Page 37 of A Favor Owed

“For the record, Brady,” she says once we’re in the car and pulling away from the hotel, “I would have risked the sand.”

Chapter Fifteen

Angela

I don’t have a firefighter fantasy or anything. It’s not the brawn and the throwing people over his shoulder thing that gets me going. It’s the pure, unadulterated normalcy of him. The offhand “I was a firefighter” declaration, thrown out there like it’s no big deal, summed it up perfectly. Brady is just a good, decent guy. It would never occur to him to be anything but a good, decent guy. On top of all that, he goes the extra mile and actually risks his own life to help strangers.

I feel a connection with him that I’ve never felt with anyone, that I could never even have imagined feeling with anyone. I could never tell him that, of course, but neither can I deny it. And it’s an incredible turn-on.

Never in the history of road travel has ninety miles gone by so slowly. The sexual tension in the car is as thick as the fog that’s rolled in off the ocean, slowing the initial part of our journey until we’re far enough away from the coast. I watch Brady’s left leg jiggle nervously while his right thumb clicks his steering wheel control to jump from song to song until finally I pick up his phone and select a playlist.

“Really, Ange?” Brady says with quiet frustration when the music starts.

Okay, maybe I was a little mean in choosing the “Get Your Sexy Groove On” playlist so thoughtfully put together by his music app, but hey, it’s all in good fun, right? I just smile and turn up the music as Brady leans his head back and exhales.

As soon as we’re far enough away for the fog to clear, Brady puts the pedal to the metal and gets us back to Dos Torres tout suite. He doesn’t even bother asking me if he should take me home. We just go straight to his place. It occurs to me that maybe I should be offended, but the truth is, by the time we were three songs into “Get Your Sexy Groove On,” Brady’s hand is on my upper thigh and I’m wishing I wasn’t wearing tights. So much for good fun.

I’m ready to go right there in his car, but all we do is chastely hold hands as we go upstairs to his apartment. Once we’re inside, with the door closed and locked behind us, all chaste bets are off. We’re right back to the wild kissing we did on the beach. His hands are everywhere, in my hair, on my face, encircling my neck, down to my collarbone and shoulders.

“God, this mouth,” he says in a rough voice as his stubbled face rubs against my neck. “It’s gonna kill me, Angie.”

“I think it’s going to do much nicer things to you than that,” I say, my own voice low with desire.

With a panty-drenching noise somewhere between a grunt and a growl, Brady hoists me up by my thighs. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me down the hall to his room, never taking his lips from mine. It’s not until he has me on his bed that he pulls away. He sits up on his knees and slowly drags his eyes along my body as I lie there watching him. My heart is racing, wondering what’s next.

Brady grabs me by the waist and pulls me up so that I’m sitting facing him. He pulls my hair over my shoulder before reaching behind me to untie the halter top of my dress. He slowly pulls it down my body.

“Holy shit…” he whispers as my dress bunches around my hips. His eyes meet mine in a haze of surprise and desire. The small smile on my lips snaps him out of it a little, and he raises an eyebrow. “Forget something tonight, Pines?”

“I don’t wear bras with halter tops, McDaniels,” I say.

“God bless halter tops.”

I unbutton his shirt and push it off his glorious shoulders. He pulls off the white T-shirt underneath. “Please tell me you posed for calendars to raise money for your firehouse,” I murmur as I take him in, running my hands down his chest. “It would be a cruel disservice to the community if you didn’t.” He chuckles as my fingertips trail along his muscled abs.

“You like this, Pines? Everything’s to your satisfaction?”

“I’m not satisfied yet, McDaniels,” I say. “But I definitely see some potential here.”

“I will satisfy the hell out of you, princess. You can bet your ass on that.” He grabs said ass and squeezes it before pulling my dress over my head. He starts to unbutton his jeans when my hands stop him.

“Allow me,” I say.

He swallows. “By all means.”

I unbutton his jeans and pull the zipper down gently, freeing him from his jeans and then his green plaid (of course) boxers.

Oh. Wow.

My hormones undertake a brief but very hostile takeover of my mind and body. Brady’s lips on my skin, his hands on my body, his intense arousal, drags me into a haze of “I’m down for all of it.” By the time I’ve returned to my more rational self, Brady is going for a condom.

“Not yet,” I manage to say, my hand on his wrist.

“Sorry.” He drops the condom like it’s a hot potato. “I thought—”

“Don’t be sorry.” I swing my leg over his hip and nudge him onto his back. “Just relax.”

“I am so far from relaxed right now, princess,” he says, his voice tight with need and desire. “I feel like an animal.”

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