Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,4

cleavage between their breasts. It, breasts, and nipples had been created in part for the primitive, animalistic purpose of making men look. Of driving them out of their minds with lust until they did what men did best. Fuck. That was their primary mission, their one good reason for breathing.

And Hotrod was looking. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her breasts, but then neither could Persia take her eyes off his chest. There was a veritable slice between his breathtaking pectorals. A narrow grand canyon of sinew between two sets of finely-packed, rock-solid muscle. And they were warm. So warm. And solid.

A woman had needs, damn it. Could she help it if she might possibly be drooling at the snug way her thumb had just slid inside that warm, male crevice where it landed? Hotrod wasn’t just built. He was carved out of deliciously living granite that pulsed and thrummed under her touch.

Was he as turned on as she was? The edge of her thumb slid deeper between those two slabs of muscle, as if it had found its place in the grand scope of things. Like it wanted to stay there. Which put her fluttering fingertips over his nipple, as if they’d found their new favorite toy.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ve gotcha,” he said, his voice husky and heavy with desire.

He most certainly did have her. Fighting to catch her balance—and her breath—Persia looked him square in the eye. His blue eyes were as pure and breathtaking as the Key West ocean before an afternoon rain. She’d pegged him wrong. This guy wasn’t short, and he wasn’t ordinary, not the way he’d stepped up and taken charge. He had her beat by a good six inches, up close. Maybe more. And he had her hand.

The man she’d thought forgettable was anything but. Close-up, Hotrod was lethally raw and wickedly potent. His masculinity whipped out and wrapped her in their own private bubble. She really was caught.

Her nostrils flared at the luscious scents of wind, sand, and sea, combined with the distinctly male musk coming off him. And cinnamon. She couldn’t breathe. Didn’t dare swallow.

But she could step back, damn it!

Flustered like she’d never been before in her life, Persia retreated until her calves bumped the front of her chair. Out of breath at this overwhelming, incredible first contact, she reached down with her free hand and grabbed her towel with its hidden weapon.

“My bungalow’s behind us. In the... trees,” she told him, pissed that a breathy hesitance had replaced her usual, domineering snark. “You’ll see the… the garden hose attached to the post just outside the door. It has a nozzle to control the flow, and all you have to d-d-do is...”

And she was stuttering!

Struggling to gather her wits, Persia jerked her hand back. “It’s actually an outdoor shower with a four-by-four tiled floor. There’s a bench alongside to set your stuff on, and I’ll…” I’ll be damned. I’ve turned into a silly, chatty, feminine idiot, who... Is. Not. Me! “And I’ll get a towel while you shower,” she bit out, in case he thought she was weakening. Which she was not. “Leave it on the b-b-bench when you l-l-leave.” Why couldn’t she talk straight?

“Yes, ma’am.”

Hotrod was so damned polite, she had a feeling he might salute any second now. Her lips were dry, so… she licked the bottom one. Then bit it. Held her lip between her teeth, overcome by—something.

Of course, he noticed her mouth. Men liked any female orifice. He was suddenly a jungle cat with big, black, glowing eyes. Alert. Poised. Ready to strike. And… And… She wanted to do erotic, carnal things to him. With him. He needed to squirm, and she needed to be the dominant one making him squirm.

Logic evaporated. Persia didn’t waste time thinking twice, just slammed into that rugged, sexy mouth, needing whatever was simmering between Hotrod the liar and her to boil the hell over. To consume her and him. To get it over and done.

Just that fast, he was a match to her gasoline. His heavy bag hit the ground with a thud. His warm, capable hands smoothed down her back and cupped her mostly bare ass. Bikinis weren’t made to cover much. This one surely didn’t.

Their mouths crashed together, all lips and teeth, growls and tongues. Their bodies followed suit. Breasts to chest. Hip to hip and thigh to thigh. One of her knees landed between his thighs. The rousing sensation of his hair-roughened skin against her