Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy #1)(47)

Smart. “Thanks.” I snatched the key and pressed my forearm across my chest again. “I’ll be right back with this.”

“No rush.”

The chick on Kyler’s left said, “Why does she get a key to your bedroom and I don’t?”

“Because I said so.” He smacked her ass. “Run along now. I’ll come find you later.”

Lovely, Ky.

As I walked away, I heard him say to his other female companion, “Can I get you to do me a favor, sweetness?”

“Anything,” she said eagerly.

That man had women lined up around the damn block.

I saw a flash of pigtails and flattened myself against the wall; I couldn’t deal with Lu right now. When the coast was clear, I wove through the drunken people clogging the stairs.

Few revelers had breached the second floor besides a couple sucking face on the bench seat and another couple playing strip poker as they waited to use the bathroom.

I headed down the hallway to Ky’s room. But first I stopped at Hayden’s door and turned the handle. Locked. Interesting. Next I tried Anton’s door. Also locked. So there was a difference between this place and a frat house.

I’d just unlocked Kyler’s door when I heard, “Sierra?”

I froze.

Boone.

My flight instinct kicked in. I pushed the door open just far enough to sneak inside and then I slammed it shut and locked it.

That was the height of maturity.

Heart hammering, I pressed my shoulders against the door and tried to calm down after that spike of adrenaline.

Three soft raps vibrated by my head. “Funny, McKay. Let me in. I want to talk to you.”

“So talk.”

“I’m not saying this through the goddamned door,” he snarled. “Let. Me. In.” Pause. “Or I’m coming in.”

“Empty threat since I’m the one with the key.”

Boone could just wait a damn minute until I didn’t look like I’d entered a wet T-shirt contest.

I crossed the room, eyeing the stack of T-shirts neatly folded on the dresser. I had a split second to wonder if Ky did his own laundry or if one of sideline bunnies did, when I heard the locking mechanism click.

I wheeled around, watching in shock as the handle turned, the door opened and Boone stepped inside.

His focus stayed entirely on me as he shut and locked the door behind him.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I told you I was coming in.”

“You’re so determined to corner me that you picked the f*cking lock?”

“No. Ky gave me a key.”

“Bull. Ky gave me the key.”

“Evidently he has more than one key.” He started toward me—a smooth predator that’d spied his prey. His gaze moved down the column of my throat to where the shirt gapped and then homed in on the transparent material clinging to my breasts.

I fought a shiver at the hungry way he studied my chest. His gaze darted from one stiff nipple to the other. I felt the need to blurt out, “Ky spilled his beer all over me.”

“Remind me to thank him,” he murmured.

Then he invaded my space completely.

My dizziness wasn’t from lack of oxygen to my brain. That twisting, turning, yearning sensation was all because of him. His scent, the heat from his body, the way his breath buffeted my exposed flesh in choppy, staccato bursts.

No man ever looked at me the way he looked at me right now.

I was tired of fighting this.

Why was I fighting this?

No. More.

I trembled when his index finger followed the edge of my shirt from my collarbone down to the first button. On the painstakingly slow journey up the other side, he used two fingers; the rough edges of his knuckles made a whispering sound across my skin.

He stroked the center of my chest, opening his fist like a flower and flattening his palm beneath the hollow of my throat. We weren’t looking at each other, our mutual attention focused on him touching me.

When he inched his hand beneath the edge of my shirt and encountered the upper swell of my breast, his patience vanished.

Almost blindly Boone curled his hand around the nape of my neck and brought his mouth down on mine.

He wasn’t asking.

He was taking.

And I let him.

Boone tasted like whiskey and need.

When that falling sensation hit me again, I realized just one taste of him and I was drunk on him.

Tonight I needed to do more than I’d done the other night—clutching him tightly while he made a mockery of every man who’d ever kissed me. I’d waited a lifetime to experience his primal need and raw hunger.

Boone ripped his mouth free to trail kisses down my throat. Then his hot, wet mouth engulfed my nipple. Sharp teeth, teasing tongue, suctioning kisses on the stiff peak. Boone savored me as if he had all night.

I wanted him frantic. I wanted grunting, growling, rasping vocal evidence of him losing his cool. I wanted to crack the lid on the passion he bottled up.

“Boone.” My nipple slipped from his mouth and he nuzzled the valley between my breasts. “My turn. Don’t move.”

As I smoothed my fingertips over the deep cut of his triceps and the muscled grooves of his forearms, I rubbed my lips across his left pec. When the hard nub of his nipple rose up to greet me, I opened my mouth over it, blowing a hot puff of air out through the cotton fabric.