Blame It on the Bikini - By Natalie Anderson Page 0,7

he stepped closer, taking more, giving so much more.

His chest pressed into hers. She could feel how broad and strong he was. It was a damn good thing she had the wall behind her—she was sandwiched between two solid forces and it was utterly exquisite. His mouth was rapacious now. His body insistent. Like yin and yang—hard versus the soft. And yet there was tension in her body too, that fierce need for physical fulfilment unfurling inside.

She slid her hand over his abs, the heat of him blazing through the white cotton shirt. She could feel those taut muscles and shivered at the thought of them working hard above her, beneath her—every way towards pleasure.

Her rational mind spun off into the distance while her senses took centre stage, demanding all her attention. She all but oozed into him, utterly malleable, his to twist and tease. And he did—grinding against her, kissing her mouth, her jaw, her neck and back to her mouth. She threaded her fingers through his hair, opening yet more for him.

His hand slid to the curve of her hip, lower still to her butt. He spread his fingers, pulling her hips closer to the heat of his—so she could feel his response even more. A moan escaped as she felt his thick erection pressing against her belly. So hot, so soon, this was just so crazy.

But all thought vanished as his other hand slid up from her waist, cupping her breast. She momentarily tensed, anticipating the pain—she was too sensitive for touch there. But his fingers stilled, not following through on their upward sweep; a half-second later he moved again to cup her soft flesh, avoiding her nipple. Good thing, as both were overloading already just with the pressure of his chest against hers. She relaxed against him again as she realised he somehow understood. Instead he pressed deeper—his tongue laying claim to her mouth, his body almost imprinting on hers.

And despite this oh-so-thorough kiss, she wanted so much more than this.

She moved restlessly—tiny rocking motions of her hips. It was all she could manage given how hard he was pinning her to the wall. But with every small movement she drew closer and closer to the hit of ecstasy that she suddenly needed more than anything else in the world.

It wasn’t a kiss; it was a siege—he’d encircled her and demanded her surrender. It hadn’t taken her long to cave at all. Her fingers curled instinctively into his cotton shirt as wicked tension gripped her. Almost at breaking point—the convulsions of ecstasy were a mere breath away.

‘Excuse me!’

Mya froze and she felt Brad’s arms go equally rigid. She pulled back and met his eyes—he looked as startled as she felt.

‘Mya, you’re way over your break time.’ Drew, her boss, snapped right beside her. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

All but stupefied, Mya turned and stared at her boss. She literally didn’t know. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t answer. She was still trying to process the chemical reaction that had ignited every cell while in Brad’s embrace. But as she looked at the extreme irritation on Drew’s face, reality rushed back. Her boss was furious. Panic slammed the door shut on the remaining good vibes—she couldn’t afford to lose this job. What on earth had she been thinking?

‘Drew, I’m so sorry,’ she said in a breathless rush, stepping further away from Brad. ‘I wasn’t aware of the time. I didn’t—’

‘No kidding,’ Drew interrupted rudely, her scrambled apology having no effect on his temper. ‘This is—’

‘My fault.’ To Mya’s horror, Brad coolly interrupted Drew. ‘I distracted her.’

Drew turned his glower on Brad. But within a second his expression eased a fraction as he got a good look at the man now stepping up in front of him.

Mya watched the two men square off. All of a sudden Brad seemed both taller and broader as he moved to put himself partly between her and Drew. Oh, this wasn’t good—she really didn’t need Brad interfering; she was on the line as it was. She could handle Drew herself without any macho-male stuff.

Brad sent her a quick glance but seemed oblivious to her wordless plea to shut the heck up and back off. Instead he turned back to Drew.

Mya held her breath but then Brad smiled—that big, easy smile, with just a hint of the ‘born-to-it-all’ arrogance. ‘My name’s Brad Davenport.’ He extended his hand as if it were not in the least embarrassing that he’d just been caught kissing the brains out