Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans Book 4) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,73
stuttered when he didn’t say anything for a ridiculously long time. Just stood there looking at her. Try as she might, she couldn’t read his expression. The man gave new meaning to the term poker face. But finally he said, “What if you end up regretting it?”
“Anything’s possible,” she admitted. Her conscience had been poking her on the shoulder during the entire conversation, trying to tell her something important. She’d studiously ignored it. Instead, she took a running jump. “But, honey, the worst mistake beats the hell out of never tryin’.”
* * *
9:28 p.m.…
Bran could hear the belief buried like a land mine beneath Maddy’s persuasive tone. And he was terrified that one false move would have him stepping on it and blowing his friggin’ legs off.
No matter how he looked at the situation, he was screwed. If he didn’t agree to give this one-night-only thing a go, he’d hurt her. Again. Reject her. Again. But if he agreed, there was a chance that tomorrow morning, in the cold light of day, she’d realize she really wasn’t okay with the concept. In which case, he’d hurt her. Again.
He looked around, trying to figure out if by some small chance there was a third option. Unfortunately, the only thing that met his searching gaze was the long hexagonal circle of the fort’s parapets, the dark sea, and the lip that Maddy once again caught between her teeth.
Everything inside him was pushing him, needling him, damn near hitting him over the head with a rubber mallet to give Maddy what she wanted. One scenario guaranteed her hurt feelings, and the other one only guaranteed a chance of her hurt feelings, right? Right.
And now you’re rationalizing.
Damnit, he was. The soil of abstinence was oh-so-fertile ground for a breakdown of self-restraint.
Zero-dark-thirty read the display on his diver’s watch. Don’t be a fool, warned his brain. Trust me and give me one night, said her liquid mercury eyes.
“Bran?” she finally said when he’d been quiet for too long. And even the way she said his name was a turn-on. “Say somethin’,” she insisted, her voice deliciously low and throaty.
“I don’t wanna step on my dick here,” he managed. “So I figure I’m better off keeping my damn mouth shut.” And that was the third option he’d so desperately been searching for. Neither Door A nor Door B, but Door C. Behind which was shut-up-and-hope-it-all-miraculously-goes-away.
Her expression turned impish. “Well, I wholeheartedly agree with that first thing. I don’t want you steppin’ on your dick since I have plans for it that require it bein’ in top-notch shape.”
He made a weak, strangled sound at the back of his throat. He was now harder than those nights when he’d lain in bed and jerked off while looking at the picture of her he’d found on the Internet—the one where she was in a short, black cocktail dress that showed off her flawless back and the high, tight curve of her ass. The one where her head was turned over her shoulder and she was grinning wickedly at whoever had snapped the photo.
“But I don’t agree with the second thing,” she continued, completely unaware he was teetering on the brink of what was likely to turn into a medical condition if he didn’t do something quick. “You keepin’ your mouth shut isn’t an option. Tell me what you’re thinkin’.”
What he was thinking? What he was thinking? He was thinking her deal probably made about as much sense as a cool spring breeze, but it was just as sweet and delicious and alluring.
“So what happens if we do this tonight, but instead of banking the fire, it only stokes it?” he demanded. He got the distinct impression that one-and-done wouldn’t cut it when it came to Maddy. In fact, he didn’t know if a-thousand-and-done would cut it. Not when there were a million things he wanted to do to her. A million things he wanted to share with her. A million things he wanted to learn about her and teach her about himself.
“Well, then we’ll have the Gulf of Mexico between us,” she said, shrugging. “Just like you said. Surely all that water and distance will be enough to bank any lingerin’ conflagration.”
The more she talked, the more she chipped away at the foundation of his reason. Particularly since he knew that if he did this, he’d have something real and wonderful to take out and cherish during those quiet times, those alone times when he allowed himself to touch