Make Me Yours (Bellamy Creek #2) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,4

leather belt?”

“I’m wearing it.”

“Can I see it?”

“No.”

Slightly taken aback, she tried again. “I’m sure it’s fine. I just want to see it and make sure.”

“Well, you can’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cole, come on.”

“No.”

“You’re being silly. Why can’t I see the belt?” Laughing, she grabbed my arm and tried to pull me onto my feet, but I yanked it back so hard, I jerked her right off her feet.

“Oh!” she cried as her body crashed into mine, the force of it sending me over backward. She wound up sprawled on top of me, and instinct took over—I flipped her onto her back and pinned her wrists to the mattress, my cock bulging against her thigh. There was no way to hide what she was doing to me.

Our eyes met. “Oh,” she said again, softer this time.

I almost lost my mind and fucking kissed her.

Instead, I jumped off the bed and backed up against my dresser. “So. How’s the belt?”

She sat up, and her eyes went wide. “Um, it’s big.”

I nearly grinned. “It’s what?”

Then she panicked, her cheeks turning scarlet. “I mean, it’s perfect. The belt. The belt is perfect. For your outfit.” She scrambled off the bed and bolted for the first door she saw, yanking it open. “I’ll just get Mariah and head out.”

But it was the closet door she’d gone for, which she realized when she tried to exit through a row of hanging shirts.

“Other way,” I said, pointing her toward the hallway.

“Right,” she said, making a beeline out of the room without looking at me. “Okay, have a good night. Bye.”

When she was gone, I shut the door behind her and leaned back against it, running a hand over my jaw and trying not to laugh.

Fuck. No more inviting Cheyenne Dempsey up to my room.

Years ago, clear back in high school, Griffin had made his three best friends—me, Enzo Moretti, and Beckett Weaver—promise we’d keep our hands off his little sister. He’d probably forgotten all about it, but I hadn’t. And I’d always been a man of my word, but damn.

Damn.

As I changed my clothes with the irresistible scent of Cheyenne’s perfume lingering in the air, and the memory of what her body had felt like beneath mine, I couldn’t help wondering if there was a statute of limitations on a promise like that.

I mean . . . those eyes. Those curves. Those lips.

Just . . . damn.

Two

Cheyenne

“I’m positive,” I whispered frantically to Blair in the kitchen. “I felt it. Then I looked right at it. I said, ‘Um, it’s big.’ Then I tried to escape through his closet.” Cringing, I shook my head. “It was so embarrassing!”

“I’m sure he was more embarrassed than you were.” Blair giggled as she dumped a big bag of barbecue chips into a bowl. “What did he say?”

“Nothing!” I poured two glasses of Pinot Grigio and plunked a few ice cubes into a tumbler for Mariah, who was waiting for us in the den. “What on earth could he say?”

“What did you do to turn him on?”

“I have no idea.” I pulled a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and poured some into the tumbler. “Chose his outfit? Complimented his eyes? Bent over in front of him?”

Blair munched on a chip. “Those jeans do look amazing on you.”

“You think?” I glanced at my behind, which was where I felt like I carried every single one of the ten pounds I was always trying to lose.

Okay, fifteen.

“Definitely,” she said.

I took out a second bowl and dumped a bag of Skinny Pop in it. “I was still getting over my shock that he invited me up to his room in the first place. It was like my greatest fantasy coming to life. Except that there was a wedding picture of him and Trisha on the dresser.”

Blair looked surprised. “Still?”

I ate some popcorn. “Did I ever tell you, the night they got married, I cried myself to sleep?”

“Aww, really?”

“Yep. I’d been away at college for a year already. I’d finally lost my virginity to some dormitory asshole who vaguely resembled Cole but—it turned out—had none of his kindness or integrity. But anyway, I was nineteen and thought I was over Cole Mitchell once and for all. Then I saw him standing at the front of the church in a black suit, tears in his eyes, watching Trisha walk toward him, and it hit me—I’d never be over him. And he’d never be mine. I stayed as long as I could at the reception, then I