Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders #15)(35)

“Mmm-hmm. But that’s not my first choice of where I’d like to put it.” His lips moved down the side of her face, his teeth nipping at her jawline. Her chin. He eased back and looked into her eyes, their mouths a breath apart. “You gonna let me kiss you?”


“Wow. You’re asking? That’s a first.”


“And that right there, smart ass, is why I don’t ask.” Dalton pinned her arms above her head and captured her lips.


No sweet start to this kiss. His mouth assaulted hers with pure hunger. A wet, hot clash of tongues, of gliding lips and shared breath.


So much passion. The kiss would’ve knocked her to her knees if she hadn’t already been lying down. Her body reacted to this man—a blood-pumping, dizzy, wet-between-her-thighs reaction. Just when she’d begun to wonder why they hadn’t stripped, why his mouth wasn’t on her nipples as his cock rammed into her, Dalton ripped his mouth from hers.


He buried his face in her neck and a full body shudder rolled through him. Then he sighed—his breath a hot wash on her damp skin. “I want you like f*ckin’ air, Aurora, but not here. Not like this.” He placed a soft kiss below her ear and pushed upright.


That show of control was not how the old Dalton would’ve acted. He would’ve sweet-talked her into believing no one would catch them f*cking around.


Proof right there that he had changed.


Sad to think she hadn’t changed when it came to him. With his hard body on hers and those intense kisses clouding her brain, she would’ve gladly ditched her clothes and f*cked him right there on the pink yoga mat.


Show some restraint.


Problem was, she didn’t want to.


But somehow she did. She rolled to her feet. “You are dangerous, McKay.”


“Me? Why do you say that?”


“You know why. I don’t care if you’re sore, you will help me return the equipment to storage.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


After she’d shoved everything in the closet and locked it, she slipped on her jacket and gloves. “So you think you’ll become a regular at yoga class?”


“We’ll see if I’m alive tomorrow.” He buttoned up his black duster. “Speaking of tomorrow…what are we doin’?”


Rory eyed his ensemble. Black gunslinger duster, neon orange hat with fuzzy earflaps. His bare calves stuck out from beneath the duster and he wore white athletic shoes and black socks. He was a prime example of what not to wear—so why was she thinking that he looked so damn cute?


Because you’re a f*cking sap and this man can’t wait to tap you.


“Since when do we spend every evening together?”


Dalton leaned over and kissed her nose. “Since you’n me are a couple.”


Her argument dried on her tongue when she realized he’d said that almost with…pride. “That may be problematic tomorrow night since I’m having supper with Addie and Truman.”


“Great. I’ll come along. I need to clear the air with them anyway.”


“So you don’t think it might, oh, bother my best friend that I’m coupling with the guy who dumped her?”


“Oh, you and me ain’t even started coupling yet.”


“You know what I mean.”


“Of course I do. But you have my promise I wouldn’t hurt Addie again for the world. She never has to know the real reason that I walked out on her was because of you.” He stroked her cheek with a gloved finger. “No one besides us ever needs to know that, Aurora.”


Such a sweet man.


Stop that. Right now. He is not sweet. He’s a manipulative heartbreaker.


Despite the warnings, she found herself saying, “I’ll talk to Addie tonight.” Rory poked him in the chest. “But if she or Truman don’t want you there, you don’t get to whine about it.”


He scowled. “When the f*ck do I ever whine?”


“You used to—”


“I used to do a lot of shit that I don’t do anymore. Proving to you I’ve changed, remember?” He poked her chest right back. “If Addie and Truman won’t welcome me into their home I’ll suck it up and act like a big boy. I’ll probably write a poem about hurt feelings, broken friendships and the rocky path to true love.”


Rory’s eyebrows rose. “A poem? Really?”


He laughed. “Fuck no. But I did have you worried there for a sec, huh?”


She whapped him on the arm and exited the building.


No surprise that Dalton walked her to her Jeep. No surprise, either, that he laid a big, wet steamy kiss on her before whispering good-night.


But it wasn’t a good night. Rory tossed and turned in her bed because she couldn’t get the man out of her mind. This thing with Dalton was driving her batshit crazy.


She mentally corrected the word thing and inserted his preferred term: relationship.


Goddammit. How had the man invaded her life and her thoughts so completely that her word choices weren’t even her own? The fact she then heard his confident little male chuckle in her head was just another example of why she was so completely screwed up by all of this. In her book, and in her experiences with one Dalton McKay, screwed up equaled screwed over.