A Fighting Chance: A Small-Town Summer Romance (A Chance At Love Book 1) by Kat Savage

Author:Kat Savage [Savage, Kat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-13T16:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

Gentry

Lyla’s warmth radiates outward and sweeps from the side where she’s tucked under my arm, to all over my body. She makes my chest tight. Hearing how Dean treated her makes me want to drive back to the farm, wait up all night for him to arrive at work in the morning, and then punch him right in his stupid throat. Guys like him deserve throat punches. My arm instinctively tightens around her.

She’s so good.

How could anyone treat her like that?

“To answer your original question, yes, you can talk. No one is close enough to hear you whispering. You just have to make sure you lean in really close to me,” I say, refocusing our conversation.

She smirks at me, of course. “Lean into you, huh? You mean like this?” She turns her face to mine, nuzzling the tip of her nose against my beard. She parts her lips, grazing my earlobe, and a tingle ignites the back of my neck, making me close my eyes. “You want me to whisper to you like this?” she asks, her warm breath on my skin.

I nod. “Yes, like that,” I say, exhaling the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I clench my hand into a fist, resisting the urge to grab her. Because I really want to take her by her thigh and pull her to me. On top of me. And—

Stop. Stop, stop, stop.

Calm yourself down, man.

She takes the popcorn from me and sets it next to the drinks. “Can we lie down?” she asks, her dark eyes moving over my face. They’re black now as night sweeps over dusk.

Oh my god.

What’s she trying to do to me?

I nod, not trusting my voice to remain calm.

Why am I even nervous?

We slept together. I’ve been inside her. I have to push aside the delicious recollection of that or I will not remain a nice guy on this date.

Maybe I’m nervous because I want to do it again. I mean, I definitely want to do it again.

But what if she doesn’t want to?

My throat tightens as we adjust the pillows and retreat our bodies low into the mattress. “Do you want some blanket?” I ask.

“Maybe just over my feet,” she says.

I raise up to pull the blanket over her feet and my fingertips connect with the soft skin just above her ankle. I really like her skin—looking at it, touching it, kissing it. I want to bite her and then I want to lick her wounds.

Whoa, okay. Just calm down.

I shake my head. As if her bare shoulders or our legs accidentally grazing aren’t enough, I watch her hands slowly shimmy the hem of her dress up higher. My eyes assault her calves, her knees, and just a tiny bit of her thighs before she stops. I blink rapidly, collecting myself.

I settle back into my spot next to her and she turns into me, drawing a leg up just slightly enough to put it over mine. She presses a hand against my chest, and I look to the sky above me, praying for inner strength.

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