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Lucy met Mick’s eyes, hoping he wouldn’t pull back this time.
“When you walked into the bar and flashed that smile at me, I thought, Damn, that’s a woman who could really mess things up for a smart guy like me.”
“Too bad I’m just someone’s little sister,” she said, “or you might actually let me try.”
She knew she was playing with fire now, so close she could practically feel the heat of the dangerous flames she’d lit coming off his body. But tonight, she didn’t care if she got burned.
“I want you to see me, Mick.”
“I see you.”
“No, I mean, really see me.” She tossed her hair over her shoulders, giving him an unobstructed view of her. “Do I look like someone’s little sister right now?”
His eyes raked over her, flashing with the unmistakable heat of desire. She knew he couldn’t say no. Her breasts felt heavy suddenly, their tips puckering under the thin fabric. His gaze took them in too, which only made them ache for his touch more.
He took the glass from her hand and set it down. All the butterflies she had tried to quiet in her stomach before returned. She rolled her lips together.
He watched her expectantly. “We’ve been down this road before, Lucy.”
“I know. And I know where I’m going.”
“Maybe you think you do.”
“Why? Because I’m too young to know better?”
“No,” he said, his voice deepening, “Because maybe next time, I might not be so honorable.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to be.”
He took her cheek in his palm. “Yeah, you do.”
In the next minute, his mouth covered hers, hard and insistent and entirely possessing. He’d been right to warn her. There was no hesitation or doubt in his kiss, no uncertainty when his tongue pried her lips apart and explored, wrapping her tongue around his as he guided her down to the mattress, submerging her in the frothy comforter.
She reached out for the light but he stopped her.
“Leave it on,” he said, his voice husky. “You want me to see you for who you are, then let me see you.”
Lucy had never known a few simple words could light every inch of her body on fire but that was just what he did with his command. When his fingers began freeing the trail of buttons beneath her throat, and with every one that gave and every new inch of skin he exposed to the air, she felt as if she would explode. She wanted him to just tear them apart, to consume her, but when she tried to hurry him, pleading for him to end her torture, he took her hands and pinned them over her head.
“I don’t like to be rushed,” he said. “You should get comfortable. This might take a while.”
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