Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(63)

After a painfully brief kiss, she shoved him away. “We talk. We eat. We do not—” she pointed at his mouth, “—do that.”

For the first time he realized he may have been overconfident. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he leaned back in the doorway to the kitchen and kept his gaze fixed above her neck. “What would you like to drink—wine? A cocktail?”

“Water,” she said. “Just water.”

He sighed. “Make yourself comfortable.” He should have just handed her a glass of wine the moment they walked in the door, and he shouldn’t have kissed her like that. Something about Bev made him needy. Desperate. He readjusted his jeans.

From the kitchen he peeked around the breakfast counter into the living room, drank in the sight of her sitting in a narrow upright chair with her knees pressed together and fear in her eyes, then reached under the sink where he hid his best scotch. God knows his sister would never look for cleaning supplies.

“That’s not water,” she said when he handed her a glass of it.

He took a chair on the opposite side of the room, ten feet away. “Sure it is. Mostly.” He kicked his own back and let the fire singe the fuzzy corners of his brain. “You want to talk, talk. I’m listening.” He stared at her and had the blinding vision of kneeling at her feet with his head between her thighs.

Still sitting primly upright, she frowned at the glass resting on her knee. “If we—do this—everyone will know.”

“If we don’t people will think we did anyway.” He took another gulp. Which was true. If they were going to pay, they might as well play. He looked at Bev over the rim of his glass.

She shifted uneasily in her chair, exaggerating the swell of her hips in the seat. Then she lifted the glass and drank.

Liam’s heart, already racing, began to pound against his ribs. He tossed back the last of the scotch and got to his feet, not breaking eye contact with her. She took another swallow.

“I want you,” he said, walking over to her.

She frowned. “Well, I find you repulsive.”

Her mouth was rosy and glistening from the scotch. He leaned down, grinning, and licked it from one corner to the other while his hand slid around the back of her neck and dug into her thick, bewitching hair. The scotch had tasted good in the glass, but on her skin it was a narcotic. He had intended to guide her to her feet but found himself on his knees, kissing her while she sat on her chair, whimpering, moaning.

He trailed kisses down her neck, nibbling gently until he hit the thick acrylic knit. “I'm taking this off,” he said in her ear, and tucked his fingers under her sweater and teased it up over her ribs.

She giggled then frowned, pushing him away half-heartedly. “It tickles.”

His cock strained against the fly of his jeans. She sounded so young and sweet, but he knew better. He saw through her, how every act of niceness was carefully calculated and planned ahead. How she managed to disarm her enemies with charm. How she always seemed to get exactly what she wanted without ever seeming to fight for it.

“Tell me how you like it.” He dipped his head lower to taste the naked skin of her belly. He licked her navel, and she jerked, sighed. He wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her soft flesh against his face. Her bottom came off the seat of the chair, and she clutched his shoulders for balance.

“I like it in bed.” She pushed him away, stumbling to her feet, and rubbed her back. “Or somewhere padded.”

He came after her and pulled her with him onto the sofa. He wanted her on top of him, to feel the full weight of her body along his, nothing held back. “Take off your clothes—” Then he remembered how badly he wanted to finish what they had started in that shore in Oakland the week before. “Wait. Come with me.” He rolled aside and got to his feet.

She looked up at him, her hair strewn across the cushions, and raised an eyebrow.

“You'll like it.” He held out his hand.

She took his hand—warm, smooth fingers—and followed him to the bedroom.

When he bent over to switch on the lamp on a side table, Bev came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, slid her hands up his chest. He straightened, strung tight, pausing to enjoy the feel of her body pressed up against his. For two shapes with so little in common, their bodies fit together amazingly well. For a moment he forgot about the destination to savor the journey. The bodies enmeshed. No gaps. Just yielding flesh and muscle and bone.

Then Bev pulled his shirt up, slid her hand over his abs, and pinched his left nipple.

Electricity spiked through him. He spun around, captured her face in his hands to kiss her. Rich, sweet lips, open for him and wet and hungry. He rotated her in his arms and kicked the door shut, revealing the full-length mirror hung on the inside. Standing with their eyes locked on each other in the reflection, she lifted her arms over her head and wiggled her ass.

“Nice,” he whispered, nibbling her neck. “I mean, naughty.” He pulled the ugly sweater up and exposed a red lace bra that appeared two sizes too small. Groaning, he slipped the neckline over her head and buried his face in her hair, silently thanking her and fate and even Ed for contributing to the genetics of her glorious breasts spilling out of flimsy—he dipped a finger under the top swell of flesh until he felt her hardening nipple—“Silk.”

A small moan rose up from her throat as she threw her head back. “Went shopping yesterday.”