Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(56)

He hated himself for saying it, but later he wouldn’t. Because giving her an out was the right thing to do.

Maybe.

“Do what?” Her voice was a barely discernible whisper.

He backed up a few steps and collapsed into a big, gold chair, unearthing a few months’ worth of dust mites in the process. He rubbed his nose when he spoke. “Scampi, you wanna walk away, and I am not going to argue. I don’t want that, but I deserve that. More than that. Hell, I know—”

“No.”

He lifted his head, elbows perched on his knees, words he hadn’t wanted to say still sitting on his tongue. She stood over him, reversing their roles, forcing him to lift his chin to look up at her. All that flowing mahogany hair, T-shirt hugging her body, the womanly flare of her hips leading down to an ass he wanted to take a bite out of… God. Gorgeous.

“I don’t want to walk away.” She stepped closer and parted his knees, wedging her legs between them, lining up his face with her stomach.

“No?”

“No,” she whispered.

Testing her claim, he lifted his hands, watching in wonder when she didn’t smack him away. She let him grab her hips and tug her toward him. Willingly, her muscles loose and accommodating. He didn’t feel the tiniest bit of resistance. He liked that she wanted him to touch her. It was one thing for him to trust himself, a whole other for her to trust him.

Her fingers fed into his hair, no longer damp from his shower. “How long are you staying?”

“ ’Til I get done.” Not the most forthright answer, but it was the truth. He didn’t specify what he’d have to get done doing, leaving himself an escape hatch.

More old habits.

“Okay.” She didn’t flinch, didn’t ask him to clarify, which bothered him.

He didn’t like that it bothered him.

Her hands moved from his hair to his hands, still at home on her hips. “I figure while you’re here, we could… satisfy our curiosity.”

He swallowed around a lump in his throat, her offer humbling him. “You sure about that? I’m pretty curious.”

Clutching his hands into fists at the waistband of her pants, he tugged her closer. She had to lean forward and put her palms on his shoulders to keep from falling into him. The tips of her hair tickled his face, turned up at a severe angle since she was leaning over him.

“I’m happy to satisfy your curiosity,” she said down to him, a sexy lilt in her voice. “And after the charity dinner, I’ll be done. That will be the end of assignments from Gertrude. That will be the end of my needing the mansion.”

The end of them.

Her fingers brushed the hair out of his eyes. “Straight through, right?” The honesty in her green eyes flayed him.

But he didn’t argue. “That’s my motto.”

Her lips came down to meet his in a soft, slow, wet, light-his-pants-on-fire kiss. His eyes sank closed. God. Her taste. So sweet. It’d been twenty-four long hours since he’d had her tongue in his mouth. After seven years had nearly driven him out of his mind.

He threaded his hand into her hair, the fingers of his other hand cupping her ass and pulling her into his lap.

She straddled him, one knee on each side of his thighs, settling over him. He moved his hand from her hair and put both hands on her butt, holding her tightly against him and grinding against her through his pants and hers.

“Too many clothes,” he said around another kiss.

“Is anyone here?” she asked.

“Don’t care.”

“Connor—”

“Gone.” Maybe. Who cared? Another kiss, with tongue.

“Ant?”

“Gone.”

He pushed a palm under the hem of her T-shirt. Her skin was baby soft, her ribs expanding with the next breath she drew.

“Do me,” he murmured into her mouth, his tongue sliding along the length of hers and causing his hips to buck.

She smiled, and when she did, his lips glanced off her teeth, which was sexy in the weirdest way. Everything about her was sexy. Everything about her made him think of sex, sex with her, and where he wanted to have sex with her.

Her tone was cute, playful when she said, “You’re making fun of me.”

He kissed her bottom lip and tugged it gently with his teeth, capping it with a soft kiss. “I would never,” he lied.

Lifting the material, he exposed her flat stomach, adorable belly button, and bra. White with tiny blue flowers on it.

“I used to be a lace man, Scampi, but you make cotton sexy.”

A sultry laugh tumbled from her lips. He felt it under his palms, both of which he’d wrapped around her ribs in an attempt to get her upper half undressed. “Like I told you yesterday, I already said yes. There’s no need for flattery.”

Thumbs brushed over the bra and she gasped. “How about I flatter you because I want to.”

And he did want to. It’d been a long time since he’d allowed himself to say anything suggestive to a woman. Sofie struck him as a woman who didn’t hear it often enough. Crying shame, that.

While they were together, he wasn’t holding back on the compliments.

He tugged her shirt off and watched as her wavy brown hair fell over her shoulders. The bra went next. “Front clasp. I approve.”