Page 11 of Flirting With Disaster

And right now, he didn’t care.

He lashed out with his tongue and tasted that pouty, lower lip. It was soft…and oh, so sweet.

She sighed as her head dropped back against the wall, eyes closed.

“You like that,” he taunted the little witch.

“I…I’m not sure.” She opened one eye. “We might have to try it again. I don’t have much experience.”

Oh yes, she was a sorceress.

He growled, then took her mouth with a yearning he hadn’t felt in years. He’d teach her a lesson about being…being…so fucking enchanting.

But it was she, in all her unconstrained innocence, that taught him. She pressed her 1940’s pin-up body against him and took charge of the kiss, nipping and nibbling his lips, sucking like he was a goddamn lollipop. What could she do with that mouth on his cock? He groaned. Her tongue danced and twined with his. Accepting everything he gave, she met him stroke for stroke.

Who knew?

He pressed his erection into her writhing hips. She was a torrid bundle of sensual discovery. A siren wired for sex.

Beck pulled away before he took her right against the wall. He wasn’t that guy. Okay, he used to be, but she wasn’t that girl. He grabbed her hand and led her down the hallway toward his private room.

Jude stumbled. “Wait, wait.” She let go of his hand and bent to massage her ankle.

He grimaced as a lash of guilt swept through him and then lifted her into his arms. Her soft body pressed against his, was going to kill him.

“Put me down. Where are we going?”

“Someplace I can teach you a lesson about the art of restraint.”

“I don’t want restraint.” Indignation sharpened her voice. “I want liberty!”

“Yeah, well I have the feeling Mr. Fit ‘N’ Tan is not the kind of guy you want liberating you.” He caught her knowing smirk in his peripheral vision. “And neither am I.”

He approached his suite door and placed her gently on her feet. She glanced down at his earnest erection, then lifted her eyes to his.

“Ignore that.” He turned the key and then scooped her back into his arms, entering his lair.

Six

“Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl, is simply not giving

the kiss the attention it deserves.”

Albert Einstein

He’d hit him. He’d belted the poor, dumb bruiser like it had meant nothing at all.

Except it did to her.

Nobody had ever stood up for her. She’d always had to stand up for herself.

Beast shed his Carhartt jacket, exposing an exquisitely sculpted body beneath a faded LA Dodgers T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Hard muscle flexed across his large shoulders as he arranged logs in the fireplace. The room was small, cold, and simplistic in function. Nothing like the luxurious rooms upstairs. A large bed, two, what looked to be nineteenth century leather rockers, and an end table. A beautiful, rustic wooden table sat in the center of the room, supported by twisted, gnarled tree limbs. It was provocative and beautiful, just like its owner.

She shivered as he worked in complete silence. “That table is beautiful. Where did you get it? The patterns of the rings are stunning.”

“I made it.”

She jolted. He was an enigma. A talented, handsome, mysterious libertine. “I don’t even know your name.”

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