crushed.” She twirled around as a joke. This wasn’t a fashion show she’d ever thought she’d participate in — that was for damn sure.
Colt stepped up behind her when her twirl left her back facing him. His hands slid around the curve of her hips and his thumbs settled in her front pockets as he turned their bodies so he could look into her light green eyes through the full-length mirror.
“I think you look pretty damn hot in this outfit,” he whispered against her ear, letting his lips brush the tender flesh of her neck as he bent just a little lower. “And these jeans have the added advantage of being the perfect resting place for a man’s hands.” He let his fingertips graze the top of her thighs.
Where was Peggy when Brielle needed someone to run interference? The shopkeeper had suddenly disappeared, and no one else seemed to be in the store. Gulping, Brielle knew she was in trouble, because she couldn’t find one single comeback to Colt’s lines.
She remained motionless as he kept pressing against her. What this man was doing to her body should be against the law. If someone had told her last year that she’d be melting into a giant puddle over a ranch hand, she would have given out a ladylike guffaw. Right now, however, she didn’t feel in the least like laughing.
When he finally let her go, she walked almost in a trance back into the changing room, pulled the curtain back into place, slowly unbuttoned the shirt, and let it float to the floor. Then she just stood there looking into the mirror at her flushed cheeks.
This man was clearly making her appearance change. If the glow in her eyes had anything to do with something other than Colt Westbrook, she didn’t know what it could be. It certainly wasn’t the crisp Montana air.
When the curtain parted and Colt was suddenly standing behind her again, Brielle didn’t even try to act as if she didn’t want him there. Since that first kiss on the shop floor, she’d been waiting for the next.
To hell with what she should be doing. She wanted to taste him again, wanted to feel the lightning flash across her skin. No, she wasn’t a virgin, but she couldn’t ever recall wanting a man so badly. It wasn’t as if she’d been with a dozen men — only two, in fact. But she had a rising suspicion that Colt was going to be the third.
That thought should have caused her some anxiety, but as she turned and his arms wrapped around her, all she could feel were burning embers traveling to her core.
“You are a devil in disguise,” Colt murmured, and took her mouth in a kiss that was far from gentle.
Chapter Eight
W hen she emerged from the changing room, Brielle knew she looked as if she’d just had sex. They hadn’t — of course not! — but she wasn’t a fool. Her hair was mussed, her lips red and swollen, and that certainly wasn’t cosmetic blusher on her cheeks.
No. Sadly enough, a man hadn’t been able to put this sort of glow in her face in too long to remember. Maybe ever, actually. She was used to being with controlled men, men who asked permission before they kissed her.
She’d thought that was what she wanted. But apparently she’d been a bit wrong, because right now all she could think about was darting back into that changing room, ripping Colt’s clothes off, and finishing what the two of them had started.
Closing her eyes, she ran through the past ten minutes again and again in her head. The feel of his strong hands moving slowly up and down her back, the way his lips had parted hers, and how his tongue had slipped inside her mouth.
When he’d gripped her backside and lifted her up against him, she’d nearly come right then and there just from feeling his hardness. This man was lethal, but she couldn’t seem to tell herself to back away.
She wanted to be with him, wanted to have his hands all over her, and wanted to keep tasting his kisses. She wanted a lot more from Colt Westbrook. Why even try to run?
This would stop,
Colt stepped up behind her when her twirl left her back facing him. His hands slid around the curve of her hips and his thumbs settled in her front pockets as he turned their bodies so he could look into her light green eyes through the full-length mirror.
“I think you look pretty damn hot in this outfit,” he whispered against her ear, letting his lips brush the tender flesh of her neck as he bent just a little lower. “And these jeans have the added advantage of being the perfect resting place for a man’s hands.” He let his fingertips graze the top of her thighs.
Where was Peggy when Brielle needed someone to run interference? The shopkeeper had suddenly disappeared, and no one else seemed to be in the store. Gulping, Brielle knew she was in trouble, because she couldn’t find one single comeback to Colt’s lines.
She remained motionless as he kept pressing against her. What this man was doing to her body should be against the law. If someone had told her last year that she’d be melting into a giant puddle over a ranch hand, she would have given out a ladylike guffaw. Right now, however, she didn’t feel in the least like laughing.
When he finally let her go, she walked almost in a trance back into the changing room, pulled the curtain back into place, slowly unbuttoned the shirt, and let it float to the floor. Then she just stood there looking into the mirror at her flushed cheeks.
This man was clearly making her appearance change. If the glow in her eyes had anything to do with something other than Colt Westbrook, she didn’t know what it could be. It certainly wasn’t the crisp Montana air.
When the curtain parted and Colt was suddenly standing behind her again, Brielle didn’t even try to act as if she didn’t want him there. Since that first kiss on the shop floor, she’d been waiting for the next.
To hell with what she should be doing. She wanted to taste him again, wanted to feel the lightning flash across her skin. No, she wasn’t a virgin, but she couldn’t ever recall wanting a man so badly. It wasn’t as if she’d been with a dozen men — only two, in fact. But she had a rising suspicion that Colt was going to be the third.
That thought should have caused her some anxiety, but as she turned and his arms wrapped around her, all she could feel were burning embers traveling to her core.
“You are a devil in disguise,” Colt murmured, and took her mouth in a kiss that was far from gentle.
Chapter Eight
W hen she emerged from the changing room, Brielle knew she looked as if she’d just had sex. They hadn’t — of course not! — but she wasn’t a fool. Her hair was mussed, her lips red and swollen, and that certainly wasn’t cosmetic blusher on her cheeks.
No. Sadly enough, a man hadn’t been able to put this sort of glow in her face in too long to remember. Maybe ever, actually. She was used to being with controlled men, men who asked permission before they kissed her.
She’d thought that was what she wanted. But apparently she’d been a bit wrong, because right now all she could think about was darting back into that changing room, ripping Colt’s clothes off, and finishing what the two of them had started.
Closing her eyes, she ran through the past ten minutes again and again in her head. The feel of his strong hands moving slowly up and down her back, the way his lips had parted hers, and how his tongue had slipped inside her mouth.
When he’d gripped her backside and lifted her up against him, she’d nearly come right then and there just from feeling his hardness. This man was lethal, but she couldn’t seem to tell herself to back away.
She wanted to be with him, wanted to have his hands all over her, and wanted to keep tasting his kisses. She wanted a lot more from Colt Westbrook. Why even try to run?
This would stop,
Similar Books
