Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [40]
This wasn’t lazy and sweet, a kiss of thanks like the previous evening. Lottie thrust her tongue into his mouth, exploring ravenously, all the while pressing her body against him. She was wild, determined, and when she shoved his jacket off his shoulders and slid her hands beneath his shirt, he couldn’t manage a protest.
Her fingers were cold, her touch blazing. Never letting the kiss end, she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, sinking her teeth into it in retaliation for yesterday.
He thought the cliffs had begun shaking beneath his feet, but he couldn’t focus enough to be sure. Unable to resist, he dropped his hands to her hips, sliding his fingers beneath the heavy sweatshirt she wore to stroke the fine, smooth skin of her waist. Again, she demanded more. Covering his hand with one of hers, she tugged it up until his thumb was brushing the bottom curve of one lush breast.
She wriggled, reaching up under her own sweatshirt and obviously unfastening her bra, because suddenly the constricting fabric loosened and that big warm mound of flesh dropped into his palm. He groaned, savoring the intimacy.
“Oh, Simon, yes,” she whimpered against his mouth, arching harder, as if begging for a firmer touch.
This should stop. He needed to stop it. But he couldn’t, not without going just a little bit further.
Finding her puckered nipple, he caught it between his fingers and squeezed lightly until she sobbed in the back of her throat. Every stroke brought a quiver to Lottie’s body. Every gentle tug made her moan.
“Taste me there,” she whispered hoarsely, her mouth lifting just barely from his.
God it was tempting. She was tempting. But the sudden shift of a few pebbles tumbling down over the cliff brought him back to reality with a quick snap.
Sometimes he really hated reality. He’d have given anything to continue. Having touched her, he wanted desperately to see her, to cover that hard nipple with his lips and suck it until she begged.
As she was nearly doing now.
But they were outside on a cold autumn morning, standing at the edge of a mountain, not far from one of the most hellish spots he’d ever known.
That, more than anything, enabled him to regain control.
Dropping his hand, he pulled her shirt back into place. “Lottie,” he whispered, “enough. That’s enough.”
“Like hell it is.” Her fingers clutched his shoulders, her nails digging into his muscles there.
He caught her hands and forced himself to step back. “This was a very bad idea.”
“Nothing that feels this good could be bad.”
She was wrong. Because he was bad—bad for her, bad for himself. He’d fallen so far he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to pull himself out of his emotional pit, and the last thing he needed to do was drag her down into it with him.
So with one final, regretful squeeze of her hand, he turned on his heel and walked toward the house.
7
Lottie
FUNNY, I’VE BEEN IN this drafty, shadowy old hotel for a couple of days now but my reasons for being here have slowly changed. I thought I was here for work—to find out anything I could about Josef Zangara and his wicked life in order to help the professor with his book. And in that regard, I’d had a little success. Another visit to the attic—with the key tucked safely in my pocket, and a bench propping the door open—had provided some interesting information this morning. Information I wanted to share with Simon.
But if something happened and I had to leave here tonight, it wasn’t the work that would be so hard to leave behind. It wasn’t even the sexual attraction I’d felt for Simon Lebeaux since the moment I’d stumbled into his arms.
It was the man himself. He was the real reason things had changed. Oh, sure, I still wanted him as much as ever. When he opened the attic door last night and let me out, a part of me considered doing a whole lot more than giving him a thank-you kiss. A take-me one would have been much better.
And this morning on the cliffs? Whoa, mama, I still shook