Rock Hard (Rock Kiss #2)(75)

He nipped again, got another push. “I was trying to make you jealous, Ms. Baird. But off you went, merrily calling restaurants and choosing roses, stabbing me in the heart each time.”

Scowl altering into an expression that was slightly uncertain, she smoothed her palms over his shoulders. “Did it really? Hurt your feelings?”

Gabriel had been teasing her to ease the mood, but faced with her honest question, he found himself saying, “Yeah.” It had burned when she showed not even a hint of temper, at least not at the start. “I wanted you until you were all I could think about, and you didn’t care.”

Charlotte’s face went soft and intense at the same time. “I cared.” Her lashes came down to hide the look in her eyes. “That’s why I always ordered the end-of-the-day leftover red roses,” she admitted with a peek through her lashes. “So your dates would think you were a cheapskate.”

Warmth uncurled in his gut. “Is that also why we always ended up in restaurants with abysmal chefs?” He’d thought the city’s cuisine was going to shit.

A shamefaced look, but there was a glint of mischief to her. “I used to stay up nights, scanning the reviews for city restaurants and making sure to book you into places where there’d been complaints. I even kept track of which days got the worst reviews, so I’d know when the bad chef was on.”

His shoulders shook, laughter in every cell of his body. “Your mind is so f*cking sexy.” One arm around her waist and hand still curved over her thigh, he kissed her. Hot and dark and raw. He knew she could handle it; she’d taken it in the office, showed him she liked it.

Moaning in the back of her throat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and sank into the kiss. He groaned, settled in to devour her. He hadn’t been teasing—he had condoms in his briefcase. He’d been carrying the box around for a while. As with the bracelet, the goal-oriented part of his nature liked the physical symbol of his pursuit of Charlotte, despite the fact the box had driven him half-mad each time he glimpsed it.

When he removed his hand from between her thighs, she made a sound of complaint. His cock liked that. “Don’t worry, Ms. Baird,” he said, turned on impossibly more by how open she was about her desire once she forgot to be shy. “I just want you to straddle me.”

Her cheeks went deep pink. “You really want to… here?” she whispered, her glasses fogged up.

“Yes, I really want to,” he said, plucking the glasses off to put them on the table within easy reach. “Here.” It was a risk, given what she’d suffered in this room, but if he could keep her mind on the sex, then maybe they could manage to make a memory that would be hotter, more vivid, than that of the horror that underlay her determined enjoyment of her kitchen. “Take off your panties too.”

Her breath caught.

But he knew his Charlotte. She was stronger than she believed herself to be. Getting up, her eyes bright, she did as he’d asked. The panties were black lace, and from her shy half smile as she dropped them on the table, he knew she’d worn them for him. “Back here, now,” he said, so aroused he was having trouble thinking.

Her sweet, sexy weight came down on his thighs seconds later as she straddled him.

He shuddered, stroking his hands up her thighs and taking her dress with him. “Lean back against the table.” There was just enough space that her body would be slightly angled.

Charlotte did as he asked. “Why do I like this?”

Catching the seriousness of the murmured question, he looked up, met her gaze. “What?”

“Listening to you when we’re like this.” She undid one of his shirt buttons, another, and slid her hands inside. “I don’t let you boss me around otherwise.”

Drinking in the feel of her exploring him, he continued his interrupted action to bunch up her dress at her waist, baring her to his greedy gaze. She whimpered but didn’t try to cover herself.

“We like what we like,” he said on a harsh groan, his mouth watering at the sight of her; the fine golden curls at the apex of her thighs barely hid anything.

When he put his hands on her waist and lifted her onto the table after nudging her glasses aside, she gasped. “Gabriel?”

He pressed a kiss to one thigh. “Undo those tiny buttons down your front. Show me your breasts.”

Her hands rose to the buttons, but a heartbeat later, the nervous excitement on her face turned into plain nerves.

“No?” Never would he take what she didn’t want to give.

“I have scars,” she whispered. “On my breasts.”

Rage boiled in him at the reminder of the bastard who’d hurt her, but he wasn’t about to allow Richard into this room again—or into Gabriel’s loving with Charlotte.

“I have a jagged scar on my shoulder from a broken collarbone that tore the skin, more than a few others from on-field hits,” he said. “A player’s boot once came down on my ribs hard enough to peel off multiple layers of skin, and I’ve bled from more than one cut.”

“That player who broke your collarbone should’ve been banned.” A fierce statement. “I don’t understand how he just got a suspension.”

Smiling, he pressed his lips to her inner thigh again, felt her breath catch. “You kiss my scars and I’ll kiss yours. Fair?”