he’d showered on her, she hadn’t seen the trap until it was too late. Suddenly, it was the last hole and she had no hope whatsoever of catching up. That’s when the jerk got a hole in one. On a par four!
He’d laughed when she’d threatened to intimately acquaint him with his putter, the jerk. In fact, the only reason he’d gotten out of that park without a bent club up his ass was because he’d taken the starch out of her with another kiss. A slow one, with his tongue gliding into her mouth and teasing the corners of her lips. She’d gotten drunk on his chocolatey taste, the feel of his chest against hers and the tempting stroke of his thumbs slipping under the waist of her panties through the back of her dress.
At least she’d gotten that. The stunned look on his face when he’d pulled away suddenly had actually been sort of worth not winning. As if he were as floored as she was at the deliciousness of their mouths coming together.
He’d gotten her melty enough to go to dinner with him, where they talked about her plans for her house and—of all things—her work schedule. She almost didn’t want to know why her hours were of such importance to him.
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