Wrapped Up in You (Heartbreaker Bay, #8)(45)

“When,” she said softly but firmly into her phone. She smiled. “And Merry Christmas.”

Eyes on hers, Kel moved in close. “Are you my present?”

When she nodded, he took the phone from her ear and tossed it aside. Still holding her gaze, he tossed his phone as well, which ended up next to hers. Then he pulled her into him. “Can I unwrap you now?”

In answer, she shrugged out of her wet sweater and let it hit the wood floor with a thunk. She toed off her shoes and then waited expectantly.

As she knew he would, he got the message. With another small curve of those lips she wanted back on hers, he bent and untied his work boots and then kicked them off. His leather jacket went next and then his sweatshirt.

Then they stood there staring at each other. She didn’t know about him, but her heart was racing, threatening to burst right out of her chest. She’d not lived like a monk, but she hadn’t been with anyone in a while. She hoped it was like getting back on a bike, because she was pretty sure Kel was about to give her the ride of her life and she intended to measure up. With a deep breath, she pulled off her tank and unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans.

“Wait,” he said, a soft but gruff tone as he moved closer. He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. His T-shirt went next, all discarded in a heap on the floor with everything else.

She raked her eyes over his bare chest and then let her hands travel up to his sides, her fingers gently brushing his right side and the still healing bruises running down the length of him from shoulder to thigh. “The mechanical bull?” she asked in horror.

“No. Didn’t get out of the way of a desperate-to-escape bad guy fast enough.”

“My God,” she breathed, horrified. “What did he hit you with, a baseball bat?”

“She. And it was a car.”

She let out a breath and let her fingertips rest on a small, but thankfully much older scar on his right shoulder.

“Bullet,” he said.

With a grim frown, she traveled down to another scar on his left flank, also old. She touched it and he shuddered a little.

“Knife.”

She met his gaze. “I thought you were a small-town sheriff.”

“I am.”

“I figured that meant chasing bears out of Dumpsters and driving drunks home,” she said.

He smiled. “There’s plenty of that too.” Bending his head, he brushed his mouth along her jaw to her ear, which he nipped lightly, drawing a sigh of sheer desire from her.

“There’s a lot more to your job than I imagined,” she said, ashamed to realize she’d not given it a lot of thought before. He’d chosen a career that meant walking into danger, where most people ran away from it. That took a certain type of man. A brave one, certainly. One who cared for others enough to risk life and limb.

While she was thinking this, he was busy sliding his big hands from her waist to push her jeans down past her hips. “You’re just about the best present I’ve had in . . .” He shook his head. “A long time. I’m going to unwrap the rest of you now, Ivy.” He lowered his head, his lips brushing her ear. “Slowly . . .”

She shivered. “I don’t do slowly.”

“I’ve noticed.” When he had her jeans to her thighs, he cocked his head to take in the sight of her standing there in a black lace bralette and a matching black lace thong and let out a rough groan.

She put her hands over his to shove her jeans the rest of the way off, but he merely twisted his wrists and took her hands in his, bringing them up to his mouth to brush a kiss over her knuckles. Then he picked her up and set her ass onto the coffee table. Dropping to his knees before her, he slowly pulled her jeans the rest of the way off before tossing them aside.

When his hands settled on her thighs and gently urged them open, creating a space for him, she readily complied with a happy noise, because now, finally, they were going to get to the good stuff.

“Yes,” he murmured on a rough laugh against her throat, making her realize she’d spoken out loud. “The good stuff is coming. And so will you.”

She shivered in anticipation, making him groan. Belly-to-belly now, chest-to-chest, the inside of her thighs cradling his hips, he slid his hands up her arms, her throat, and into her hair.

And then he finally kissed her again.

The whole time moving so slowly she was at once quivering with anticipation and sheer frustration.

“Patience,” he whispered against her mouth. Still amused, damn him.

Okay, yes, so she’d not been standing in line the day patience had been handed out, but seriously. How long could he drag this on for?

A long time, as it turned out. First, he kissed her until she was panting and writhing against him and rocking up into his hands every time they swept over her. And they did this with slow, purposeful intent, his thumbs stroking over the dainty little lace bra that wasn’t doing much to keep her breasts contained, until she honestly couldn’t remember why she’d held him off. Hell, she couldn’t remember her own name.

Somehow she’d managed to get his jeans unbuttoned and filled her hands with what she desperately wanted inside her, and by his reaction, he felt the same.

He had a strap of her bralette down one shoulder, a mouth on her breast, his tongue and teeth teasing her nipple, whipping her into a whole new kind of desperate frenzy, when she couldn’t take anymore. Tearing her mouth free, she fisted her hands in his hair and lifted his head.