Page 19 of A Forbidden Spring
“Fuck it.”
“What was that?” he murmurs, his hand dropping to knead my breast, as he keeps me trapped against the wall.
Claimed.
Owned.
Possessed.
“Dinner,” I rasp and he grins, the gleam in his eyes borderline feral. “Dinner first.”
“As you wish.”
12
MERRICK
Ihadn’t meant for things to escalate so quickly between Wren and me in my office. Sure, I wanted to tease her—taunt her—but the second she’d stabbed her finger into my chest, all bets were off.
The rise and fall of her chest, the flush of her cheeks, and that sassy fucking tone had been too much.
I’d wanted to strip her down right there, lick every inch of her beautiful body, and watch her come apart on my tongue.
The thought has my dick punching at my zipper as I navigate the darkened roads to my rental, the bags of takeout sitting on my passenger seat. Headlights shine in my rearview mirror as I take the final turn into the driveway and kill the engine, my heart racing in my chest as she parks next to me, her overhead light coming on as she opens her door.
Fuck, she’s pretty.
Grabbing all the bags, I meet her at the bottom step of the porch and nod toward the door. “After you.”
“You’ve already had me pinned to the wall; I don’t think you’re much of a gentleman tonight.” The words are a tease, her hips swaying as she climbs up the steps and waits for me.
Pausing, I shuffle everything to one hand and grip the back of her neck with the other, slanting my mouth over hers and kissing her.
Slow and sensual, almost lazy, I take my time tasting her.
“Make no mistake, I want you, Wren.” Leaning back, I let her see my eyes, see the sincerity in them, as I drag my thumb over her swollen bottom lip. “But I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
I nod, taking a step back then unlocking the door and pushing it open for her. The house is big but not overly so. Massive beams accentuate the height of the ceilings, the stone fireplace the focal point just past the open kitchen.
“You don’t seem impressed,” I comment as I drop everything onto the counter, removing my shoes and jacket as she does the same.
“A lot of the properties are like this, Merrick. You don’t come to Montana for the house; you come for the view.” She shrugs. “At least you do if you’re really here for the land.”
“It’s very different from my view in New York,” I concede.
“And which do you prefer?”
The one standing in front of me.
“I like them both for different reasons. Can I get you a drink? Wine? Beer? Whiskey?”
“Whiskey is fine.”
My lips twitch as I move to the bar and fill our drinks, surprised to find her pulling silverware from the drawer, our dinners set out on the counter.
“Let’s sit at the table.”
