Lone Star (Dartmoor Book 7) by Lauren Gilley

Author:Lauren Gilley [Gilley, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HP Press
Published: 2020-05-11T18:30:00+00:00

Thirty-Three

Axelle stood with her back to the showerhead, hot water pounding against her back, head tipped forward to keep her tied-up hair from getting wet. She stood, and she stared down at her toes on the tile, and she marveled at how turned on she was. “I’m gonna grab a shower,” she’d said to Albie, a few minutes before, in the common room, and the way he’d looked at her…Like he’d nearly volunteered to come with her.

Today had been wild. It had been dangerous, and people were in the hospital…

But she’d gotten to drive. Really drive, like she’d been raised to. And then Albie had come riding in on his bike, her knight in leather armor and she…well, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been pulsing with awareness and desire like this. They’d been dancing around one another, been so careful and full of doubts. But right now, none of that mattered. Nothing mattered save the way her skin was sensitive and rippling with gooseflesh, even under the hot spray, and the way she felt empty inside.

Finally, she turned off the water, and toweled off in front of the fogged mirror, her reflection a blur in the steam on the glass. That was good. She didn’t want to look at herself – examine herself. Didn’t want to find faults or second guess. When she was done, here, she supposed she’d venture back down the hall, and…

When she opened the door into the dorm room, she found Albie sitting on her bed.

He had his feet braced on the floor, leaning forward, forearms on his thighs. His head lifted when she entered, and his gaze very respectfully didn’t move across her bare, bath-heated arms or legs, went instead straight to her face and stayed there. What a gentleman.

“Did I overstep?” he asked. His pupils were dilated.

In a fit of rare bravery, she unwrapped her towel and let it fall. “No.”

He stood – her pulse leaped. But when his gaze stayed fixed on her face as he approached, slowly.

She couldn’t repress a smile. “Oh my God, just kiss me.”

He reached her, finally. Cupped her throat; hovered over her, his breath fanning warm across her face, whiskey-scented. Poised and quivering on the edge of letting go of all that lovely, terrible restraint.

“Albie,” she murmured. “I’m ready. Aren’t you?”

He sucked in a little breath. “God, yes.” And then kissed her.

An immediately forceful kiss, lush, and deep, and wet. She opened her mouth to his, and she could tell then just how much he’d been holding back, trying to be respectful and careful of her. Not because he thought her weak, she knew, she his grip on her throat tightened and his other hand found the bare skin of her waist, but because he cared that much. Because he wanted to do this right.

The thought left her neck weak. She leaned into him, hands finding the front of his shirt – of his cut; cool leather and warm flannel. She was already dizzy, nearly overcome. She didn’t want to think anymore; to doubt, and restrain, and be cautious.

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