Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(40)

“I didn’t mean for that to happen, I swear.” His voice is full of remorse and he keeps his eyes averted, so I believe him.

Sighing, I say, “You can look now. I’m decent.”

He does look at me, but then he starts to smirk. “Decency after that debacle is a debatable point.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He lets out a sigh. “I’m just being an ass.” Scrubbing a hand down his face, he says, “Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“But it’s so fun,” I snidely remark.

I’m trying to sound irritated, but truth be told this actually is kind of fun. Brent looks so hot standing there that I don’t care he saw—and sort of touched—some boobage.

“It really is kind of fun, isn’t it?” he says when he sees the smile I’m trying to hide.

“It is,” I admit.

“And why do you think that is, Aubrey?”

He casually leans against the doorjamb, making all those damn muscles in his chest and arms pop.

Please. Don’t do this to me. Not now, not after your hand was on my boob.

Brent 51 has already gotten a workout lately. And a lot of my fantasies—okay, 99.99 percent of them—involve Brent showing up at my bedroom door, maybe not drunk, but definitely looking hot like this.

Unable to make eye contact, I murmur, “I don’t know why.”

He takes a step closer. “Oh, I think you do.”

God, he smells good. He must’ve showered upon returning from Nolan’s place. Come to think of it, his hair does look a little wet, especially at the ends, where it curls a little in the most adorable way.

I want to reach out and touch just one dark strand.

Oh, what the hell.

Emboldened, I do exactly that.

And he lets me.

I’ve never touched him before, not like this.

My fingers linger at a droplet of water at the end of the strand that’s touching his neck. I press my index finger to the drop…and next thing I know I’m touching his actual neck.

His hand goes to my cheek, where he softly caresses my sensitive skin. Our eyes lock, and we both know there’s so much we should say right now.

But neither one of us utters a word.

I think we’re too afraid we’ll sever this amazing connection we’re feeling. It’s more than the usual pull. This is something electric, something that’s pulsing in the air.

So when he lowers his face to mine and our lips finally touch, I don’t stop him.

It’s just a brush, but it’s filled with a promise of more.

And I want more. God, do I want more.

I’m about to go over the line with Brent, and I don’t care. Still, my conscience makes one final appearance and I murmur a half-hearted, “We shouldn’t do this.”

“You’re right,” he agrees.

But neither of us stops. Instead, we start kissing, really kissing. And holy hell, it’s hot. Brent Oliver is kissing me. Not all aggressively like I expected him to, but softly and tenderly, which is probably worse for my restraint.

Yeah, it is. I melt in his arms and let out a whimper. To which he becomes a little more forceful.

Passions we’ve been fighting are ignited. And f*ck touching that one strand of hair; my hands go all up in his dark locks. His hair is damp all over, but so incredibly soft. A striking contrast to a guy who’s so hard everywhere else.

Speaking of which, his substantial erection is pressing into my belly. No Brent 51 tonight. I’m going for the real thing.

I swear I hear bells ringing in my head, like a joyful jubilation that this girl is about to get laid by a massive c—

Wait, those aren’t bells in my head. Someone is ringing the doorbell downstairs like a goddamn maniac.

Pulling away from Brent, I breathlessly inquire, “Who the hell rings a doorbell like that at this hour?”

His eyes, hooded with lust, scan down my body. Lowering his head to nuzzle my neck, he murmurs, “Who cares?”

Not me.

But while Brent sucks and nibbles at the sensitive skin along my collarbone, the incessant ringing continues. It’s like the worst make-out soundtrack ever.

“Christ,” he breathes against me. “I don’t think whoever’s down there is going to give up anytime soon.”

I sigh. “Yeah, me neither.”

Smiling, he takes my hand and says, “Come on. We can go kill ’em together.”





Cockblocked





Benny turns out to be the nut ringing the doorbell like a maniac. And since I like my linemate, even though he pretty much just totally cockblocked me, no murder occurs.

Instead of committing a capital offense, I invite the * in and introduce him to Aubrey.

She stares at him like she knows him. That’s weird.

I pass it off as nothing, especially when she shoots me a withering look as I mention to Benny that “Aubrey’s my life coach.”

Still aggravated with me, she shakes Benny’s hand, and then excuses herself to head upstairs to change into something more appropriate than PJ’s.

“Dude,” Benny says once she’s out of earshot. “Did I interrupt something with you and your sexy-as-f*ck friend? Her clothes are a wreck, and you both look a little out of sorts.”