She gave him a deadpan look as they sat up.
He reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear. “If you weren’t so damn irresistible…” he said with a smile, hoping to earn one from her. But she looked petrified. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. “I’m sorry, Char. I haven’t made out in a truck since…” Holy shit. Do not go there. “I’ll handle it, and I won’t ever put you in this position again.”
Another bang on the window had him opening the door. He pulled on his shirt and stepped out of the truck, meeting the serious eyes of a policewoman. “Evening, Officer.”
She shone the flashlight in his eyes, then swept it over his shoulder at Charlotte, who ducked her head, her cheeks flaming red. “Charlotte Sterling? Is that you?”
Charlotte’s head snapped up. She stared at the policewoman, her lips curving up in that shy smile that made him want to wrap her in his arms and protect her, so different from the sassy smile that challenged him at every turn. “Hey, Heather.”
Heather?
“You okay?” Heather shone the light at Beau again, openly assessing him. “Is this date consensual?”
Charlotte put her hand on his shoulder, as if she sensed he was about to snap.
Beau tried—and failed—to bite back his anger. “Yes, it’s consensual!”
“Yes,” Charlotte assured her. “Sorry. This is my friend Beau.”
“Something wrong with the rooms at the inn?” Heather asked with a hint of amusement in her eyes.
We were too fucking hot and bothered to wait. “No, ma’am.” He went for levity. “We just got carried away doing a little research for her books.”
Charlotte stifled a giggle. “Yes, exactly.”
“Okay, well, how about you get carried away somewhere other than on private property.” Heather raked her eyes down Beau’s body and turned off the flashlight. “I can’t wait to read this book.”
Charlotte climbed over the console to the passenger seat and said, “In my version, the policewoman might as well carry a bucket of ice water instead of a flashlight.”
Chapter Nine
CHARLOTTE PACED HER bedroom the next morning, berating herself for how awkward things had been after she and Beau had arrived back at the inn. He’d been a perfect gentleman on the way home, holding her hand and apologizing a hundred times for putting her in an uncomfortable position, as if she hadn’t had a hand in the idea. Hadn’t she lifted and wiggled until he’d taken the hint and finally touched her? When they’d come downstairs, she’d once again gotten flustered and nervous as a girl of eighteen, and she’d fled. She was an idiot. She had a sexy beast in the other room who happened to also be a great listener and who was slowly opening up to her. And here she was, a nervous, hot-and-bothered wreck.
Maybe she should take a few pages from her heroines’ playbooks. They have all the moves and the greatest lines. She walked into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a mess from his hands in it last night. Her Superman shirt was two sizes too small, stopping just above her belly button, but the matching panties still fit. It was one of her favorite sleeping outfits because it was soft as butter and made her feel like she was strong even when she wasn’t. She’d had it since she was eighteen, and she didn’t care that the seams were frayed and there was a tear at the hem of the shirt. Last night she’d needed every pick-me-up she could find. Including two Twix bars.
She frowned at her reflection. She looked more like she was going to a sleepover with her girlfriends than like a seductress.
“I can do this,” she mumbled to herself, and stalked determinedly into her bedroom. She rummaged through her drawers, tossing out lace thongs, push-up bras, and corsets she wore when she was trying to get in the mood to write BDSM scenes. She planted her hands on her hips and surveyed the chaos at her feet. Black, red, or nude?
Black said fuck me, red said hard and rough. She had no idea what nude said. She sank down to the edge of her bed.
She wasn’t about fucking or faking. Being with Beau wasn’t about fucking or faking. That was what she wrote, but not who she was or what she wanted. I like who I am, and I think he does, too.
She liked being with Beau, talking to him, dancing with him. Oh, how the man could dance! He was definitely large and in charge, but there was a tenderness about him. Or maybe that wasn’t the right word. I’m a romance writer and I can’t even script my own love life.
A memory of her mother tiptoed through her mind. Charlotte had been in eighth grade. The other girls had started wearing makeup, but Charlotte didn’t like how she looked with eyeliner and blush, and she’d wanted to fit in. Her mother had come into her room and found her crying. She’d wiped the eyeliner from beneath Charlotte’s eyes with a tissue and said, You’re perfect just as you are, ma chéri. Charlotte pressed her hand to her stomach, remembering the way it had knotted up as she’d told her mother that boys wouldn’t like her if she didn’t look as pretty as the other girls. Her mother had brushed Charlotte’s hair over her shoulder and said, Do you see how your papa looks at me when I’m sick? When I’m tired? When we dress fancy and go out? The boys who matter will look at you that way, too.
Even all these years after losing them, Charlotte could still picture her father gazing adoringly at her mother with compassion and love so palpable she could have drowned in it. Her mother was right.
She didn’t need lingerie. She needed to talk to Beau and get her feelings out in the open. No games, no research.
She pushed to her feet and strode out of her bedroom and straight out the door of her suite. Her stomach tumbled as she entered the hall, making a beeline for Beau’s room while begging herself not to chicken out. She reached for his doorknob—and hesitated.
If it’s locked, I’ll turn around and keep my feelings to myself.
She closed her eyes and grabbed the knob, leaving the decision in fate’s hands. It turned, and her eyes flew open. Her pulse went crazy as she pushed the door open and said, “Beau—”
His bed was empty. The sounds of the shower gave away his location. The door was ajar, and she stood before it, remembering what she’d seen the last time she’d barged in. It had been much easier when she’d been distracted by Ty’s phone call and not on a mission to lay her heart in his hands. Her heart had led her to write her grandparents’ story, which had led to the career she loved. Her heart had begged her to stay at the inn, which had eventually led Beau right to her front door.
Her heart had yet to lead her astray.
She inhaled deeply, hoping Beau would treat her heart as carefully as it deserved. She closed her eyes and drew her shoulders back, silently asking herself if she was one hundred percent sure about allowing herself to be so vulnerable with a man she barely knew—even though she was pretty sure he was equally vulnerable.
It took only a second for her choice to become clear—and she walked into the bathroom. As Beau yanked open the shower door, the warning in his eyes instantly morphed to desire.
“Charlotte.” His gaze blazed down her body, turning all her nerves into live wires.
“You didn’t lock your door,” she said shakily.
A wicked, and also somehow intimate, smile lifted his lips. “There’s nobody here I want to keep out of my bedroom.”
He leaned his forearm on the shower door, and it slid open, revealing his powerful thigh and half of his ripped abs, stopping just to the left of his biggest distraction. Only it was no longer his biggest distraction. His eyes, his loving, hurting heart, and his compassionate nature were.
“Oh” was all she could manage. Lust simmered inside her as she drank in his nakedness. She couldn’t take her eyes off him or force the words she’d come to say. She was swimming in memories of being in his arms, kissing his magnificent mouth, feeling his passion. She lowered her eyes, trying to muster the courage to speak.
“Was there another phone call?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice that scorched over her skin.
“No.”
She swallowed hard, and when she met his gaze, she saw the look she’d always dreamed of. It sent her stomach into a tempestuous dance. Taking another leap of faith, she took off her shirt. Beau’s muscles corded tight. For the first time in her life, words truly failed her. Even in her mind she couldn’t string two together. But as she shimmied out of her underwear and stepped toward his outstretched hand, she knew there was nothing she could say to make this moment more perfect.
He gathered her in his arms and closed the shower door, holding her against him as warm water rained down on them. His slick, hard body felt safe and alluring.
“Charlotte—” He breathed her name like he was marveling at a gift, then brushed his lips over hers.
“Sorry about last night,” they said in unison.
“Don’t,” he said, and cradled her face between his hands, looking at her like she was all he’d ever wanted.
Only she knew that wasn’t true. His heart, or at least part of it, still belonged to someone else, but maybe she was all he’d ever wanted since…
“You’re perfect.” Honesty blazed in his eyes and his voice. “I shouldn’t have allowed us to go so far in the parking lot.”
“I wanted to. I wanted you. But after we got home I was a fumbling idiot, and I ran away.”
“You were nervous and adorable, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you for even a second. And now you’re here with me, beautiful and naked.” The warmest smile she’d ever seen appeared on his handsome face, and he said, “I love that you don’t respect personal boundaries.”
Her laugh was silenced by the sweet press of his lips.
“Charlotte, you know I’m not here to stay,” he said between tender kisses.
“I know. I don’t care.” It wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t a lie, either. Given the choice of having this connection with Beau or forever missing out on him, she couldn’t choose anything else. “I want you.”
He kissed her again, rougher, more possessive.
“Wait,” she said. “I haven’t been with a man in forever.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman, too. I’ve never been a player, and…” His eyes grew serious again. “In case you’re worried, you should know I’m clean.”
Relief and appreciation swept through her. She’d been too caught up in them to worry about that, but he’d done the worrying for both of them.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he said. “Just let me kiss you.”
The sincerity in his voice only made her want him more. She went up on her toes as his mouth covered hers, the warm shower spray seeping into their kisses like secrets. His entire body embraced her like he never wanted to let go. She loved his strength, his possession, the sinful, guttural noises he made as his hands slid over her skin.
“Touch me,” she pleaded.
His eyes blazed into hers. She went up on her toes, and he met her halfway in a kiss that sang through her veins. It was slow and tender, and then his beautiful mouth was on her jaw, her neck, and good Lord, her breasts, sending her up on her toes again. God, he was good with his mouth. A river of desire raged inside her with every graze of his teeth, every hard suck. She leaned back against the cold, wet tile in an effort to keep her wobbly knees from failing her. He possessed every spot he touched as he moved down her body, kissing her belly, her hips. His hand moved between her legs, and like a laser to its target, he found the magical spot that shot bolts of lightning through her core. He rose, still driving her wild with his hand, and took her in a rough kiss. Lust surged through her. She clutched at his hair, his shoulders, his biceps, lost in a world of fiery sensations. He tore his mouth away, panting as he spread her thighs.
“I need more of you.” He dropped to his knees and sealed his mouth over her needy sex.
“Oh, Beau—”
She gasped in sweet agony as he expertly took her to the clouds. Quivering and quaking, she clawed at the wall to keep from melting down the drain. His hot tongue plunged in and out of her, and then he trapped her clit between his teeth, using his fingers to send her soaring again. She cried out, her voice echoing off the walls as he worked his magic over and over again until she collapsed into his arms. Before she recovered, his mouth was on hers, the taste of her arousal clinging to his tongue. He kissed her roughly, reigniting the inferno inside her. She’d been starved for him all night, had lain awake thinking about reciprocating the pleasures he’d given her. She’d dreamed about having his hard shaft in her hands, loving him with her mouth. And now, as his cock pressed temptingly against her belly, she reached between them.
“Char,” he said in a heated whisper, and grabbed her wrist. “I can wait.”
“I can’t,” she said, and pushed him against the tile as she kissed her way down his body, slowing to enjoy the feel of his pecs flexing against her mouth, the expansion of his abs with his heavy breaths.
He tasted clean, hot, and sweet, like a man made just for her. She felt his eyes on her, watching as she tasted and nipped and built up courage. She didn’t want to rush as she explored his body. Each time she touched her lips to his hot flesh, his erection twitched against her, and she liked that too much to hurry past it. He tangled his hands in her hair, and she glanced up. Her knees weakened with the hungry and appreciative look in his eyes. She hadn’t even known that was possible, and it made her feel bolder, more aggressive. When she reached his hips, she slid her hands to his ass. Heat spiked inside her at the confidence she’d mustered, the desires he’d unleashed in her. She wrapped her hand around his hard length, holding his gaze as she swirled her tongue around the broad head. His chin fell to his chest with a hiss, spurring her on. She lowered her mouth over his shaft, and he groaned. His hips bucked forward so hard she gagged and pulled back.
“Fuck,” he ground out, and caressed her jaw. “I’m sorry.”
“This is much easier on paper,” she said, feeling foolish.
“What?”
Gulp. She glanced up at his confused expression, and then she looked at his big, beautiful cock and said, “My heroines never choke. They make it seem easy and sexy, but this is way different. They’re all open throats and ‘give it to me harder.’ But you’re huge, and I haven’t done this in…Let’s not go there.”
“Huge, huh? That’s something coming from a woman who creates body parts to her liking. Come up here.”
He helped her to her feet, taking her in a series of slow, intoxicating kisses, until he’d obliterated her embarrassment.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said reassuringly. “I just like being close to you.”
“Oh no. I’m going to do this, and I’m going to blow you away…”
He chuckled, and she realized her pun.
“Man, I like you, shortcake.” He kissed her again, smiling against her lips. “You already blow me away.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she said sassily, and dropped to her knees, determined to give him the best blow job he’d ever had.
Or at least not to choke.
She closed her eyes, pushing away all thoughts, and concentrated on the hot hardness in her hands and the emotions sprouting inside her. As she slicked her tongue from base to tip, even those thoughts fell away. She licked and sucked, cradling his balls as she took him in her mouth. He moaned as she found her rhythm, working him with her hand and mouth. The shower rained down on her as he gently grabbed her head. She felt restraint in his grip and continued her efforts, wanting to shatter his control. The longer she pleasured him, the more confident and comfortable she became, learning to relax her throat and tease him in ways that made him shake and groan. She took him to the back of her throat, withdrawing so slowly, his fingers fisted in her hair, causing a sting of pain and pleasure. She worked him up until she could tell he was holding on by a thread. Then she concentrated on the wide crown, taking him to the back of her throat.
“Jesus,” he ground out.
She drew back and gazed up at h
er big, strong man. His jaw was clenched, his eyes a torrent of control and desire. “Don’t hold back,” she pleaded. “I’m good now. I want more. I want everything you have to give.”
His brows knitted again, his gaze torturous. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. I know you won’t.”
She guided his shaft into her mouth and grabbed his hips, readying for his powerful thrusts, but he pumped slow and steady, going deeper with each thrust. She moved with him, and when he stopped short of her throat, she pushed, taking him all the way to the root. His fists tightened in her hair as they quickened their pace. Flames licked at her skin, taking her higher as tension mounted in his thighs. She wanted his hands on her, wanted him inside her, taking her like he was fucking her mouth, but she wasn’t about to stop. She was so turned on, she knew if she touched herself she’d come in seconds, but she wanted to come by his hand—or mouth, or deliciously perfect cock—and she wanted him to come for her.
“Charlotte,” he warned, trying to pull out of her mouth.
She held him tighter, refusing to release him until he was free from all his barriers. Each thrust became more precise, more powerful, and when warm jets of his arousal hit the back of her throat, he ground out her name, his hips pulsing in fast, hard jerks. She stayed with him, waves of ecstasy throbbing inside her as the last of his climax rocked through him. When she finally set him free, he lifted her to her feet, and she melted against him, boneless, sated, and so full of them she couldn’t speak.
“What have you done to me, shortcake? I’ve never come so hard or felt so much.” He framed her face as he’d done earlier, but this time he caressed her jaw. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, drunk on him and dizzy with desire. He must have seen passion bubbling out of her pores, because he took her in another penetrating kiss as his hands and mouth worked their magic again, sending her spiraling into ecstasy and catching her when she finally, blissfully, floated back down to earth.
He kissed her tenderly, and then he lovingly bathed her, placing gentle kisses along her body as he went.
Anything For Love Page 11