Unravel Me

By: Tori St. Claire

But she was so damned alluring she made focusing on keeping his libido in check almost impossible. He just wanted to sink home and forget himself for a while.

When she set a foot on the bottom step of her lighted front porch and glanced back at the car, Brad stepped outside. The cold February air washed across his face, helping to temper the heat in his bloodstream. He took a moment to breathe and found himself confronted by her house. Brad blinked. The stone façade blended into thick trees, disguising its immense size. Two stories, and easily a good 6,000 square feet judging from the lights he could see deeper in the snow-tipped branches. Tall picture windows overlooked the sleepy street, the warm inviting light within adding ambience to what was already a picturesque getaway. This virtual mansion put his 18th story, Manhattan apartment to shame.

His gaze crept back to where the owner stood, seeing her in a new light. She might just be the only woman he’d ever slept with who couldn’t benefit from his money. But how had she managed to afford this hulking monstrosity? His paycheck was no small beans, but she had to be bringing in an easy million a year to afford this luxury.

“This is gorgeous,” he murmured as he joined her on the front porch step.

She chuckled and shrugged delicate shoulders. “Thanks.” Her keys jangled as she slid them into the lock. “It helps to have in-laws that are builders.”

“In-laws?” He frowned. This ended here and now if she was married. His mom had stepped-out on his dad, and he would have nothing to do with cheating.

A faint, far-away expression touched her pretty, chestnut eyes before she put her shoulder against the door and opened it. “My husband died three years ago. Skiing accident.”

“Oh.” The minute the word left his mouth, he mentally kicked himself. So not the appropriate response. “I’m sorry.” Damn it. Bringing up dead husbands was a sure-fire way to put a damper on desire. From the look on her face as she dropped the rose into an empty vase on the nearby table, she didn’t care for the subject either.

Brad stepped inside and shut the door, no longer interested in inspecting the fantastic architecture. He caught her by the hand, tugged her around to face him. Setting two fingers under her chin, he tipped her face to his. “Are you absolutely sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yeah.” Her smile struggled but finally broke free. “More than okay.”

Thank the saints above. He’d never forgive himself if he ruined this now. The car had been awkward enough and already had him second-guessing for a moment. Presently, he intended to make damn sure that deceased husband was the last thing on her mind. Sliding one hand to the slope of her hip, he stepped in closer. “I’m dying to kiss you,” he murmured.

Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I wish you would.”

Brad swept his thumb across her lower lip, aching to feel that softness beneath his mouth. But before he gave in to the temptation, he wanted her like she was in the car—a heartbeat away from asking for his touch and squirming for relief. “You’ll have to wait a little longer.” He curled his fingers at her waist, drawing her dress into his hands, easing it up her amazing thighs. “Let me know when you can’t take it anymore.”

A shiver rolled through her body. Long lashes dusted her cheekbones as she closed her eyes and nodded. If he thought he could pull himself back once he gave in and sampled her sweet flavor, he’d kiss her right now when she least expected it and put an end to his own torture. But a nagging voice in the back of his mind warned once he went down that path, once he made intimate contact, he’d tailspin out of control.

Instead, he leaned away from her graceful curves and focused on gathering her dress into his hands. He exposed her shapely legs inch-by-inch, mesmerized by her smooth, olive-toned skin. When he uncovered black lace panties, his gut hollowed out. He didn’t need to touch to know she was completely shaved beneath. And that flimsy scrap of lace did nothing to hide the evidence of her arousal that glistened at the inlet of her thighs.

Gritting his teeth against the straining of his cock, he roughly instructed, “Raise your arms.”

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