Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
He shoots me a repressive glare. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s latent trauma we little dudes experienced whenever one of our female relatives would cry out that word while pinching our cheeks or smothering us with kisses.”
“Oh, the horror.”
“Talk to me about ‘horror’ after you’re thrust in front of fifty relatives at the annual family picnic and are made to sing ‘Food, Glorious Food’ from Oliver Twist,” he says darkly.
I try to smother a laugh with my hand but fail spectacularly. “I had no idea you even knew the words to that song.”
“They played the musical on TV, didn’t they? And I was only singing it in ode to the buffet I was about to attack. Then Aunt Edna swooped in and outed me.” His voice dips to singsong. “‘Oh, isn’t that so sweet? Margo, you simply must hear this!’”
I laugh harder. “How have I never heard this story? How old were you?”
“Six,” he mutters, then lifts a lofty brow. “You finished?”
“Almost. It’s just so sweet—ack!”
One second I’m laughing, the next I’m on my back with August half sprawled on me. He rests his weight on his elbows at either side of my head, a satisfied grin spreading over his face. “That’s enough out of you, Miss Morrow.”
Breathless, I stare up at him. He’s been touching me more and more since that rainy night we reconnected. The entire Luck family is physically affectionate. But August has never been with me before. That alone would have me disoriented by this new closeness.
But the truth is more concerning. Because I had no idea how good it would feel to be held snug beneath his body. Good lord, he just does it for me. Base lust swirls alongside drowsy pleasure. I don’t know what I want to do more: push against him and feel that prime body or simply melt into the furniture with a sigh.
I settle for narrowing my eyes up at him and pretending my heart isn’t trying to thump its way free of my chest. He must feel it, though. God knows, I feel him—hard and pulsing with restrained energy. I don’t think I make a greedy noise of want, but I might have.
August adjusts his position just enough to slide his thick thigh in between my splayed ones. The move sends little devils of heat dancing in my core. He grunts, a soft rumble of sound, and his gaze moves over my face. Everything slows and tightens.
“You know,” he says almost conversationally. “We could practice kissing.”
“Practice?” My head’s gone all floaty.
The tone of his voice deepens. “So it seems natural when we do it in public. Your first game day appearance is this Sunday.”
Is it? I can’t think. He’s so close now, all I see is him. The diamond-bright beauty of his sculpted features, the hot gleam in his eyes. His lips look both firm and soft. I want to know which. He smells delicious, of berries and August.
Kiss him?
He dips his head closer. A lock of his hair brushes the crest of my cheek. The light touch might as well be a brand. I feel it all along my skin, in the sensitive nerves of my lips.
The blunt tip of his thumb skims along the underside of my wrist as though to soothe. It sends tiny shivers of pleasure along my skin.
Kiss him.
For practice.
That last bit catches hold just before his mouth brushes mine. My breath hitches. Instinctively, I press deeper into the couch cushion, away from him. He feels the change and halts, lifting his head enough to meet me gaze.
“I . . . ah . . .” My voice croaks, and I clear it. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Lies! Take it back!
But I can’t. He’s already easing away. I scramble to get out from under him. A frown mars his face as he watches me fumble my way to standing, and then gracefully stands himself.
“I’m sorry, Pen,” he says slowly, troubled. “I didn’t mean to make it awkward for you.”
“You didn’t. I mean . . . I can see the . . . ah, merit of the idea.” I run a shaking hand through the tumbled mess of my hair. “I just think it might confuse things, and perhaps it’s best to keep our . . . performance to only on game day.” I swallow hard. “So to speak.”
There. That wasn’t an awkward word salad at all.
Hands loosely braced low on his hips, August stares at me for a second like he’s deliberating what to say. But then he takes a breath and offers a relaxed smile. “Of course, Pen. Whatever you want.”
Seventeen
Pen
Whatever you want.
Ha! As if I have the mental capacity to know what I want when I’m around him. Because I don’t. I really freaking don’t.
Case in point? I’ve had a whole night to erase it and still can’t get that near kiss out of my mind. Or refrain from kicking my own ass for halting it. What a noob I’d been. I had August sprawled over my body, ready to kiss the hell out of me—and I know enough to realize that he would have; the man does everything well. And I said no!