A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,19
and sharp, the landscape, the cloudless sky, her sense of loss.
All that blue emptiness made her reckless. “So if you weren’t planning to leave, would you have…” She stopped herself. Took a deep breath. The chasm gaped, dark in front of her. She turned to stare at him. “Would you have married me that Friday, just like we planned?”
“Yes. I made a promise to you.”
The sun flashed and the sand seemed to shift under her feet. Did she hear him right? He grabbed her arm as she stumbled back, trying to figure out the meaning of what he said.
“You really would have married me?” The words drifted out of her mouth, toneless.
“Yes. I’ll marry you today, if that’s what you want.”
His strong hand held her arm fast. Reassuring. Kept her up while the world tilted under her. He held her gaze with resolute dark eyes and a hard-set jaw.
“That’s not what I want.” She managed to spit out the words. “Not at all.”
Something painful rose in her throat, and the next thing she knew Con’s arms were around her, her head on his chest as her tears wet his shirt.
He was willing to give up his freedom and marry her.
Not because he loved her.
Because he pitied her.
She couldn’t stop the choking sobs that hurt her throat or the tears that dripped from her chin. His hand rubbed her back, caressed her shoulders. “Shhh,” he whispered. But she couldn’t.
She looked at him through her tears and saw the face that was the embodiment of all her dreams of Happily Ever After. She’d had no doubts. No fears. He was perfect and they’d live an enchanted life.
The world doesn’t work the way you think it does.
Her chest hurt.
“Come on, you’ll feel much better if you…”
She never knew what he was about to suggest because her mouth closed over his and silenced his tongue with hers. Their lips met with a breathtaking explosion of chemistry. Her hands roamed over his face, into his hair, along his powerful neck and into the collar of his shirt. The hot sun and the feral scent of his hot skin made thoughts evaporate before they could form. She untucked the back of his shirt and slid her fingers under it, traced the straight line of his spine and dug her fingertips into hard muscle.
He shifted his hips, pushed his body against hers so she could feel his arousal. Instant, like her own. She pressed her breasts to his chest, nipples straining her bra. His cupped hand on her buttock lifted her, deepened their kiss. He ground his hips against her, and she pushed back, harder.
She sat on top so he was the one lying in the dirt. She kept her eyes open, watched his face as she increased the rhythm and intensity and took them both to the quivering edge.
His hands explored her body with that familiar touch that felt like a celebration of every inch of skin, every curve. Soft groans tickled her ears as she leaned to lick his closed eyelids, graze his neck with her teeth. She had to struggle to keep her head, not go adrift in arms that felt so loving.
He never opened his eyes. Trust? Or because he didn’t want to see her? Wanted to imagine she was someone else the way he pretended he was?
She sensed his climax coming with a thrill of power. She’d never stayed so detached during sex. She discovered she could enjoy the pleasure but not lose herself in it. Keep emotion tightly buttoned down as sensation surged to her toes.
As Con came, hard, with a low animal sound and his eyes squeezed tight, she faked her own orgasm. Loud breathing, a high pitched moan. Her eyes open the whole time.
She’d never done that before. Could he tell? If so he didn’t say. This was the new Lizzie, the one she planned to forge herself into. The one who knew how the world worked and played it her way.
The one who could rip arrows out of her chest and throw them on the ground without feeling anything like the agony ripping through her right now.
She climbed off him, her hands trembling.
“Hey, where are you going?”
She put her pants back on. Con was one of those supposedly rare men who actually like to cuddle and caress after sex. He loved nothing more than being entangled under warm sheets, snoozing, whispering and hugging. If anything she’d say he was more blissed out by that than by the act