Nauti Nights by Lora Leigh

Author:Lora Leigh
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-07-01T10:57:25+00:00

He remembered.

As he felt Crista’s orgasm shaking her body, the memories washed over him like a wave of crashing emotion. How she had found him in that damned ditch, the truck he had been driving then so damned stuck his liquored mind couldn’t figure out how to get it free.

Her voice had been soft, filled with pain, and it had soothed the ragged edges of fury tearing at his mind. He had let her lead him from the truck to Alex’s car, and as she drove them to the marina, the scent of her had wrapped around him like sunlight.

He had made her laugh.

He leaned close to her and said something about Alex letting her out to play with the big boys, and she had laughed at that.

Once they got to the marina, she had kept him from falling from the docks into the dark water below. Leading him to the Nauti Dawg, she kept up a steady, whispered conversation. Teasing, her voice urged him on and made his dick so damned hard he had been amazed. He’d thought he’d drunk enough whiskey that night to keep from getting a hard-on for days.

But he had been hard for Crista.

And once he got her into the houseboat, getting her into his bed hadn’t been that hard. She had wanted to make certain he was safe. That he was comfortable.

He had fallen back on the couch, and she eased his boots and shirt off. As he struggled with his pants, she helped there, too, even as she blushed to her virgin roots. And as she began to move away from him, he had cupped his hand around her head and had drawn her lips to his.

From that moment she had been his. His in a way that no other woman had been. She had taken to his touch as though she had been created for him alone. And perhaps, in a way, she had been.

Now, eight years later and nearly two hours after the memory had seared his mind, he walked behind her, back to the houseboat, the still-full picnic basket in his hand and Crista’s stiff shoulders in front of him.

She had clammed up the minute he had made his declaration.

“We need to talk,” she had stated as she rose from beside him and began looking for her clothes.

“So talk.” Dawg had sat up, draped his arm over his upraised knee, and watched her struggle into her clothes.

She had shaken her head angrily. “Not here. I can’t do this here.”

And now, he was more than interested in whatever the hell had her so damned mad.

He had fucked up eight years ago; he admitted it. But not to the extent she thought he had.

Half-formed thoughts had slipped past his lips, unfinished. The possessiveness he had felt rising inside him then had shocked him, left him reeling and off balance.

Now, eight years later, he was reasonably more mature, but he still felt like he was in over his head with Crista Ann Jansen.

As

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