Page 23 of Challenge
“And what?” he snaps.
“And I’m interested in you!”
His brows lift. “Are you? Because as far as I can tell, you’re just a bird who fell asleep in a chair and buggered off without another word. Our bodies have barely touched.”
“Oh, sod off. It was more than that.” The words feel stroppy in my mouth.
“You left without a word. That was a bloke move and I didn’t like it.” His arms flex and my eyes fall to that perfect V-line peeking out from his towel. How is it that all footballers seem to have that V? How is it that I’m still ogling his half naked body right now?
“Camden, I’m your doctor. You are my patient.” I exhale, trying to get a hold of myself. “This whole thing is an ethical disaster that I can’t seem to get away from. Bloody hell, what did you expect this morning? Breakfast in bed and a goodbye snog?” I grumble.
Is this real life? Is Camden Harris seriously insecure over me? I can’t even comprehend this logic. He’s one of the hottest footballers in London. But looking at his face, I’d venture to say he’s hurt and that my sharp tongue isn’t helping matters.
“Christ, I’m sorry, all right?” I add.
His brows lift in shock, as if he’s impressed that after all that I apologised.
“Are you herpes sorry?” His hard eyes hide a playful twinkle.
“I don’t even know what that means,” I groan.
A soft laugh shakes his shoulders. “Fine, let’s get back to that goodbye kiss you mentioned.” He begins moving toward me with slow, tender steps. I could laugh at how easy it is for him to change course, but even with an injury, Camden Harris moving toward me is no joking matter. Those intense eyes make me forget all about why I tried to avoid him all day.
“What about a goodbye kiss?” I ask, the pitch of my voice suddenly deeper. My treacherous gaze moves to his bare chest and curves over to his half-sleeved arm. I never knew I liked tattoos until I saw his.
“The way I see it, that kiss we had in the ICU seems like a long time ago. All day, I’ve been trying to determine if it was as good as I remember, or if it was just the adrenaline from my injury. Let’s see if those sparks are still there. Then we’ll know if these risks are worth the rewards.”
I’m pretty sure I should be offended by his last remark, but I’m too busy staring at his lips as he comes within inches of my face. His warm breath is mixing with mine and it’s an intoxicating combination. It invigorates a completely different part of my brain—the part that acts on raw feelings and emotion. Primitive in nature.
But the right side of my brain knows that what we’re doing could get me into serious trouble and maybe even cost me my job. But his scent. His face. His body. Hisbeingis so overwhelming and exciting, I can’t think straight. My hormones have completely taken my body hostage.
How can one person seem so very wrong but so very right all at the same time?
“I like the red specs,” he murmurs before his arms snake around my waist and pull me to him. My hands land on his bare chest. The sensation of his skin against mine and the wrongness of it all are exactly what urge me on.
“I’m going to kiss you again.” His lips flutter so close to mine it already feels as if we’re kissing.
“Are you sure we—” My weak response is cut off by the unapologetic fervor of his mouth on mine. I squeeze out a surprised moan as he smothers me with his hard body and slides his tongue forcefully into my mouth. Reflexively, my eyes roll to the back of my head as my limbs desperately grope every square inch of his upper body, searching, pleading, grasping for some sense of sanity. Some sense of awareness of my surroundings. Some lifeline to pull me out of this danger.
But I don’t find it. I only find mounds of hard, roped, and incredibly smooth muscle. God, does it feel good. And bad. And oh, so right. He’s consuming me as if I’m Christmas dinner and he hasn’t eaten in months. I nearly squeal with excitement when his right hand drops to my towel-covered arse and palms it decadently.
He pulls me snuggly against his crotch.
Against his erection.
It’s in that one pump of his hips that I realise with a thunderous thud of my heart that the playboy flirt who kissed me when he came into Patch Alley yesterday is gone.
Instead, he is replaced by a sinfully arousing and totally mind-blowing conqueror that is Camden Harris.
And I am screwed.
SHE FEELS UNPRACTISED.UNREHEARSED.UNTAINTED. Unwrapped. Indie Porter is like a Christmas gift I’ve been waiting for my entire life that has finally arrived and I don’t know which part I want to play with first.
I pull my tongue out from the deep wetness of her mouth and sink my teeth into her lush lower lip, sucking off the lemony sweetness. This is the same lower lip she was biting seconds earlier as she stared at me in my towel like she wanted to fuck me right then and there.
I probably would have let her. I was mad a minute ago and trying to decide if she was worth the trouble, but this woman has something on me that I can’t seem to step away from. I want her. I want her more than she wants me…and that never happens to me. Ever. I woke up with a raging boner this morning thinking about this sexy redhead. Then she stood there watching me like I was some regular patient she was taking care of.
I’m putting a stop to that right now. With this kiss, I’m determined to remind her what it means to be mouth-fucked by Camden Harris. I have to even out the stakes between us.
