Razed (Barnes Brothers #2)(38)

Keelie closed her mouth around it.

He groaned.

Then he tugged his hand away, pulling her up against him. “Does it matter? Does this matter? Us?”

“Zane . . .”

She bit her lip, uncertain how to even answer that. He seemed to . . . or he acted like he’d had feelings for a while, but how did she process that? Trust it? Accept it? Just a couple of dates—and well, yeah, that blissful, mind-numbing experience at the wedding. But she was still trying to get her brain around just being attracted to him.

“I’m not asking you to run away to Vegas,” he teased, running his lips along her cheekbone. “I just want to know if this matters.”

She caught his wrist in her hand. With her heart racing like a mad thing in her chest, she looked up at him. “If it didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Okay, then.” He backed away from her.

Every inch of her mourned the loss, but she managed not to whimper as he held out a hand.

“Should we get your stuff?” she asked.

“Later.”

“But . . .” She licked her lips. “The cameras and stuff. I saw how you were eying that one bag. Like it held diamonds or gold.”

“Hmmm.” He slit his eyes, then nodded. “Good point. Let’s go get them. But then you’re coming back up.”

It was a question that really wasn’t.

Smiling, she reached up, touched his cheek. “I’ll come back up. We never really did finish our date anyway.”


*

It only took one trip. He trusted Keelie with his precious camera equipment—it was the only option, because if he didn’t, he could see her insisting on hauling both suitcases out and lugging them up to the loft. And that thought scraped raw.

Now, after tucking his camera equipment along the top of the long, wide console table, he went to ask Keelie if she was still hungry—she hadn’t eaten much of anything—but he turned at the same time she moved and he ended up with his arms full of soft, slim woman.

Her eyes flew up, met his.

The scent of her flooded him.

A groan rolled out of him and mingled with the soft, shaky sigh escaping her.

“Ah . . .” She licked her lips, shot him a smile. “Sorry.”

“I’m not.” He tangled his hand in her hair, tugged.

She went still as he slowly, oh so slowly, lowered his mouth to hers.

That kiss at the airport had been sweet, way too sweet, and ever since then, he’d been dying for more.

Although, to be honest, he’d been dying for more even before he’d ever kissed her.

She met him halfway, one hand curling in his shirt, the other dropping to his waist.

Her tongue swirled and rubbed against him, sending a rush of heat pulsing through him. It got worse when she slid her hand under his shirt, her nails scraping against bare skin.

Using his hold on her hair, he tugged her head back, feasted lazily on her mouth, even as he reminded himself to take it slow. Take it easy.

Tugging her lower lip with his teeth, he lifted his head, watched as her pupils spiked, swelled. “You’ll drive me crazy at some point,” he murmured.

“Like you’re not doing the same to me.” She licked her lips when he lifted his head, but she didn’t look away.

Instead, she held his gaze as she reached up, trailed her hand across his chest. Then, she did look away, but somehow, as her focus sharpened and intensified, it made his blood start to pulse and pump harder. She slid one finger across his chest, as though tracing something through his shirt.

“I kinda want to see that tattoo again,” she said, darting a look up at him.

“Ah . . .” Fire seemed to sizzle through his brain, spread out until it was licking through his veins, his synapses, everything inside him, burning him from the inside out.

All from a couple of words, and that look in her eyes and the slow, lazy stroke of her hand down his chest. As it stroked lower, he caught her wrist.

“You realize this is playing with fire, right?” he murmured, rubbing his lips against hers. “Touching me makes me forget what I’m doing, where I am . . . who I am.”

The smile that bloomed on her mouth was pure and lush sex, a promise, in and of itself, although there was something almost shy about it. The combination was enough to drive him to his knees and he remembered those whispered words . . .

The last time I had a quick f*ck, the last time I had what could even be called casual sex was . . . It was . . . well. Never.

“I really don’t mind that at all.” She tugged her hand free, and he slowly let go, watching her. She continued on that slow, lazy path down his chest and he could feel the bunch and jump of his muscles under every touch, feel his cock pulse in tandem with his heart, and he wondered just how much of this he could handle without either turning caveman or just losing it in his jeans like a teenager.

She caught the hem of his shirt and he held still as she dragged it up.

His glasses got caught in the material and he scowled, untangling them before sliding them back on. A faint blush settled on her cheeks and he lifted a brow. “I’m not missing this.”

“Missing what?”

“Any chance to look at you.” He trailed his fingers along the neckline of her shirt, eying the faint flush visible through the designs of her tattoos. “I’ve always wondered . . . when you blush . . . just how low does it go?”