jawline. “You sure knew plenty that day on the beach.”
I was robbed of speech. I'd always wondered if he'd even remembered that. It seemed like he had, but that didn’t mean it meant anything to him, not the way it meant something to me. When I didn't say anything, he pulled away again. “How did you even get that piece of furniture in here?”
“Um.” I tried to right my lust-scrambled thoughts. “The delivery guys put it there. But they couldn't come tonight because of the rain.”
“Why?”
So I fumbled some words out, explaining about the rain and the back alley. Bram swung the back door open, then walked out into the alley, seemingly oblivious to the rain pouring down, checking out what I was talking about. “You need a proper loading dock if you're going to sell furniture,” he commented. “This space is no good.”
“I know. It's what I could afford when I was starting up.”
He looked up, and the rain slid down his neck, soaking his t-shirt. “You can't even put an awning back here without the neighbors' agreement,” he said. “And there's no legal parking on the street.”
He was actually trying to solve my problem, I realized. My stomach did a little flip. “It's okay, Bram,” I said. “I'll just look for a new space. You're getting wet.”
He froze perfectly still at those words, as if they'd struck him somehow. Then he lowered his gaze and looked at me.
My mouth went dry. “What? What is it?”
He turned toward me, a huge muscled panther of a man. I froze in the doorway. The water made the shirt stick to his skin, outlining every contour. “Does that bother you?” he said.
I could see everything through the thin fabric of the shirt. I could see the ripple of muscle on his stomach, and I could picture the line of hair there, that I’d first seen years ago, the line that led down into his jeans. “It’s just that—you’re soaked,” I rasped.
He watched me staring at him, and suddenly I knew he was picturing me naked, just like I was picturing him. He’d been so gloriously sexy and naked on the beach, and—I could admit it—I wanted to know what he looked like now. I wanted to know if he looked the same.
As if he was reading my mind, he said, “Sure, I guess I am a little damp.” Then he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and stripped it off, pulling it over his head and dropping it to the ground.
I stood in shock. He was undressing, right here in front of me in my back alley. My gaze roamed his chest, which I now saw had another dragon on it, spreading its wings over his pecs, its tail trailing down his arm. “Your tattoos,” I said, stupid with desire. “They're dragons.”
“Dragons are fierce,” Bram said. Then he took my wrist and pulled me forward, out into the rain.
His hand was hot on my skin. The rain was cool, which was a relief, because I was starting to overheat. Bram pulled me toward him, put an arm around my waist so my breasts were crushed against his chest. “Say that again,” he rumbled. “What you said before.”
I looked up into his eyes. He was staring at me so hungrily I thought I would combust. I parted my lips and licked them. “You're wet,” I said again.
He lowered his head so my lips were next to his ear. I could feel his breath on my skin. “Again,” he said.
I ran my hands over his arms, his shoulders, like I'd been dying to do. I could feel the water on his skin, and oh my God, I wanted to lick it off every inch. “You're wet,” I breathed.
He walked me slowly, pressing me backward, out of the alley toward the wall. I still ran my hands over him, unable to stop. “Say it, Summer,” he said. “Say what I want.”
I could have played dumb, but I knew what he wanted to hear. Just for a second, I dipped my head and licked a drop of rain from the strong column of his neck. And I said it. “I'm wet.”
Bram gave a growl and thumped me back against the wall, hard. He pressed his big body into mine. “Say it again.”
“I'm
I was robbed of speech. I'd always wondered if he'd even remembered that. It seemed like he had, but that didn’t mean it meant anything to him, not the way it meant something to me. When I didn't say anything, he pulled away again. “How did you even get that piece of furniture in here?”
“Um.” I tried to right my lust-scrambled thoughts. “The delivery guys put it there. But they couldn't come tonight because of the rain.”
“Why?”
So I fumbled some words out, explaining about the rain and the back alley. Bram swung the back door open, then walked out into the alley, seemingly oblivious to the rain pouring down, checking out what I was talking about. “You need a proper loading dock if you're going to sell furniture,” he commented. “This space is no good.”
“I know. It's what I could afford when I was starting up.”
He looked up, and the rain slid down his neck, soaking his t-shirt. “You can't even put an awning back here without the neighbors' agreement,” he said. “And there's no legal parking on the street.”
He was actually trying to solve my problem, I realized. My stomach did a little flip. “It's okay, Bram,” I said. “I'll just look for a new space. You're getting wet.”
He froze perfectly still at those words, as if they'd struck him somehow. Then he lowered his gaze and looked at me.
My mouth went dry. “What? What is it?”
He turned toward me, a huge muscled panther of a man. I froze in the doorway. The water made the shirt stick to his skin, outlining every contour. “Does that bother you?” he said.
I could see everything through the thin fabric of the shirt. I could see the ripple of muscle on his stomach, and I could picture the line of hair there, that I’d first seen years ago, the line that led down into his jeans. “It’s just that—you’re soaked,” I rasped.
He watched me staring at him, and suddenly I knew he was picturing me naked, just like I was picturing him. He’d been so gloriously sexy and naked on the beach, and—I could admit it—I wanted to know what he looked like now. I wanted to know if he looked the same.
As if he was reading my mind, he said, “Sure, I guess I am a little damp.” Then he grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and stripped it off, pulling it over his head and dropping it to the ground.
I stood in shock. He was undressing, right here in front of me in my back alley. My gaze roamed his chest, which I now saw had another dragon on it, spreading its wings over his pecs, its tail trailing down his arm. “Your tattoos,” I said, stupid with desire. “They're dragons.”
“Dragons are fierce,” Bram said. Then he took my wrist and pulled me forward, out into the rain.
His hand was hot on my skin. The rain was cool, which was a relief, because I was starting to overheat. Bram pulled me toward him, put an arm around my waist so my breasts were crushed against his chest. “Say that again,” he rumbled. “What you said before.”
I looked up into his eyes. He was staring at me so hungrily I thought I would combust. I parted my lips and licked them. “You're wet,” I said again.
He lowered his head so my lips were next to his ear. I could feel his breath on my skin. “Again,” he said.
I ran my hands over his arms, his shoulders, like I'd been dying to do. I could feel the water on his skin, and oh my God, I wanted to lick it off every inch. “You're wet,” I breathed.
He walked me slowly, pressing me backward, out of the alley toward the wall. I still ran my hands over him, unable to stop. “Say it, Summer,” he said. “Say what I want.”
I could have played dumb, but I knew what he wanted to hear. Just for a second, I dipped my head and licked a drop of rain from the strong column of his neck. And I said it. “I'm wet.”
Bram gave a growl and thumped me back against the wall, hard. He pressed his big body into mine. “Say it again.”
“I'm
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