Page 58 of The Belle and the Biker

“Would that explain why you looked as if you were about to hurl at the sight of me in bed?” I demand heatedly.

“I was about to hurl, and it had nothing to do with you. It was the tequila.”

Oh. That actually makes sense. I’ve been picturing that expression ever since that day, stewing with resentment. And now it turns out she wasn’t disgusted by me; she was just hungover.

And maybe I tend to take things a little too personally when it comes to anyone from a fancy family with a pedigree.

“My divorce literally just went through the week before. Anyway, that’s not the point!” Her voice rises to a shout.

“What is the point, Crazy Dukes?”

She throws down her napkin and jumps to her feet. I stand up too, and she pokes me in the chest with her finger. “The point is, you’re a moron if you can’t see how much I want you!”

“Well, you’re an even bigger idiot if you don’t see how much I want you!”

She pulls her shirt over her head, throws it at my face, and I let it drop to the floor. Her breasts are glorious, their rosy pink nipples swollen as if eager for my touch.

“Who’s the moron who went to California and spent the last three months there when he could have been in New York having sex with me every day?” she yells.

I peel off my shirt and hurl it to the ground. “Every day?” Jesus. The thought makes me so hard I could explode right there.

“Yes! Every day! Multiple times!” She’s yelling so loudly I wouldn’t be surprised if they could hear her in Sparky’s. And I don’t care.

“Well, if I’d known that, I would never have left!” I shout.

“Good! Now you know!”

“Fine!”

“Why are we even yelling?” she shrieks.

“Because you’re the most infuriating woman on the freaking planet, and I missed out on three months of sex with you!” And I scoop her up, throw her over my shoulder, and storm over to the bed with her.

The next few seconds are a blur.

Then we’re on the bed, tangled together, hungrily devouring each other. Her lush, womanly tits are pressed against my chest. I tear my mouth away from hers and rear back, staring greedily as she arches her back, thrusting them in my face.

“Like what you see?” She flutters her lashes at me in an exaggerated motion.

“I’m going to eat you alive, baby.” I palm the heavy globes, the weight heaven in my hands.

She sighs, lids lowering, her teeth biting into her lower lip. I’m about to bury my face in her cleavage when I feel a sharp pinch.

“What was that for?” She’d pinched me.

“I wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming this time,” she says.

I arch my eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to pinch yourself? I could have sworn that’s how it works.”

She stares up at me, furrowing her brow in confusion. “But then I would have a bruise.”

Suddenly it occurs to me what she’d said, and my anger evaporates. I smirk at her. “This time?”

Savannah blinks rapidly. “Well, that’s a figure of speech, of course.”

I lower my head to speak in her ear, kneading her breast, and she shudders. “Have you been dreaming of me, baby?”

She sniffs. It turns into a moan as I pluck at her pebbled nipples. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

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