Hate to Lose You

By: Penny Wylder

Since we’re touching now, I can feel the shiver that passes through her body at my words, starting at her toes and rising all the way up to her neck, which quivers against my fingertips. At the same time, her hands come to rest on my chest, and slide, tentatively, up toward my shoulders. “They say two wrongs don’t make a right,” she replies, her voice pitched almost as low as mine now. Her gaze drifts again, back to my mouth, and my smirk widens. “But I suppose sometimes it’s nice to be a little wrong.”

She grins, and fucking hell, it makes me want to devour that mouth of hers.

“If you’re looking for wrong, you bumped into the right guy,” I tell her, a note of seriousness creeping into my tone, as I remember how I got here, what I’m running from.

She doesn’t seem to notice the sincerity, though. She’s too busy catching her breath as I slide my hand up to bury my fingers in her hair, tightening my grip just a little to tilt her head back, and grant me better access. “You bumped into me,” she reminds me, but her protest is faint, breathy, altogether unconvincing.

“Lucky me, then,” I reply, and then I kiss her, hard.

Her lips part against mine, soft and supple and tasting just as good as she smells. I snake my other arm around her waist, pull her against me, and at the same time, I feel her raise one leg, hook it around the back of my thighs as she arches her hips into mine.

Damn. She’s almost as hungry as I am.

I tilt her head, part her lips with mine, and press my tongue into her mouth. She takes me in, eager, her hands sliding up over my chest to wrap around my neck for balance as I continue to kiss her, taste her, claim every inch of her delicate, gorgeous little mouth.

At the same time, I can feel my cock growing rock hard between us, and the next time she rolls her hips against mine, she inhales again, another little gasp, no doubt because she can feel it too. It digs into her belly, and I can feel the way her lips curve into a grin as she shifts against me, rolling those hips just enough to make her stomach graze along my length. Now I’m the one breathing in sharply, almost a gasp, at the sensation of those soft, perfect curves of hers pressed against me.

“Two grown adults,” a woman suddenly says, also in a Southern drawl, even more pronounced. “You’d think they could at least afford a bedroom.”

“I’ll say,” sniffs another, and we break apart, breaths coming hard and fast, just in time to watch two older women scowling over their shoulders at us before they disappear into the store.

We both start to laugh, almost at the exact same instant, and one glance at each other just makes the laughter come harder. She steps back from me, but when I trail my hand down from her shoulder, along the length of her arm, to twine my fingers through hers, she lets me. It feels easy, natural, which sounds insane to say about someone I just met. But her soft fingertips fit between mine exactly, and her tiny, delicate hand feels like it was made to nestle in my larger one.

“I don’t have a bedroom handy,” she says, flashing me a sly, sideways grin that makes the ache in my pants even more pronounced. “But I do have a car parked around back. Shady spot under the trees, which I always pick because it’s out of the way…”

“You have a dirty mind, Miss…?”

She laughs and blushes at the same time in a way that makes me want to tug her right back against me and start kissing her again. But that’s liable to get us into trouble all over again. “Rider,” she says. “Daisy Rider.”

“Daisy.” Her name tastes like pecan pie in my mouth—sticky, sweet and impossible to resist. “I’m Bronson.” I don’t give her my last name. Too recognizable. All of this is a terrible idea, in fact.

I release her hand, and her eyes widen in surprise.

But I just reach past her to pick up the grocery bags that have been lying forgotten at her feet ever since we literally ran into each another. “And I think the least I can do after our collision is help you to your car.”

Her throat tightens with a swallow, and her gaze darts to my mouth one more time, before she turns to lead me away from the store with a shrug of one shoulder. “It is the least you could do, I agree,” she shoots over her shoulder, in a sly tone that makes me grin.

Top Books