Page 25 of Hard to Love
Greer grabbed his hand, gently turned it palm up, and expertly slipped the button into its hole. And holy shit, theslide of her fingers against the inside of his wrist was the straight-up sexiest touch he’d experienced in…possibly ever. And the way she was staring at his mouth while she continued stroking the skin under his cuff told him everything he needed to know about the way she felt. This was not a one-sided attraction.
She was as into him as he was her.
Hell, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already blown his chance at the contract, so Alex leaned into Greer, slid a hand behind her neck, then put his mouth on hers. Soft lips. Smooth skin. Sweet scent.
All of it flowed through his body to settle heavily between his legs. He pressed closer and tested how serious Greer was about this kiss by touching his tongue to her bottom lip. She tilted her head and opened her mouth to let him inside.
Hot and sweet and…the slight tang of mustard. She’d filched some of her brother’s lunch. Yeah, he’d like to make a sandwich of her, pressing her between his body and a mattress. Or his body and a tree. Or his body and the dashboard.
She scratched her nails down his inner wrist, and something exploded behind his eyes, something that felt a hell of a lot like predatory lust. His tongue still in her mouth, he reached down and released the slide on her seat, giving him a little more room to maneuver.
His hand went to her thigh, and as much as he’d admired those ass-snugging jeans all day, he’d give every last cent in his bank account if she’d been wearing a skirt. If she had, he’d slide a hand over her thigh, spread her legs wide, and get his hand between them.
Would rub two fingers over her panties—wet from how turned on she was—and slowly slide them beneath theelastic to touch that hot spot. Slick over her clit and lips, teasing, circling. And then finally burying them palm-deep inside her. Finger fuck her until she lost control and screamed his name.
Even with the awkward angle, Greer plastered her upper body against his and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest. Wanting a handful of those, he wedged a hand between their torsos and tugged open her shirt’s braided tie. Her bra was just a thin little bit of nothing, and he shoved one cup down. The feel of her breast in his hand sent another jolt through him, short-circuiting his control.
Crazy because he’d had his hands on his first pair of these when he was thirteen. He’d just about come in his shorts then, but that had been a long time ago. But when he squeezed Greer’s nipple between his thumb and finger, she pulled her mouth from his and let out a moan that jacked him up as much as if her hand was circling his dick.
He set his mouth against the hollow of her throat and shoved aside the other bra cup. He pinched her nipples, and the sound she made was high and frustrated. “Just a little more and I could—”
Crack.The sharp sound hit Alex’s ears like a pair of brass knuckles to the temple. He palmed the back of Greer’s head to push her toward the floorboard, but she wasn’t having any of it, squirming out of his hold and staring openmouthed over Alex’s shoulder.
“Uh-oh.”
Alex turned, trying like hell to keep Greer behind him. Rather than an imminent threat, what he saw was a man’s retreating back.
Shit, Cal Maddox had just caught them making out like a couple of horny teenagers after prom. Truly fan-fucking-tastic.
Greer nudged her hair out of her still dilated eyes and slumped back in the driver’s seat. “That was slightly embarrassing.”
No,thatwas career suicide. “Think he’s going inside to get a gun?”
“Doubt it.” She chuckled and squeezed his hand with an easy affection that rocked him, leaving him unsettled and strangely needy in a completely nonsexual way. “Because if he’d really wanted to kill you, he wouldn’t have knocked. You’d already be full of holes.”
Nicolás Villanueva glaredup at the midnight sky and wished like hell the moon would stop shining down like a freaking spotlight. But he never lost sight of the person wearing jeans and a hoodie hanging off a forty-foot-tall warehouse by a loop of rope around the waist. How many times did he have to tell José this shit was dangerous?
But it didn’t matter. The only thing important to José was getting the tag done. And not just any tag, not a quick spray of letters and symbols, but a full-blown piece of art.
Nic shifted from foot to foot, but the feeling creeping up the back of his neck wouldn’t go away. He called out in a shout-whisper, “You need to finish up and get down from there.”
“Five more minutes,” José yelled back.
That was always the answer. Five more minutes. But those five had a tendency to stretch to thirty. One time, when they were on an isolated highway overpass, it had stretched to a full hour. When José focused on a project, it was the only thing that existed.
And the shit was good, the best graffiti anywhere in San Antonio. Hell, probably the best in Texas. José was gettinga rep. Had been given the nickname Jefe Mejor, best boss, from the people who cared what was spray-painted on the sides of buildings.
“We can come back tomorrow,” Nic said.
“You know it don’t work that way,” José said, clearly distracted. “I won’t be able to get within a mile of this thing after the cops get an eyeful of it.”
True. That.
José had already painted the bones of a scene from the barrio, with a cop standing spread legged over a Hispanic guy on the sidewalk, blood trickling from his mouth and a hand outstretched as if he were reaching for the gun on the ground. Why the hell it was so important to create art like this, Nic had no idea.
Hell, they lived that scene. Wasn’t that enough?
Out of the dark, a sharp blade of headlights cut across the parking lot and carved fear into Nic’s belly. They had to get the fuck out of there. Now. “Get the hell down.”
