thought he could have.
A warm sensation spread in her belly as the afternoon air filled with his aftershave. She licked her lips while somewhere at the back of her mind warning bells were ringing, telling her it was a bad idea. That the baby came first. But then she remembered their conversation at Daisy Hill. He said he’d give her what she needed.
And right now, I need this.
“Oh.” The breath caught in her throat, and it took all her willpower not to just lean in and kiss him. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Don’t say anything.” He shook his head as his fingers reached out and found hers. “It seems like when we speak, everything comes out wrong.”
“Lost in translation,” she croaked, as her insides turned to fire.
His fingers clamped down on hers. Emmy had said kissing him before talking was a bad idea. But they’d talked. She’d taken him to the doctor’s. And he said I have a unique way of looking at the world.
“Exactly.” His other hand reached up and cupped her chin, turning her skin to liquid. “And I’m sick of things being wrong.”
“Me, too.” Bec inched forward and was rewarded by the sensation of his mouth crashing into hers. The scenic cliff melted away, his cell phone fell to the ground, and all that was left was him. The kiss intensified, and his fingers tightened around hers, but it wasn’t enough. I don’t want any space between us. She dragged her hands free and curled them around the back of his head, her skin burning.
He let out a groan and pulled her on top of him. Explosions, fireworks…the whole lot swirled in her belly as he planted hot kisses down her neck. She tugged at his shirt buttons, not caring that they popped off. All she cared about was the shirt was now gone.
Ah, that’s better. She ran her greedy hands across his chest, his muscles rippling beneath her touch. His hands slid up under her T-shirt. Goose bumps skittered along her body as his fingers cupped her breasts. Whoever invented this deserves a medal.
She tugged at her own shirt, desperate to get rid of it. His eyes gleamed, and his mouth immediately went in search of the small owl tattoo that rode on her shoulder. The first time he’d run his fingers across it, he’d told her how much it turned him on. And now, feeling his breath hot against her flesh, she though how the small pain from getting the ink had all been worth it.
Amanda Ashby was born in Australia but now lives in New Zealand where she writes romance, young adult and middle grade books. She also works in a library, owns far too many vintage tablecloths and likes to delight her family by constantly rearranging the furniture.
She has a degree in English and Journalism from the University of Queensland and is married with two children. Her debut book was nominated for a Romantic Times Reviewers Choice award, and her first young adult book was listed in the New York Public Library Stuff for the Teen Age. Because she’s mysterious she also writes middle grade books under the name, Catherine Holt and hopes that all this writing won’t interfere with her Netflix schedule.