Page 97 of One Spicy Summer

She ducks her head, fidgeting nervously, talking to herself under her breath. Then, after a moment, she smiles so big it nearly breaks me. "I think I’d like that very much, Ry Ry.”

I chuckle, brushing a hand over her cheek. “You know, I hated that nickname at first.”

“You noticed I only called you that when you were a good boy, didn’t you?” she teases.

I hadn’t, but damn if it didn’t hit me now. “Yeah.”

“And you liked being good for me,” she teases again, making my throat tighten.

“I love it,” I admit.

“Good. Because I love you, too. I never stopped. Even when you broke my heart.”

“There aren't enough words, or sorries, to erase what I did. But I’ll spend eternity trying.”

I roll out of bed, grabbing her hand. “C’mon, Princess. Let’s shower. Maybe you can come to work with me today.”

Her face lights up like Christmas morning. "Really? The boss won’t mind?"

I smirk. "It’s bring-your-woman-to-work day. And if the boss has a problem with it, he can fuck right off."

She giggles, music to my ears.

Presley picks out one of my T-shirts that practically swallows her whole, paired with tight jeans that show off her curves that have already started to fill out again. I could hardly keep my hands to myself as I guide her into the front seat of my truck.

"You're trouble," I mutter, brushing my hand over her thigh as I drive.

"You love it," she teases, sliding closer across the seat.

At the shop, I give her the grand tour, but it was clear she wasn’t really paying attention, too busy watchingmelike she was ready to pounce. Good thing the boys were out on jobs and wouldn’t be back for a while.

I lead her into my office, shutting the door behind us.

"You’ve got that look, Ry Ry," she says, backing toward the desk.

"What look?" I ask, stalking her slowly.

"The one that says you’re about to do something very, very bad."

I grin wickedly. "Princess, you have no idea." Before she can protest, I have her backed up against the desk, lifting her onto it in one fluid move, listening to her crutches clatter to the floor.

She squeals in surprise, laughing breathlessly. "Ry!"

"You wore those jeans just to torture me, didn’t you?" I growl, tugging at the waistband.

"Maybe," she says coyly, biting her lip.

"Take them off," I order, voice low and dangerous.

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t hesitate. She shimmies out of her jeans, and I yank them off her lush hips, tossing them aside.

No panties.

I groan, palming myself through my jeans. "You trying to kill me, baby?"

"Not yet," she whispers.

I drop to my knees, spreading her thighs wide and pulling her to the edge of the desk.

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