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“Taylor,” I whine it out like a curse.
He slips his fingers beneath the lace of my bra and pinches my nipple, then kisses me again, his free hand moving to my thigh and hiking it up. He grinds into me, and I’m losing it. Losing my mind. Losing my soul to him when I shouldn’t.
“Don’t.” He sucks my tongue into his mouth. “Do.” He slips his hand over the front of my shorts, cupping my pussy. “That.” Taylor grasps my throat and squeezes lightly. “Again.” He kisses me and owns my entire mouth.
“Or what?” I hiss.
“I’ll make you come so hard, you won’t remember why you started hating me in the first place.”
Oh my God.
It’s hot and heavy, and I tug on him, kissing him back with a ferocity that’s bubbling over. His fingers move to the buttons on my shorts, and I rip at his shirt, wanting it off that muscular body.
I’m already halfway there. The tension between us is exquisite and?—
Jesse steps back, breaking the kiss, the outline of his cock pressing against the front of his jeans, his lips glistening. He grabs the back of his neck and exhales.
“Rule number one.”
He’s toying with me. The man is toying with me, and I fell for it.
But the way his gaze travels over my body, from head to toe, is?—
“I’m not going to touch you again unless you want me to,” Jesse says.
I tilt my head.
“What?”
“Something happened with your ex,” he says. “I’m not going to be another guy who fucks with you. I find it difficult to control myself around you. You’re… Fuck, you are so fucking annoying and so hot. But it’s no excuse.”
“You’re giving me whiplash. One second we’re going to fight or we’re going to fuck. The next you’re pulling back. Am I a game to you?”
“No,” he says. “Not a game.” He draws closer, presses his hand to my waist, and pins me against the wall, his forehead pressed against mine. “I’m not going to touch you again until you tell me you want to break the rules. That’s all you have to say, Angel, and I will strip you down and wring every last bit of pleasure out of your body.”
I shiver and fall into those eyes. Blue as a broken heart.
Jesse smirks.
“You’re my wife,” he says, “fake or not, and I’m going to protect you, worship you, and treat you with the respect that is your right. I don’t have love to give you, but orgasms won’t be a problem.”
I blink up at him, slow deliberate blinks as I process what he’s saying.
What happened to Taylor? First, he apologizes for what he’s done, and then he says this? It’s so at odds with the mental image I’ve had of him for years, that I’m struggling to piece it together.
Our breaths mingle.
Jesse releases me and walks over to the recliner. He sits down, pops his legs up, and grabs his drink, watching me. He takes a sip, his throat working as he swallows.
I’m frozen.
I open my mouth and then close it again. Heat lingers on my lips, between my legs, but if we cross this line, I’m not sure where it will lead. Jesse wants to be the sheriff, he wants Heatstroke to love him, and I couldn’t give a crap what people think about me, and I’m not going to play pretend forever. Jesse and I aren’t compatible.
I push off the wall and walk into the bedroom, then open the sliding door that leads out of it onto his back porch. I fold my arms and stare at the rolling waves as they crash onto the soft, golden sand.
I’ll do what it takes to save my diner, but how long can I resist the tension between us?
Eighteen
