Drawn to Him: A Romance Collection

by Willow Winters

  Like how the rolled up sleeve on his expensive dress shirt barely skims the hairs on my arm now standing on end.

  Or the way his warm, minty breaths skate over the exposed curve of my shoulder.

  I feel every expansion of his chest lightly grazing my shoulder blades as he takes in long breaths like he’s inhaling the flowery scent of my shampoo.

  And did I just imagine it or did his lips brush against the shell of my ear?

  Heaven help me.

  Remind me why I didn’t like him again?

  “But I think we need to discuss your insubordination in private, don’t you?” he whispers softly.

  Well, that didn’t take long.

  “Insubordination?” I practically spit just as Jamie sets down a tumbler half full of amber liquid. Tension is pouring from us, sexual and otherwise and Jamie’s been around the block a few times. He takes his cue to leave us alone, and as he does my eyes lift to catch Bennett’s watching me in the mirror.

  Want.

  Voracity.

  Anticipation.

  Authority.

  They bleed from him, along with a glint of something else I can’t decipher.

  It’s too much. It’s all too much.

  I waste no time setting my lips to the edge of the glass, tossing back the entire contents in one gulp. Fortification in me, I growl, “Let’s get one thing straight.”

  Twirling around, I crane my neck, but instead of continuing my tirade, my mouth dries out as my gaze drags up his expansive chest and generous shoulders. I roam past his throat and the manliness of his lightly stubbled jaw, the fullness of soft lips that could kiss a woman senseless. I note the straightness of his aristocratic nose and how the shape is perfect for his squared off face. My gaze drifts to the dark hair curled lazily around the backs of his ears. It’s styled, just begging me to run my fingers through it and mess it up as he feasts between my legs.

  By the time I reach eyes that look a lot like the whiskey I just drank I have no idea now much time has passed. I have no idea what the hell I was even saying or thinking except how much I want this man. The alcohol I downed in a flash must have already gone to my head because I want to open my mouth to demand he bend me over this bar and fuck me right here, right now.

  And I mean an angry fuck. No sweet nothings. No tender caresses. No soft words of praise or encouragement. I need raw and rough. To work him out of my system once and for all. I’m ready to plead, grovel at his feet, whatever it takes to get what I need when time slows way down.

  His gaze falls down me languidly, stopping on my pin. He brings a finger to it and runs it along the length, like he’s tenderly caressing a lover. Like a man did one other time before.

  Then his eyes snap to mine.

  And fuck. I can’t breathe.

  A thousand volts of desire run along the length of my spine, causing me to shiver.

  “You know, I’ve heard a hummingbird is a spirit sent to help a person in need. What do you need right now, beautiful one?”

  And that does it. A tidal wave of déjà vu rises so fast it practically drowns me.

  No woman can ever forget being called beautiful one.

  It’s him.

  Jesus H. Bennett Montgomery is the bearded stranger who gave me an unmatched night of ecstasy. The best lover I have ever had, hands down. A distraction when I was in a desperate place. But more importantly, a friend when I needed one. I left that room, my soul a metric ton lighter than it had been when I entered it. All because of him.

  This can’t be happening. It cannot. Be. Happening.

  I can hardly stand. Think. Feel. Breathe.

  A thunderbolt of sheer joy that he is here, standing mere inches away runs fast and hot through me, followed quickly by a thin coat of ice.

  He has been here for six months and he knew. All this time he knew yet he said nothing. Did nothing.

  Fucking asshole.

  He’s been jerking me around this entire time, his fragile ego probably shattered that I didn’t recognize him. But how could I? He’s thinned out, the man bun long gone. And I can actually see the stunning face beneath the unruly beard. And it is stunning. Blindingly beautiful.

  Quite honestly, Bennett Montgomery is the man I haven’t been able to stop comparing all other men to. He’s the man I have never, ever forgotten. The one I’ve secretly regretted walking away from.

  And now he’s my brother’s business partner…and my boss.

  Air. I need air.

  Feeling dizzy, I mumble, “I have to go,” attempting to skirt around him, only I don’t get far. In fact, I’m not even sure I make it two steps before his palm circles my bicep, his fingers squeezing.

  “Oh no, Ms. Campbell.” He chuckles lowly while leading me toward the back. “You’re not sneaking out on me this time.”

  I want to say something snarky. I would if I could string a coherent thought together.

  After a few steps, he drops his hold but he doesn’t leave my side, making it clear I’m to keep putting one foot in front of the other, marching my little ass to wherever he leads.

  When we pass my brother, I look to him for help. For a second I think he’s going to come to my rescue as he always does, but he throws Bennett a glance that looks suspiciously like a threat, then just shakes his head in his classic you made your bed you lie in it motion. The one he uses when he wants me to learn a lesson.

  Jerk. I’ll remember this.

  “Where are we going?”

  I try to drift away from him, but he sets a hand low on my back and guides me where he wants me to go. The energy from his touch lights the nerve endings south of my belly on fire. Jesus, it burns.

  “I need a place I can hear you weep and cry my name as I fuck you until you tell me why you left without so much as a simple goodbye.”

  “Oh my God,” I mutter under my breath. Should those filthy words make me this insanely soaking wet?

  No. No, they should not.

  “That will do just fine, too, Ms. Campbell.”

  I throw a glance over my shoulder, a smart-ass remark finally at the ready, but it drowns inside his drunk-desired gaze, which has just swallowed me whole.

  Lord have sweet mercy. I am done for. I will never be able to resist him. I couldn’t back then and the last four years have done nothing but hone him into the finest specimen of a man I have ever seen.

  Curling the fingers of one hand into the bountiful flesh on my hip, he waves the other in a gallant gesture, ushering me into the office he shares with my brother. Closing the door behind him, he holds me in place with just the intensity of his stare as I work to remember I need to fill my lungs with oxygen every few seconds.

  “You can’t just say stuff like that,” I say. Okay, I barely breathe it, but it’s the effort that counts.

  “Oh, I can and I will,” he banters back, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. Why, oh why, do they have fit him to a “T”, caressing every part of his physique like a tender lover?

  I swallow the moan growing in my throat. “I work for you.”

  One corner of his mouth tips and he tilts his head to the side, just a touch, enough to demonstrate he’s the one in charge. “You’re fired.”

  My mouth drops open for a hot second, which is all the longer it takes for my temper to re-fire. “You can’t do that,” I practically yell.

  He simply shrugs. “I just did.”

  I open and close my mouth a few times. There are so many retorts I could cannonball over the wall but I finally settle on, “I’ll talk to Will.”

  “I’m the one in charge of the talent. He has no say,” he replies smoothly, a devious grin eating up his face.

  I’m equal parts turned on and fuming mad. It’s confusing. And arousing. And irritating. Yeah, I’ll go with that one.

  We stare at each other, both of our chests heaving noticeably. This sexual spark between us intensifies. It’s out of control. A wildfire catching wind, helpless against nature.

  Without me
aning to, I take a step back, trying to break this thrall, only the second I move he takes three steps forward right into my space, startling me when he cups both cheeks with rough hands I’ve felt running all over my body before.

  His hold is charged, though his touches are featherlight. His eyes dive into mine and capture me. They won’t let go, the same way they wouldn’t the night we met.

  I’m gone; free falling into vulnerability he’s unmasked when he husks, “I have been looking for you for four goddamn years, Saine Campbell. I’ve dreamt of you, fantasized about you, longed for you until my chest aches. So you’ll have to forgive me, but I plan on fucking you twenty-four seven for the next year to make up for lost time, and that will leave little time for anything else, especially The Revelry.”

  Oh my. Okay, then.

  CHAPTER 6

  Bennett

  J esus, her skin is soft. Silky. I run my thumbs over her cheeks and practically moan with how fucking good it feels touching her again. I’m off balance, my mind lost to her.

  At my avowal she tries to back out of my hold, only I don’t let her, the same as I wouldn’t let her get away two minutes ago. I meant what I said. She’s not leaving my bed. Ever. Again.

  I intend to inhale her. Consume her soul. Love her endlessly, forever.

  Yes. I can finally admit that I am in love with this woman. I was from the moment our eyes met four years ago. I always thought love at first sight was bullshit. Fodder for novelists. Hollywood screenwriters. Musicians. Then I met Saine Campbell, the sad girl drowning her sorrows in vodka martinis.

  I never stood a chance. I fell hard. Hook, line and double sinker.

  She made me a believer.

  “What are you doing?” she asks as I lean in toward her. Her exhales are choppy and heavy and smell of liquor and overt want.

  “I’m going to kiss you until your knees give out, Saine.”

  I don’t get enough time to savor the delicious way her name rolls around on my tongue and I sure as hell don’t give her a chance to deny me.

  I slant my mouth over hers and I take.

  I take what I’ve wanted to take since the moment I set eyes on her again.

  I take until she melts against me and her lips chase after mine. I take her hitched breaths and swallow them intact. I take her stubborn will and bend it over my knee until she’s malleable. I take until her hands weave through my hair and she jerks me closer. I take until she’s liquid need in my arms, her legs weakening.

  When she was berating me earlier, I’ll admit I had difficulty following along. I watched her lips move in the mirror. I saw them form words, syllables, but I couldn’t hear a damn thing she said because all I could think of was how that mouth would look wrapped around my dick and how her cheeks would hollow on each pass as she sucked me to completion. But now that my lips are meshed with hers, it will be a cold day in hell before I let them go.

  Only she doesn’t see it that way, I guess. I suppose she wouldn’t, the stubborn little thing that she is.

  Breaking our lip lock, she pushes her hands between us and rests them on my chest, her heat burning me through my dress shirt. I long to feel her naked flesh against mine again. To taste her. Hold her. To make her come until she can’t come anymore. To fuck her until she admits walking out on me was the biggest mistake she’s ever made.

  Intent on doing every one of those things, I try going in again but she whispers, “What are we doing?” Confusion and lack of oxygen twist her words into a mess.

  I hold her face steady in my hands, our wide eyes bouncing back and forth between each other’s. She’s panting. Her cheeks hold the delicious hue of being kissed senseless. And she is the most fucking beautiful thing I have ever seen. Why did I wait this long? What the hell was I thinking?

  “What we should have done the second I found you again.”

  “You’ve been a Grade A asshole.”

  “Yes,” I admit, ashamed. “I apologize.”

  “Why?”

  Why? That is the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because I was hurt, my ego bruised. Because I wanted her to long for me the way I longed for her. Dream of me the way I dreamt of her. Search for me as long and as hard as I’ve searched for her.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, meaning it.

  “That’s not good enough,” she volley’s back. She’s hurt. I don’t blame her. I’ve been a massive prick.

  “I know.” I kiss her fast and hard, almost with bruising force. “I know. Let me make it up to you. Show you just how sorry I am.”

  Time suspends. Hangs in thick waves pulsing between us. She blinks in slow motion, lids fluttering over glazed eyes. I hold my breath wondering what her answer will be.

  If it’s no, it’s no, but I’m not giving up. I will woo, date, and even hold a boom box over my head outside her window playing one of the best love songs of all time. Whatever she needs to understand how serious I am about winning her for good. For life. But if it’s yes—

  “Just how sorry are you?” she deadpans.

  I smile. It’s slow, but it eventually stretches ear to ear. “Very fucking sorry, Saine.”

  She wants to smile, too. She’s fighting it. “On your knees sorry?”

  And right here, folks, is where I concede. I may be the gamemaster, but even the gamemaster knows when to bend or break the rules for the betterment of all involved.

  So I do what any man in my position should do.

  I fall to my knees.

  I grab her hips.

  I hold her eyes.

  I drag up her skirt.

  I tug her panties down.

  I spread her legs wide.

  I fasten my mouth to her treasure.

  And I apologize. Fiercely. With vigor and skill.

  I lose myself in her. In her scent, her flavor, the writhing of her hips, letting her take what she needs from me. I bring her to a quick orgasm, my name on her lips sounding like an angel’s choir.

  Then I’m on my feet, my mouth back on hers. Beat for beat she follows my lead. Tongue, lips, passion. We are an outbreak of flat out need for the other right now.

  My hands roam down the luscious lines of her body, leisurely, deliberately, savoring each slope and curve. My thumbs skim over the fullest peak of her breast, circling her hardened nubs before giving them each a slight pinch, which I remember she loved. I sip on her drawn-out moan, the taste of her desire coating my tongue, along with remnants of her release.

  Remembering the many other wicked things she loved, I walk her straight backward until I have her sunk onto the couch, back flush with the cool leather.

  I kneel on the ground beside her and leisurely take my fill of how fucking beautiful this woman is. Skirt up around her middle and panties long gone, I look up her incredible body and ask, “Am I forgiven yet?”

  The cutest smirk pulls at her lips and they give way. “Not quite.”

  “Not quite, huh?”

  She shakes her head. “No. Not quite.”

  Reaching for me, she cups the side of my jaw, running her thumb along my long scruff. It’s not a full beard like it was before, but it’s longer than just day-old stubble. “I like this,” she declares quietly.

  My chest puffs a little. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I can actually see how handsome you are.”

  Okay, it puffs a lot.

  “Better than the full beard?”

  She takes a minute to respond. I see the wheels turning behind her gorgeous, expressive eyes. “Yes, though that had its benefits, too.”

  I laugh as she runs her fingers through my short hair. “And this. I like this, too.”

  “A cleaner cut Chris Hemsworth, right?” I cock a brow.

  Her face turns red. “Oh my God. You remember that?” She tries to throw a hand over her face, but I grab it and hold it down.

  Yeah, I remember during one of our post-sex breathers how she told me I resembled Chris Hemsworth and that’s the only reason she took me up on my offer. I knew it was bu
llshit. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. Needed at the time, actually. But hey, I was flattered regardless.

  “I remember every single second with you, Saine Campbell. Every murmured prayer to God, every quiver of your legs, every plea for more. The roll of your eyes when you came, the taste of liquid gold as it hit my lips for the first, second and third time.” She laughs, throwing her head back as much as the couch will allow.

  Holy Christ, that smile of hers. I almost have to clutch my chest; it’s so full right now.

  “Every single second, huh?”

  “Yes. Every one,” I reply in earnest.

  She can’t possibly comprehend the little things I remember about her.

  Her contented sighs. The slight gap between her two bottom teeth. The dark mole I licked a dozen times on her outer left thigh. The way she lightly traced her finger over my chest when she told me about the bad case of chicken pox she had when she was six. The way she fit into my side with precision when she laid her cheek on my chest and drifted asleep.

  I remember it all with picture-perfect clarity.

  “Now, where were we?” I ask.

  “You were apologizing if I remember right,” she quips.

  “Yes, I was. Profusely.”

  Lowering my mouth to the top of her exposed mound, I give her an open-mouthed kiss. She tastes salty from the hours she spent on stage. But she also tastes sweet, like the orange slices I remember. Like heaven. Like mine. Unable to resist another go at her, I run my tongue down her slit, wet and tempting.

  “Oh—” She gasps, her hips jackknifing when I dip my tongue deep inside her pussy. With an arm holding her down, I gorge on her until she comes undone with these breathy cries that will live inside me forever.

  “I need to be inside you. Now,” I tell her as I stand and start shucking my clothes. I should take her back to my place, lay her down in my bed and worship her for days as she deserves. Hell, I should take her anywhere but in her brother’s office, on his couch, but I can’t wait another fucking minute, my red-hot need for her bordering on mania.

  She must feel the same because she gives the closed door—which I hope to hell I locked—only a passing glance before rising from the couch. In less than sixty seconds, we’re both gloriously naked, my cock already sheathed, my mouth fastened back on hers.