The One Who Loves You (Tickled Pink #1)(57)

I don’t answer him.

Instead, I throw myself into the crate, lock the little gate, and pull my knees to my chin, huddling against the cold, wet summer evening while he uses those lumberjack arms to tug the ropes so quickly that I’m suddenly on the second level of his tree house.

I didn’t realize the elevator went up this far.

“C’mon, Phoebe. Shower’s this way.”

I pull myself to my feet, my eyes so hot and my throat so thick I barely trust myself to speak. “Tell me I look like a drowned rat.”

“That’d be insulting to the rat.”

He follows the line with a twitch of his lips and kind eyes that say he’s only insulting me because he knows the normalcy will make me feel better, and the next thing I know, I’ve hurled myself at him and am trying to suck his tonsils out of his mouth.

I’m angry.

And I’m tired.

And I’m lost.

Kissing Teague is the lifeline that I don’t understand but that I need. He’s somehow become my friend, and I need him.

I like sparring with him. I like baiting him. I like that he keeps me on my toes.

I like that he’s a good man underneath it all.

And I like that he tastes like peppermint tea, smells like raw power, is built like Thor, doesn’t suck up to my grandmother, and is still willing to let me kiss him.

His deficits clearly include a lack of taste in women, but that will hardly stop me now.

Not when those powerful arms are scooping me up while he kisses me back.





Chapter 19


Teague


I’ll regret this in the morning.

Hell, I’ll regret it long before morning.

But does that keep me from carrying a soaking-wet Phoebe Lightly into my house while I’m kissing her like the fate of the world rests on the two of us getting it on?

Nope.

Not a chance.

She’s shivering like she’s lost all the protective layers that used to keep her from the knowledge that she’s no more special than anyone else, and she’s kissing me like she needs me to fix it.

I’m a damn sucker for a damsel in distress.

And Phoebe is once again dripping with water, her blonde hair stuck to her face, her robe so soaked it squishes with every step I take, soaking my T-shirt too.

Her hands grip my ears, holding my head in place while our tongues clash, not letting go even when I set her on the desk.

If anything, she grabs on more, twisting so she loops her legs around my hips, her robe falling open. The shower caddy she was carrying tumbles to the floor.

And she keeps kissing me.

I know what this is.

It’s stress relief. It’s a distraction. A blip.

And I’m on board.

No better way to get this woman out of my system than to find out she’s just as uptight and demanding in the sack as she is when she’s walking around Tickled Pink with her nose in the air.

Liar, a little voice whispers. You’re not getting her out of your system.

She’s tugging on my shirt, pulling it out of my jeans, so I push her soaking-wet robe off her shoulders.

She shimmies, helping it along, and breaks the kiss long enough for a short “Oh God, yes,” and then she’s rising up off the desk, pressing her body against mine.

I’m still fully dressed.

She’s bare-ass naked, with cold, wet skin to boot, getting so close I wonder if she’s trying to crawl inside my body.

“You’re a disaster,” I say against her lips.

“Yes. Yes.” She tugs at my pants. “Can we just bang this out already?”

That’s the hope.

Bang it out.

Get over her.

Get back to chasing her and her family out of my town. “Finally realized you need me, did you?”

She huffs out a short laugh. “So sure you’re Mr. Irresistible?”

“You’re not all that yourself.”

Her breasts aren’t small, but they each fit inside my palms, and when I push them up and thumb her hard nipples, she doesn’t reply to my jab.

Instead, her eyes roll back in her head, and she lifts her chest into my touch while she nips at my lower lip and pushes my shirt up.

My cock, already hard as steel, strains harder.

I abandon her breasts long enough to rip my shirt over my head. She shoves my pants down my hips, my cock springing free, and her soft “Oh, come to Mama” makes my hard-on bob.

And that’s before she grips me in both hands and strokes.

Her hands should not feel this good, but the chill of her skin against my hot, aching dick is lighting up my nerve endings, and I’m hissing out a breath as I struggle to keep control. “I’m gonna regret this in the morning.”

“Same. Tell me you have a condom.”

I grab my wallet and flip out the spare I put in there three days ago, then shuck my pants the rest of the way.

She’s still sitting on her soaked robe while she rips the condom open and rolls it down my length.

That won’t do.

Not planning on treating her like a princess, but I’m not planning on giving her any excuse to say I let her sit in a cold, wet pile of soiled cashmere while I fucked her either.

Thunder crashes while she wraps her legs around my hips. I grip her under her thighs, lift, and turn to lower her to the floor. “Oh, no,” she gasps.