Some guys kissed you and all you wanted was for it to end. Too much tongue, mouths open too wide, a general icky feeling that you knew would only stop when the kiss stopped.
And then there were the ones who kissed nicely. Just enough tongue, soft mouths, attuned to how you were feeling about the whole thing.
Then there was Ross. He tugged her toward him on the swing. She went willingly. Even when he reached down and picked up her legs, turning her so she was draped across his lap, she went with the flow. Her nerve endings sizzled with anticipation. He looped an arm around her for support, tipped her head back with his fingers on her chin.
He didn’t immediately kiss her though. He seemed to be studying her, and she started to squirm. What if he found her lacking somehow? What if he came to his senses and decided that kissing her was too complicated?
Because it was complicated. Not only was she nothing like the women he usually kissed, he was also a Blackthorne and she was a Blackthorne employee. Sure, he didn’t intend to be at the distillery for long—but what if he was? What if he never went back to driving and he was suddenly there all the time, running the show? He’d have the power over who got the master distiller job some day—and it wouldn’t be her if things went bad between them.
And yet that still wasn’t enough to make her stop him. His head descended and her eyes closed automatically, her heart hammering a staccato beat in her chest. Ross’s lips touched hers, skimming lightly over them. Torturing her.
“You taste so sweet, Holly,” he whispered.
She looped her arms around his neck, tugging him down. “Stop teasing me, Ross. Kiss me.”
He chuckled. “Haven’t you heard that saying about anticipation making it sweeter?”
“Probably. But it’s bullshit. At least in this case.”
He laughed outright. “God, you’re cute.” Then he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her like she’d been wanting him to do.
Their tongues tangled, and heat spread through her body. It centered on her sex, making her wet and achy and desperate. Ross was careful not to move his hands anywhere personal—but she wanted him to. Badly.
She touched his face, slid her fingers into his hair, and kissed him back with all the passion she possessed. It was risky and crazy and joyful and she couldn’t seem to make herself think of it as a danger to her heart.
He skimmed his fingers down her throat—and then he cupped her breast and she thought she might die.
He hesitated, as if waiting for her to stop him, but she didn’t. And then he grew bolder, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her nipple while she gasped from the sensations streaking through her.
She could feel him beneath her thighs where they lay across his lap. He was hard. Ready. For her. It made her shudder deep inside. Need flared hot and heavy. Her body grew achy. Her sex actually hurt from how aroused he made her.
And then he stopped. Just like that, he lifted his head and removed his hand and the kiss was over. A dull throbbing echoed inside her. Disappointment and uncertainty twined together as embarrassment threatened to overrule the whole thing.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he said, his voice more gravelly than before. Hoarse. “I want you, Holly. But not on a porch swing in the dark. I want to strip you slowly, kiss my way over every inch of your body, and then I want to lay you down on a soft bed and make you come for me again and again.”
Holly gulped. She shouldn’t want any of that with him, but she did. So badly. “Take me home, Ross. It’s not that far away…”
He kissed her forehead. Sighed. “I’m going to take you home. But I’m not coming inside with you. I’ve told you what I want, but I want you to make sure it’s what you want too.”
He helped her stand, his hand firmly clasped around hers as he sat on the porch swing and looked up at her. “You’re so beautiful, Holly. You make me feel things I don’t understand.”
She put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say things like that, Ross. You don’t have to in order to convince me to sleep with you. I’m already convinced. But I’ll take the night to think about it if that’s what you want.” She bent and removed her hand so she could give him a quick kiss. “Take me home, please. I’m ready.”
He stood, towering over her in the darkness. “I didn’t say you’re beautiful to convince you of anything. I said it because it’s true.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. A shiver worked its way down her spine. “You said you’re convinced. Can I ask how this happened? A few days ago you could hardly stand the sight of me.”
“I didn’t know you, did I? I made the mistake of thinking that what I read online was the real you. But then you were so nice to those kids—and, well, everybody who wants to talk to you.”
“What did you read online?”
A different kind of heat bloomed across her cheeks. “Well, most of what comes up about you is either about the driving—or the women you date. You’re a real heartbreaker, Ross Blackthorne.”
“You can’t believe everything you read online. But yeah, I’ve dated a few women. I never promise them anything but a good time though.”
“And the champagne baths you routinely give nubile young women?”
He blinked. “Champagne baths… Oh geez, Holly. Those are publicity stunts. Brock hates them, by the way. And it’s happened like twice.”
“Seriously, you’ve never enjoyed spraying champagne on sexy women who can’t wait for a piece of you?”
“Well, I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it. But not nearly as much as I’ve enjoyed kissing you.”
“Ross.”
“It’s true. Hand to God.”
Happiness bloomed in her soul. Whether or not it was true in the long run, he meant it right now. And that was enough for her in this moment. “Okay. I believe you.”
He kissed her hand again. Then he kissed her mouth, but only briefly. No tongues, no heat. “Hey, you hungry?”
Holly laughed. “Another meal together? Do I get to buy this one?”
“Maybe so. You game?”
She thought about it. Spending more time with Ross? Getting to know him even more than she already did? It was a no brainer. Besides, fries and nachos for dinner didn’t really cut it.
“Sure, I’m game. But not one mention of business, okay? I want a shot at picking up the bill.”
He ushered her back inside so they could lock up before leaving. “I’ll try my best.”
ROSS WOKE SLOWLY, reluctantly. He’d been having a hot dream about getting naked with Holly and he didn’t want it to end. But he knew, as soon as he opened his eyes, that it had most definitely been just a dream.
He was alone in a king-sized bed with white sheets. Light streamed across the bed and he felt around on the nightstand for his phone. Seven a.m.
He groaned. He’d forgotten that the automatic blinds were set to go up at seven on weekdays.
Might as well get up. Ross pushed himself upright, yawning. He reached for the remote and flicked on the television. The TV was already set to his favorite racing channel. Soon they’d be talking about the race this weekend, and then they’d cover practices and qualifying.
He picked up the remote for the blinds and lowered those just a bit. He’d been out late with Holly. After they’d left her old family house, they’d gone to a Waffle House. He’d discovered Waffle Houses when he’d moved to Kentucky. Open all night and serving some of the greasiest food imaginable. Breakfast, burgers, you name it.
He and Holly had taken a booth and ordered breakfast. They’d shared hash browns smothered, covered, chunked, and grilled. Holly explained that meant onions, cheese, ham, and tomatoes. Sounded great to him—and they were.
Over hash browns, eggs, bacon, and coffee, they’d talked about a lot of things. He’d learned that she’d gone to college for a business degree and that she was twenty-seven. Her parents were both dead, her brother was in Connecticut, and of course her sister was in a home in Lexington. She wasn’t as tight-lipped abo
ut that as she had been the last time they’d discussed it. It made her sad, he knew that, but she’d been more stoic last night. So long as Emily was taken care of, that was the important thing to her.
He didn’t tell her that he’d asked Brock to look into her sister’s situation. He didn’t want to say anything about it in case there was nothing more that could be done.
They’d talked about him too—about his brothers and cousins, about the house in King Harbor and his trips to the distillery as a boy. About his obsession with all things fast, from jet skis to jet boats to racecars. Holly drove the speed limit wherever she went, and he raced to get where he was going. She was a patient person—she had to be in order to be a good distiller since so much of crafting whisky required time, while he was always ready to go balls to the wall with anything he did.
He’d enjoyed last night. He’d even let her pay for the meal since it was under twenty bucks, though he’d left the waitress a big tip because they’d sat there so long and taken up one of her tables. When he’d taken Holly home, they’d sat in her driveway with the engine running and kissed for twenty minutes. He’d been harder than a damned rock when he’d walked her to her door. And he’d called himself a fool for telling her he wasn’t going to take advantage of the heat between them just yet.
It was there, and it was hot, and she’d wanted him. So why take it slow? He still didn’t know what had made him back off, but something told him not to push this thing too fast. Not to do what he always did and speed through life looking for the next thrill.
Ross wanted to call her just to hear her voice, but it was too damned early. He must have dozed off again because the sound of his phone buzzing jerked him awake a second time. The television was still on and the room was dark because he’d lowered the blinds.
He fished around for his phone, finding it on the bed beneath one of the pillows. It was a text from his cousin, Phillip.
Phillip: Hey. How’s it going in Kentucky?
Ross: It’s going. How you doing?
Phillip: Fine. Just watching some race coverage and thought about you. You okay with not driving this weekend?
Ross sighed. Yeah, I’m all right. The distillery is time-consuming.
Phillip: Uncle Graham will relent about the racing. He’s just grumpy because Aunt Claire hasn’t come home yet.
Ross: Stubborn old fool needs to go get her.
Phillip: He won’t. You know that. Blackthorne pride. So, Devlin and Jason. You aren’t planning to lose your mind over a woman, right?
He thought of Holly’s silky red hair and blue-gray eyes. The way her breast fit in his hand and how her tongue felt stroking against his. He wanted her, but lose his mind over her? Nah. He was currently obsessed, sure. But he wouldn’t stay that way.
Probably wouldn’t.
Ross: Nope.
Phillip: Me neither. Glad to hear you’re on the same wavelength.
Ross: Definitely.
Phillip: Oh hell, call coming on the other line. Gotta run. Take care, R.
Ross: You too, Philly.
Phillip: Don’t start, Martin.
Ross laughed as he tossed the phone down. Phillip hated to be called Philly. Ross had done it when they were kids and he was pissed at his cousin. Phillip had retaliated by calling him Martini & Rossi, which had been funny because they were kids and didn’t drink.
Considering the family business was whisky, Phillip had probably picked up the name during one of the many visits they’d had from liquor distributors. He’d eventually shortened it to Martin at Mom’s suggestion. She’d probably thought it more appropriate for a kid to use than saying Martini & Rossi all the time.
Ross thought about texting Jason just because, but it was even earlier in LA than it was here. Ross and Jason had always been close, and Ross was happy for his cousin that he’d found a woman who rocked his world. Jason was a first class filmmaker and he’d worked hard for his success. He deserved someone who shared that passion, which Mallory apparently did.
A quick check of the time told him it was after nine now. Ross flipped the covers back and slipped on a pair of athletic shorts before heading for the workout room. He jogged on the treadmill for an hour to get rid of last night’s fatty breakfast, then headed into the bathroom where he showered and shaved and got dressed in his favorite faded jeans and a gray henley.
He grabbed a protein bar in the kitchen, then headed out to the eight-car garage—which could actually hold sixteen cars because he had lifts over every bay. He’d only filled twelve of the slots though. He texted Holly before he chose a car.
We still on for today?
It took a few moments before the three dots indicated she was typing something back. Holly had promised to tour the garage today. When he’d left her last night, they’d made a plan that he would pick her up at one. They’d go to lunch, because of course they couldn’t miss a meal together, and then they’d head for the garage.
He hadn’t exactly told her that he meant his own personal garage and not the racing team’s garage, though. Without the team there, it wasn’t as interesting as it would be when they returned. So he’d save that trip for another time.
Holly: Yes. I’ll be ready.
He wanted to ask her about the other part of that conversation last night. The part they’d had on the porch of her old house where she’d said she didn’t need to think about sleeping with him. But he wasn’t going to do it.
Patience. It was a virtue he was trying to learn.
Ross: I’m on my way in a few.
Holly: Great! Truck or Ferrari?
Ross: You don’t think those are the only possibilities, do you?
She sent a laughing emoji. Fine, surprise me. Just please let it have A/C. It’s hot as blazes today.
Ross: No problem. I’ll leave the steam-driven car in the garage.
Holly: Thank God.
Ross laughed. She accepted that statement like steam-driven cars were a thing. They had been at one time, but they weren’t exactly the kind of car you drove on the interstate these days, even if you happened to have one.
He did not. Not fast enough, though he appreciated unique cars.
He selected a C7 ZR-1 Corvette in black with blue accents and blue stitching in the all-black interior. It was a sexy car, and one he enjoyed driving, possibly even more than he did some of the other sports cars he owned.
It was American-made—Kentucky-made, in fact—and front-end heavy because that’s where the engine was, but it was still a thing of beauty. And it was less likely to get the kind of attention that a Ferrari or a Lamborghini would get on the road.
It hit him that he shouldn’t even be here. He should be in Illinois, speeding around the track in the Blackthorne car—with a Chevrolet engine—but that was Eric’s job right now.
He pressed the gas and the Corvette tore down the road. Not like his racecar at all. He missed his car.
And yet he didn’t. Because if he was on the track in Joliet, then he wouldn’t be on his way to pick up Holly. He wouldn’t get to spend the afternoon with her in some random Mom & Pop restaurant that she picked out, and then he wouldn’t get to bring her back home and take her through the garage.
He especially wouldn’t get to take her inside his house and, God willing, kiss her into quivering submission. If he was lucky, tonight he’d strip Holly naked and explore her body thoroughly. He’d give her pleasure, and he’d take his in return.
No, it wasn’t speeding around a track at speeds in excess of two hundred miles per hour. But—shockingly—the thought of making love to Holly was somehow more exhilarating than all the speed in the world.
Chapter Twelve
“HOLS, oh my God, you did not adequately describe the deliciousness of that man!”
It was Mel on the phone, calling to check on her and demand details about last night. Nosy Mel.
“I told you he looked better than his photos.”
“I know. Still. Wow. Major hottie alert! Have you seen
him up close and personal in his racing silks, or whatever they call them?”
Holly laughed. “Now why would I do that? He’s working at the distillery, not racing.”
Mel made a noise. “Oh girl. Role-play? You know, make him put that shit on before he seduces you.”
“He is not seducing me,” she said primly, even while she knew it was a lie. Of course he was. And she’d swung so far in the other direction that she welcomed it. Amazing what a few days in his company could do.
“Puh-leeze. Did you see the way he looked at you last night? Because I did. Holly Brooks, you are the next contestant who gets to saddle up and ride Ross Blackthorne like a bucking bronco!”
“You did not just say that,” Holly wheezed. “Oh lord, Mel.”
“Oh come on. Of course I did. He wants you. And you want him. Don’t deny it.”
Holly thought about it. But then she told the truth. “Okay, fine. I do want him. He’s sexy and sweet and I like him.”
Shockingly.
“He’s a billionaire racecar driver and a total player. Don’t forget that, girlfriend.”
Holly blew out a breath. How could she forget that part? It was front and center in her brain, along with the fact he was a Blackthorne who had control over her future at the distillery if he really wanted it.
But he was also funny and sweet and thoughtful in ways she wouldn’t have believed before she’d met him. He was the kind of guy she’d have picked to date if she’d met him somewhere else—and if he wasn’t a Blackthorne.
Though apparently being a Blackthorne wasn’t quite enough to stop her right now.
“I haven’t forgotten. Weren’t you just telling me to go for it, by the way? What’s with the caution now?”
“Just making sure you know what you’re doing.”
Did she? Not really. “I’m not going to fall in love with him or anything. I’m just going to see what happens, maybe have some mind-blowing sex, and move on. Nothing wrong with mind-blowing sex, is there?”
Ross: 7 Brides for 7 Blackthornes (Book 3) Page 11
