by Karen Foley
Figured. Brody crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’re here to use me?”
Her lower lip dropped, then jutted out in a pout. He didn’t figure she had the experience to realize just how freaking sexy that move was.
He did, though.
His rapidly hardening dick echoed its agreement.
“I wouldn’t use you.”
“No? So you came in here to talk to the bad boy of Bedford because you were craving my scintillating conversation?”
She started to giggle, then pressed her lips together, her face so amused she looked as if she were going to burst at any second.
“What?” he prodded with a growl.
“You said scintillating.”
“Yeah? So? I know how to read, too.” Damn, he hated this town. Everyone—even the sexy wannabe seductress in front of him—thought they had him so figured out. Labeled and dismissed, they never looked past his last name.
Hell, Genna’s own brother, Joe, was way worse than Brody when it came to trouble. But people looked at his Harley, a brand-new, off-the-showroom-floor graduation gift, and smiled. They looked at Brody’s, bought after years of scrubbing dishes in the back of the bar, pumping gas and wrenching at Lou’s Garage, and saw trouble.
“I didn’t mean to suggest you were stupid,” Genna said with honest bluntness, her expression somewhere between indignant and horrified. “I just think it’s a funny word.”
“Right.”
“I do. Like grandiose.” Brody grinned at the way she seemed to relish the word, drawing it out in a tone worthy of a royal princess.
“You like things really big?” he mused before he could stop himself.
Her eyes lit, the worry leaving her face and her smile returning like a ray of sunlight. It made him want to smile back. Almost.
“Participle?” She offered the word like a hostess offering a drink. As if inviting him to indulge.
“Does it dangle?”
Her laugh gurgled out, about the lightest, happiest sound to ever ring through this murky garage.
Brody couldn’t help himself. He grinned. He just had to.
“You’re cute,” she decided, still smiling.
“Yeah?” He’d never been called cute before. Any number of other four-letter words, but not that one.
“Yeah,” she said, stepping closer. Too close. Her scent wrapped around him, light and tasty, like the daiquiris he mixed in the bar on nights his old man passed out before closing.
Brody’s smile disappeared.
Shit. She thought they were having a conversation.
He should have stuck to grumpy and silent.
“You need to leave.”
Please.
“I don’t think so,” she murmured, her words so quiet they were a whisper on the heavy night air.
He could actually feel his brains start to slip away. Bad news, since he needed them. They were there to remind him to stay away from her. To caution him to keep his hands to himself. To warn him about those male relatives of hers. The ones he was supposed to watch out for. Whatever the hell their names were.
But she was close enough now for him to see the band of midnight encircling her pupils, all the more vivid against the pale blue of her irises.
“You really need to go.” Desperate, he reached out to move her aside. Because if she wasn’t leaving, he was.
But the minute he touched her, all thought of either one of them leaving fled. His fingers curled over the smooth, deliciously soft skin of her upper arms. She was so slender, but he could feel the muscles there. She was so warm, he felt like a tiny piece of him, forever frozen, was melting in his chest.
It was terrifying.
Those fascinating eyes huge and locked on his, she reached out to trail her fingers over his chest. Her touch was so soft and tentative, as if she were petting a wild animal. Or a rabid dog.
Brody wondered if he bared his teeth and growled, would she run?
He should try it.
But those fingers had shorted out his ability to think.
It was as if she’d reached in and flipped the last switch.
Brain, off.
Dick, on.
When she leaned closer, he realized she was the perfect height.
She fit perfectly against his body, her slender curves hitting all his favorite spots.
Her mouth was right there. Waiting.
He dropped his gaze, noting the slight quiver in the full, red cushion of her lower lip. He met her eyes again. No nerves there. Just heat. Pure, hot, intense.
Insistent.
“Kiss me.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“Sure it is,” she agreed, her gaze not leaving his as she leaned in, closing those last few infinitesimal inches between them. Her breath warmed his mouth just before she brushed the slightest whisper of a kiss against his lips.
“So be bad.”
Copyright © 2014 by Tawny Weber
ISBN-13: 9781460325506
HARD TO HOLD
Copyright © 2014 by Karen Foley
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