What If (Willowbrook Book 2) by Ashlyn Mathews Page A

conversation had to be about her, Drew, and holding his junk while he peed. When he didn’t answer or open the door, she let herself in. She found him bare-chested, hunched over the bathroom counter, texting. He tapped one letter then the next, his slow movements painful to watch when she knew he could text a response in seconds flat.
    “Need help?”
    “Not with this one.” He tapped again. “Done.” He straightened and stretched his arms high above his head, like he’d just scored a touchdown before he glanced over his shoulder. Her attention shifted from the triumphant expression on his face to the toilet. The seat was up.
    Swallowing, she pointed to the toilet. “Um, do you need help with that ?” Really, was he going to ask her to hold his junk while he relieved himself?
    Seeming to be on the same train of thought, he looked down at his zipper. Seconds passed. She couldn’t move. Should she stay? Or should she call Eve to send Lucas here ASAP?
    Drew looked up. A smolder darkened his blue eyes. “Yeah,” he said, one corner of his mouth kicking upward, “I’m gonna need some assistance.”
    She forced air into her lungs. Damn him! She found his lop-sided grins utterly irresistible. And he knew it too, as his grin grew wider. He was the cat who’d swallowed the bird.
    “Em?” His voice came out low and husky with anticipation.
    A similar, but different thrill pulsed through her. Images of the dented targets surfaced through her haze of desire. His fingers weren’t useless.
    The growl of annoyance stuck in her throat as another idea replaced the one of her walking away from him with a dismissive wave. The man needed to be put in his place. She crooked her finger. “Come here, lover.”
    His smile faltered, and his eyes widened, as though he couldn’t decide whether to be suspicious or seriously turned on. He stepped forward, and she resisted the urge to shout out, “Gotcha, you sneaky bastard!” Instead, she grabbed him by the belt loops then started to unzip his jeans. She wouldn’t disappoint him. Emma would give him what he deserved.
    After unzipping his jeans, she tugged them down until they pooled at his bare feet. She glanced up and met his searing gaze. “What now?” she asked in a low purr.
    “The boxers . . .” He cleared his throat. “It’s gotta come off.”
    The boxers only came off all the way when Drew wanted a BJ. “Of course,” she said with forced enthusiasm.
    She stood and, encircling his thick waist with her arms, she stuck her hands inside the elastic band and palmed his butt cheeks. He sucked in a breath.
    “Are my hands cold?” She pouted, learning from Eve.
    His eyes dipped to her lips, and he licked his. He was thinking of what was to come, she was sure of it. She grabbed hold of his ass. The muscles clenched then relaxed beneath her touch. Emma looked down. The front of his boxers tented.
    She looked up. Bad idea. He wouldn’t disappoint her , if given the chance. That was the unspoken message on his face.
    “Give me your hands, Em.”
    Enthralled by the change in him, she let go of his ass and gave him her hands. He brought her knuckles to his lips and trailed wet kisses along her skin, sending tingles down to her toes.
    “I apologize twice over.”
    “For what?” she asked, caught off guard by his apology.
    “For breaking my promise. I can’t keep my hands off you, babe.”
    “And the second apology?” she asked, breathless.
    “For misleading you. I can handle myself just fine in the bathroom.” He kicked off his jeans. “Let me show you what I can do with my fingers.” He led her to the bedroom.
    A fire burned low in the fireplace. There were no roses strewn across the bed. No boxes of chocolates waiting for her on the nightstand. It was just Drew in his heart-covered boxers. And she realized he didn’t have to have romantic inklings. With his intelligent, intense blue eyes, boyish yet wolfish smile, tender yet passionate words, and smoking hot body,