Temptations: A Limited Edition Contemporary Romance Collection

by Blue Saffire

  “Listen, sweetheart, no one else’ll be coming down this road this late at night. Why don’t you let me give you a ride? Unless you’re too afraid to hop in a truck with me?”

  Her deep blue eyes narrow as she assesses me. Her lips curve in a challenging smile, and I feel a twitch in my pants. Damn, if that’s not the sexiest expression any woman’s ever tossed my way.

  I broaden my chest, trying to keep my hard-on from showing. “So, what d’you say, darlin’?”

  She looks over her shoulder, then takes a step to the left, eyeing whatever’s behind me. I see a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but the moment she speaks, that smirk still on her face, I know it’s a done deal. “The Fiske barnhouse.”

  My brows knit. “The Fiske barnhouse?”

  She shrugs and places a hand on her hip, jutting it out to the side. “You gonna give me a ride, or you gonna stand there repeating what I say?”

  I lick my lips, the side of my mouth curving up. Everything about this girl screams exciting. I close the distance between us and in one quick scoop, gather her against my chest, my arms under her shoulders and knees. “Hang tight.”

  She squeaks loudly, her arms wrapping around my neck. Her breath mingles with mine as our bodies press together. She glances at my mouth, swallowing hard. For a fleeting moment, I consider leaning forward and kissing her.

  “What are you doing?”

  I pivot instead, and head back toward my truck. “Exactly as you asked: giving you a ride to the barnhouse. A gentleman never lets a lady walk on the road without her shoes.”

  “Oh. Right. Thanks, I guess?” Her grip tightens as I reach for the driver’s door handle and open it. When it does, I set her down, slowly pulling my arms away from her body, our eyes still locked.

  My throat feels suddenly dry as I watch her lick her lips. They’re luscious, and full, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to run my tongue over them.

  “M-my boots,” she whispers.

  I blink.

  Then pull back.

  “My boots,” she says again, louder. “And my . . . my handbag.”

  Oh, right. I back out of the truck and retrieve the scattered items. I then head to her car, grab the keys from the ignition, and lock the doors before I jog back to my truck.

  She’s scooted over to the passenger side, so I climb in and shut the door, handing over her things. Checking my rearview mirror one last time, I put the truck in gear and drive. “So, what’s a nice girl like you doing out in the middle of nowhere, anyway?”

  She pulls her shoulders back and arches her neck, teasing me with the long curve of smooth, creamy skin. I wonder if she knows the effect she has. I can tell she isn’t putting in any additional effort. This is her.

  Naturally.

  I shift in my seat, adjusting myself.

  “Sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet my cousin-slash-best friend at some party.”

  I laugh at that, throwing a quick glance her way, only to realize she’s stony-faced. “Oh, you were serious?”

  She crinkles her nose. “No. I just like telling complete strangers that I like to sneak out.”

  “Sorry,” I say, trying not to smile like a lovestruck idiot. Keeping my left hand on the steering wheel, I turn to the side, extending my right hand toward her. “I’m Homer, by the way. Homer Lovelly.”

  This time, it’s her turn to chuckle. I raise a brow, not joining in her mirth, and she pauses. “Oh. You were serious? Lovelly’s your actual name? For real?” There’s a spark in her eyes as she lobs my own words back at me. It’s refreshing.

  “I’m hurt you would say that,” I tease.

  “Ah-ha. You sure look like an insecure kinda guy.” She rolls her eyes.

  “I still haven’t gotten your name. Plus, you’re kinda leaving me hanging here.” I wiggle my fingers to make a point.

  “Claire.” She slides her hand into mine for a quick shake. “My name is Claire.”

  “So, Claire, what brings you to this part of town? Can’t say I’ve seen you around before.”

  “Probably because I’m not from around here.”

  “No?”

  “Nope.” She sighs, and it’s wistful, and weighted with things I don’t understand. I wonder what it’d feel like to have her make that noise in my mouth. “I really wasn’t planning to go out tonight, but Beccs insisted that I couldn’t miss this party, and, well . . . here I am, in a stranger’s truck, looking for a party while my uncle’s car is on the side of the road.”

  A soft chuckle pulses through me.

  “It’s not funny.” She swats me in the arm, and a part of me wants her to assault me all over. “Especially when my uncle finds out. Not only did I sneak out in middle of the night, but I also managed to destroy his car.” She groans. “Shit. I’m going to be in a whole lot of trouble.”

  “I suppose so. Though, if you ever need to get away, give me a call. I’ll give you a ride.” I wink at her as I pull into the lot of the Fiske’s barnhouse. I kill the engine. “Wait here.”

  Getting out of the truck, I come around the front and pull open the passenger’s side door. I place my hands on her waist and help her down.

  “So, how do I get a hold of you?”

  I look at her, confused. “Hmm . . . ?”

  She takes a step toward me, her eyes downcast. She places a hand against my chest and looks up at me through her eyelashes. “You said to find you if I ever need to get away.”

  The blue of her gaze entraps me like a siren. Again, I consider giving into the temptation. I could just lean in and taste how luscious her mouth would be. I hadn’t realized the precarious position we’re currently in, her trapped between my body and the open cab of the truck, my arms on either side of her head. Every muscle in me clenches tight as a coil, ready to combust.

  I lean forward as she tilts her face up. Our lips are a breath apart. She glances to my mouth as she nibbles her lower lip. I lean forward, needing to get a taste―

  3

  Claire

  I grab a hold of his face with both hands and press my mouth to his. At first, I’m surprised at my own reaction. I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t expect to kiss a boy I just met, especially when he could have just as easily been a serial killer. But something about him, about that sexy Southern-boy charm, all gentlemanly manners and slow, lazy smiles on a hot-as-sin bod, has me wanting to let everything go. It’s my last summer before I head off to the University of Georgia, and I promised myself I’d live it up. Why not live it up with him?

  From the way his body stills, going stiff as a stick, I have to assume he wasn’t expecting this either, though everything about his previous actions spoke otherwise.

  I smile into the kiss. What’s the matter, cowboy? Didn’t expect me to make the first move?

  A moment stretches between us before his body relaxes, molding into mine. His arms wrap around my waist, pressing all of me against him as he crowds me back against the seat of his truck.

  I moan into his mouth as his tongue gets demanding. My head spins as blood rushes into my ears, and just like that, I lose control of our kiss.

  And I’m one hundred percent okay with that.

  Good god, yes.

  Tight knots coil low in my abdomen, and my pulse picks up until it feels like my heart’s about to explode inside my chest.

  This is just a kiss, I try to tell myself. Just a―

  Another long moan escapes me.

  “Claire . . .” My name sounds strained on his lips, before his tongue swipes over mine. His chest rumbles as a groan rips from him. His hand clutches desperately at my waist, the other tangling in my already ruined hair.

  Everything in me coils with desire. I’ve never been kissed like this before, like I matter, like I’m the breath of air needed to survive the next second.

  My hands find their way under his shirt, and that first touch of the bare skin on his stomach makes me shudder. He pushes up against me, and I jump up, wrapping my legs arou
nd his waist while his lips continue to devour mine.

  His arms slide under my butt, pulling my center snug against his, the length of his hardness pushing against my core. I’m not even sure he realizes how close we are to being lost in this moment, and honestly, I don’t care.

  I hadn’t expected my summer vacation to kick off in such a heated way, but it doesn’t matter. Not in this moment. I want whatever he’s willing to give me, right now. Right here.

  We play a game of tug-of-war as he lays me back onto the seat of the truck. A series of soft groans emits from him, igniting the adrenaline-laced desire rushing in my blood. My hand travels south between us, until I’m pressing against his hard-on.

  That’s when he stops me. He catches my hand in his, holding it in place as he pulls back.

  “No,” he whispers, nibbling at my lower lip.

  “God, yes,” I pant, trailing my lips across his jaw and up to his ear.

  “Claire . . .” My name comes out as a worship. “Please.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” I sigh, then suck on his neck, sending a shiver up his spine. He groans. I know we’re on display, that anyone could come outside and see us, catch us. I suppose that’s half the thrill that spurs me on. But not him.

  He slowly backs away. I push up on my elbows, then scoot to the edge of the seat. He lets me down gently, until my feet hit the ground again, then presses his forehead against mine, his breath coming in hard, heavy pants.

  “Go out with me,” he whispers.

  I pull away. “Go out with you? Like, on a date?” I laugh, placing my hand over his chest, pushing at him gently. He gives, stepping away.

  Or so I thought.

  He grabs a hold of my hand and pulls me into him, my body slamming against his, his arm once again wrapped around my waist.

  “Yes, like on a date. Go out with me, Claire.” His eyes stare into mine, boldly, confidently.

  I can’t help but stare back.

  Who has eyes like that? Eyes that, even in the limited light, sparkle with mischief as he bores into my soul.

  I’m mesmerized by them.

  I almost find myself nodding, getting lost in them―

  “I need to go,” I whisper, my lips tingling from our kiss. A kiss I wouldn’t mind reliving again.

  I’m disappointed when he doesn’t insist I stay, or offers to finish what I started. But he doesn’t. So I walk.

  Before I get too far, I turn back around, just in case. He’s still standing where I left him, watching me. My insides quiver at the intensity of that stare, like I’m the prey, and he’s the hawk.

  “Is that a no, then, sweetheart?”

  I shrug and wink, walking backward. “Thanks for the ride, Homer Lovelly.”

  A slow smile lifts one side of his mouth. “Anytime, Claire. Enjoy your evenin’.”

  He tips his hat to me, and then turns away, the perfect picture of Southern hospitality. But something tells me he might not be as complete a gentleman as he wants everyone to believe.

  Kissing him felt like drinking hot cocoa beside a fireplace with fuzzy socks and a book while the rest of the world freezes to death. There’s no way a man who can kiss like that is a saint.

  Still, I didn’t come here looking for a boyfriend. I came here to spend a carefree summer with my cousin, to spend time with people who know nothing of me. I’m ready to drink, be reckless, and laugh. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.

  Behind me, the truck’s engine flares to life. Before I can change my mind, I open the door to the barnhouse and step inside.

  4

  Homer

  “So, you’re telling me―”

  “Dude. Yeah, man.” I scoff, taking a long drag of my milkshake, my cheeks hollowing out as I do.

  “But wait, I’m just trying to understand. It went from you picking her up, to you dropping her off at the barnhouse . . .” Aaron Fiske, my best friend since our first day in kindergarten, points with both hands at one spot on the table, to the next, highlighting the invisible markers of my story as though they’re painted on a map. “From her wanting to shove a boot up your ass, to shoving her tongue down your throat?”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re dramatic?”

  “When people don’t like my factual descriptions, they tend to call it dramatic, yeah.” I roll my eyes at his use of air quotes on the word, “dramatic.”

  “I also demand to know why I’m only just now hearing about something that happened almost a week ago. What the hell, man? I mean, I was starting to think you were gay after your relationship with deep-throat-the-entire-football-team Mary ended. You haven’t even looked at a chick since, and now this?”

  I groan. “Dude, that was two years ago. I’ve been with others since then.”

  “Oh, have you?” Aaron raises an eyebrow. “I hadn’t noticed. All I ever see you doing is some bullshit that’s guaranteed to make you rich. I don’t know. It all sounds sketchy, if you ask me.”

  I chuckle. “Well, I ain’t askin’ you. And yes, I’ve been with others since Mary.”

  “Name one.” Aaron points a french fry at me, the look on his face one of smug glee.

  “What?”

  “I said name one.”

  “Are you serious right now?”

  “If you can’t name one girl you’ve slept with since Mary, then you ain’t over it.”

  I shake my head. Unbelievable.

  I’ve been in a few relationships over the past two years, though maybe friends-with-benefits would be a better way to describe it. Since the incident with Mary my sophomore year, I hadn’t really felt the need to be with anyone officially. Back then, I thought she was it. We were going steady, and I had every plan to give her a promise ring that summer before our junior year, but then . . . it’s for the best, I suppose.

  Since then, the few women I’ve “dated” have been mostly used to keep me warm at night. A mutually beneficial arrangement I’ve never felt the need to tell Aaron about. He’s my best friend, but he’s horrible at keeping things to himself.

  The bell on the door jingles as people enter the ice cream shop, and my eyes are instantly drawn to the entrance. It’s a habit I’ve found myself with all week, though I refuse to admit why. A group of girls, many of whom I recognize from high school, chatter amongst themselves as they make their way toward the counter.

  Disappointment slithers through my chest. I refuse to examine the reason why. I don’t remember giving myself permission to expect a certain unpredictable blonde’s presence, let alone hope for it like some lost puppy waiting outside a store for its owner. Instead, I turn my attention back to Aaron. Just as I start to look away, though, the door opens again and I freeze.

  It’s her.

  Claire.

  She scans the room as the door shuts behind her. For a moment, I think she might be looking for me. My breath hitches. Everything inside me comes alive, like I’ve been hooked to an electrical socket, every nerve in my body jolted awake. And when I say every nerve . . . I mean, every fucking nerve.

  I adjust myself in my seat, feeling the uncomfortable tightness in my pants. But her eyes slide right past me, and she heads over to the group from earlier. I watch as she slides in next to Rebecca Young, a girl I’ve known for a few years, but never really chatted with.

  “What are you looking at?” Aaron asks as he turns around. “Oh, fucking hell.” He slides out of his seat. “I’ll be right back.” Then he walks, rolling up his imaginary sleeves, toward the table where Claire and the group of girls are seated.

  Rebecca looks up at his approach, her smile disappearing.

  “I can’t believe you have the nerve to show up here.”

  “Excuse me?” she says, pushing up to her feet. “What’s your damage, man?”

  The mood in the room instantly sours. I have no idea what the beef between Rebecca and Aaron is this week, and I don’t really care. Personally, I think they’d both be better off if they just boned and got it over with, b
ut he claims he’d rather cut off his own dick than sleep with “a cold-hearted harpy as gnarly as Rebecca Young.” To which I always respond with, “I’m sure, man. I’m sure.”

  “I said―”

  Before I realize what’s happening, Aaron’s covered in ice cream. Rebecca might be half a foot shorter than Aaron, but whoever thinks a five-foot, five-inch woman can’t reach the height of a six-foot tall man hasn’t met the scorned wrath of Rebecca Young.

  Aaron scowls as ice cream from all three of the cones Rebecca dumped over his head drips down his face and onto his shirt. I snort as I double over, trying to hide my laughter.

  I’m torn between wanting to help him get out of this sticky—and I do mean literally—situation and the desire to avoid looking like him.

  “You little―”

  “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” Rebecca takes a dangerous step toward him. “Go cry to your mommy?”

  “Why, you―”

  She waves dismissively at him before retaking her seat next to Claire. My laughter fades, cut off in a sharp intake of air as Claire’s deep blue eyes find mine, drawing me to her like a magnet. Her tongue darts out, licking her bottom lip, and suddenly, my mouth feels dry.

  Annoyance flares when Aaron’s dumb ass blocks my view, breaking the connection I’ve been secretly yearning for since that night I drove off and left her at that party.

  I know, being his friend, I shouldn’t laugh, but with his shoulders slumped and three ice cream cones’ worth of ice cream sliding down practically his entire person, it’s near impossible not to.

  “Don’t say it.” He puts a finger up in the air as I open my mouth, ready to ignore that command and dish him all the shit he’d totally give me if our situations were reversed. “I said, don’t.”

  “Wasn’t going to,” I say, raising my hands in the air with an innocent smirk.