The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ wrestled with him another second or two, then went still in his arms.

      “I’m sorry,” he said again, since that seemed to do the trick. He pressed his cheek to the top of her soggy head.

      Her body went lax, as if she’d burned up every last bit of energy, and she all but collapsed against him. Her arms circled his waist and she clung to him, a dripping, trembling, emotional catastrophe.

      It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. The game had gotten way out of hand this time. Hadn’t they hurt each other enough?

      “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and her arms squeezed him tighter. He would say it a million times if it would take back what he’d done.

      “I th-thought you were dead,” she hiccupped, her cheek pressed against his wet shirt. His throat felt tight with emotion.

      Jesus, what was wrong with him?

      May be it was a little crazy—or a lot crazy—but he liked her this way. Soft and sweet and vulnerable. She was usually so independent, so driven, he’d rarely had the opportunity to play the role of the hero. The protector.

      He stroked her soggy, tangled hair, and for one of those brief, fleeting moments remembered all the reasons he’d fallen in love with her. And wondered why in the hell he’d let her get away.

      But it was tough to keep someone around who didn’t want to be there.

      “You’re going to wish you had drowned, because when I stop shaking, I’m going to kill you,” she warned him, but she didn’t let go. Didn’t even loosen her grip.

      Why would she get so upset if she didn’t still care about him, didn’t still love him somewhere deep down?

      And what difference would it make if she did? They’d had their go-around, and it had been a disaster. They may have loved each other, but that didn’t mean they could get along.

      That didn’t mean there hadn’t been good times, too.

      He cupped a hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. She gazed up at him with watery, bloodshot eyes, mascara running down her face, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

      “I must look awful,” she said with a sniffle.

      He rubbed his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away the last of her tears. “Not at all.”

      In fact, he couldn’t remember her ever looking more beautiful, more appealing than she did at that very second.

      He brushed his thumbs over her full lips. Her mouth looked soft and inviting. He tried to recall what it felt like to kiss her, and not that taunting little peck she’d laid on him earlier. A real, honest to goodness, I’ll-go-nuts-if-I-can’t-have-you-this-second kiss.

      When he looked in her eyes he could swear she was thinking the exact same thing.

      In that instant he knew he needed to kiss her. Not wanted. He needed to.

      It wasn’t about revenge or breaking her spirit. It wasn’t even about sex. It was just something he had to do.

      He lowered his head and she rose up to meet him halfway. They came together swift and firm. With purpose. As though they both knew what they wanted and they weren’t afraid to take it, the consequences be damned.

      She took him into her mouth, against her tongue. She tasted warm and familiar and exciting.

      He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t for Ivy to grab his ass and drive herself hard against him. He was so surprised and so turned on, he just about embarrassed himself. He didn’t even know it was possible to get a boner wearing ice-cold wet denim.

      He bit down on her lip, the way he used to, and she moaned her appreciation. The sound slipped over him like exquisite Italian silk, cranking his level of arousal up yet another notch. Then she slipped her hand between their tightly fused bodies and rubbed it over his crotch, and he was the one moaning.

      He knew without a doubt that kissing her was not going to cut it. He needed to get her naked. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he was driving himself deep inside her. Watching her shatter in his arms.

      He tugged at her soggy shirt, trying to push it up and out of the way, so he could get his hands on some skin. She must have had the same idea, because he could feel her wrestling with the hem of his shirt. At least they were on the same page.

      But these wet clothes had to go.

      He nipped her lip again, and Ivy moaned. She fisted her hands in his shirt, her nails scraping his skin. Everything in her body language begged, take me now, and he couldn’t come up with a single reason why he shouldn’t. Not that he was trying all that hard to come up with one.

      Then he heard a door open and voices in the foyer. An obnoxious, earsplitting cackle of laughter rang through his ears. That was the laugh of a Tweedle. He could feel his hard-on instantly begin to deflate.

      Looked as if they were about to have company.

      Why the hell hadn’t he swept her up and carried her to his room? Or her room. Or the bathroom? Anywhere that they would have a little privacy.

      As abruptly as they had come together, they broke apart. Both dazed and breathless. And still soaking wet.

      Ivy blinked a few times, gazing around as if she’d completely forgotten where she was.

      The Tweedles and Blake’s brothers appeared in the hallway a second later, like crashers at a private party. His party. They were still dressed in their golf gear, and Dee, or was it Dum—he still couldn’t tell them apart—was laughing. Awfully jovial, weren’t they, considering what had happened to Deidre?

      He absently wondered which one had pegged her, and if she felt even a modicum of regret. If she cared about anyone but herself.

      All four stopped abruptly when they noticed Ivy and Dillon standing there. The one he was pretty sure was Dum inspected them from head toe, a look of revulsion on her face. “Oh, my God. What happened to you?”

      Ivy looked from Dillon, to herself, then back to their captivated audience. He couldn’t wait to see how she explained this one.

      She shrugged, the picture of innocence, and said, “We went swimming.” As if that was obvious, and not at all unusual despite the fact that they were both fully dressed.

      She always did have a way of making the ridiculous or unlikely seem completely rational.

      Not that he gave a damn what the four Musketeers did or didn’t know.

      Of course, at some point the news would have gotten back to his mother. He didn’t really give a damn what she thought, either. But the business of trying to explain and assuring her that there was no way in hell he and Ivy would ever try to reconcile would be a big pain in the behind. A hassle he didn’t need. Or want.

      If they were going to do this, it would be best to keep it to themselves.

      And they were. Even if Ivy didn’t realize it yet.

      “You’re dripping everywhere,” the other Tweedle СКАЧАТЬ