Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick #3)(28)

I looked at him, he moved inside me and it felt delicious.

“It starts now,” he told me.

I moved with him, I wasn’t real y focusing on what he was saying, mainly because it was building again and I could feel it coming.

“What starts now?” I asked.

“You and me.”

He moved faster, pressed harder, went deeper.

Good God.

“What?” I asked dazedly.

“You and me,” he said again.

“Whisky,” I breathed, “I’m not keeping up with you.” I was keeping up with him, but not in the way I was talking about. I held on to him and tilted my h*ps and he went even deeper.

“God, you feel good,” I said.

“Sunshine, try and pay attention,” he replied, sounding amused and I blinked at him.

He was stil moving and I was getting closer al the time.

“Are you crazy?” I asked, not real y caring if he was.

“Starting now, there’s a you and me.”

My arms tightened involuntarily and other parts of me tightened involuntarily too.

Hank’s eyes went lazy.

“Now, that felt good,” he muttered.

“Hank –”

He slid in deep.

“Be quiet.”

“Hank!”

His mouth met mine.

“Quiet,” he said.

Then he kissed me, he moved, I moved, pretty soon I said his name again (in a moan again) but mainly because he final y let me come.

And it was glorious.

Chapter Seven

The End

After we finished Hank moved away, pul ed off his jeans, positioned me into the bed with the covers over me, slid in beside me and turned out the light.

He lay on his back and rol ed me into his side.

Throughout al of this, I was silent and compliant, mainly because I was trying to decide how many types of fool I was.

I was settling on twenty-seven types of fool when Hank spoke. “I think I prefer you talking.”

“I’m sleepy,” I lied.

“You’re thinking and the way your mind works, that’s probably not a good thing.”

“You don’t know the way my mind works,” I told him.

“You’ve talked yourself into thinking al igators are cute.”

“I didn’t talk myself into it. Have you looked at an al igator? They are cute.”

His body moved with laughter.

“And owls are cute,” I went on, nonsensical y, ignoring his laughter, or more likely, because of his laughter. “I’ve always wanted to own an owl. Like Florence Nightingale.

She carried one in her pocket.”

His body kept moving, except I could tel instinctively the laughter had turned deeper.

Then a thought struck me and I got up on an elbow. “Hey, are you related to her?”

I felt his eyes on me in the dark. “Not that I know of.” I settled back down and put my head on his shoulder.

“Oh.”

He rol ed into me and I fel to my back.

His hand went into my hair at the side of my head.

“Are you real y sleepy?” he asked.

I wasn’t. I was wide-awake and scared out of my wits.

“Um,” I answered.

“Because if you want to talk, we got shit to talk about.”

“I’m sleepy,” I said immediately.

His hand slid out of my hair, down my neck, between my br**sts and down, to circle my waist. Then, he pul ed me into him.

“We’l talk tomorrow,” he said.

I pushed in closer.

I pushed in closer.

I wasn’t going to think about it. Not then. Maybe not ever.

I wrapped my arms around him and he held me close.

After a few minutes, I whispered, “Hank?”

“Yeah?”

I pressed my face into his throat.

“Thanks for tonight.”

His arms went tight.

* * * * *

I woke up and something was crushing me. I laid there, in the dark, assessing the situation, then remembered.

I was on my back and Hank was at my side, I could feel his breath at my temple, his bicep was resting on my midriff, his forearm curling up my ribs with his hand resting at the side of my breast. His thigh was thrown over both of mine. Adding to this, Shamus was on the other side of me, his head resting on my bel y under Hank’s arm, like my stomach was a pil ow.

Both the human and canine Nightingale boys had me trapped. I’d been feeling trapped for years, but this kind of trapped felt snug and secure.

It was at this juncture that reason returned.

This was not a good thing.

It was so not a good thing that it might have been a catastrophic thing.

The thing wasn’t even about Bil y. I had the feeling that Hank might understand about Bil y. Hank was a good guy and it was pretty clear he liked me (okay, so it was real y clear he liked me).

I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to test this idea, however.

No, it was about sleeping with Hank on the first date.

I was such a slut.

What must he think of me?

I might have been able to explain about Bil y if I hadn’t slept with Hank on the first date. Now, he’d just think I was easy; an easy girl from Indiana who’d f**k criminals and cops without blinking an eye.