Page 21 of Sleeping with the Frenemy

He tugged gently, pulling me forward. “I’ll tell you what I think it is.”

I made a strangled sound in my throat.

His chest loomed closer, and then his lips brushed mine as he slid both hands into my hair. Against my mouth, he whispered, “I think it’s C.”

Without conscious thought, I opened my mouth under his.

It wasn’t a tender kiss.

His fingers tightened in my hair, holding my head steady while he stroked his tongue inside, plunging and sucking. He kissed like he was starved for oxygen and I had an endless supply, his mouth hot and wet and demanding.

I clutched at his shoulders, reveling in the feel of his hard muscles rippling and bunching under my hands. His skin was smooth and hot, as if a fire burned under the surface. His chest brushed my breasts, dragging across my stiffened nipples, and I moaned into his mouth.

He made a low, masculine whimper in his throat—a plaintive sound that shot straight between my legs.

It wasn’t enough. I needed more.

Tongue tangling with his, I twined my arms around his neck, mashing my breasts against his chest. Raw desire shot through me, and I slid a hand down his neck to his back.

And stopped.

The skin wasn’t smooth. I swept my palm down. My hand bumped over what felt like…ridges.

He reared back, then thrust me away so hard I stumbled.

“Chase?” I frowned. “What’s wrong with your—”

“Nothing.” He shoved a hand through his tousled hair. Two spots of color stained his cheeks, and he looked defiant.

But also fearful.

Apprehension crept down my spine.

I licked my lips. “Turn around.”

He didn’t move.

“Turn around,” I repeated.

Something flashed in his eyes—a look so fleeting I couldn’t place it. He gripped the towel where one end was tucked into the fabric around his waist, his fingers clenched like he was hanging on for dear life. A beaded wood bracelet circled his wrist.

Still, he didn’t move.

Fine.

I’d go to him.

I moved forward, going by inches. He stayed where he was, his shoulders stiff and his expression tense.

But he didn’t try to stop me.

As I passed him, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Slowly, I rounded his shoulder and stepped behind him.

My breath caught. Nausea burned my throat.

His back was covered in scars.

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