Page 70 of Riding the Curve

“Nervous?”

“Hell yes!” I blurt. The laugh she tried to hold in bursts free. “There’s nothing funny about this! Your brother is going to kick my ass. I’m surprised he hasn’t done it already!”

I begin to pace back and forth until her delicate palm wraps around my bicep, halting my steps. She inches her way into my space until she’s right in front of me. With a pat to my cheek, she says, “Well, as long as you treat me like a queen, your ass will be safe.”

“Always, Trouble,” I say softly, brushing the side of her arm with my fingertips. “He was really okay with it?”

Her head slowly bobs. A smile graces her lips, reminding me just how good it felt to devour every inch of them. “Are you still all in?” I ask hesitantly.

Holding my breath, I watch her press up onto her toes. Her delicate hand wraps around my neck, pulling me down to meet her lips. As they brush against mine, I melt into their softness. The kiss alone is enough to alter my brain chemistry.

I’ve never wanted anyone more.

Henley’s always been the one for me. I am going to do everything in my power to hold on to her this time and never let her go.

She pulls back, lowering her heels back to the ground. Time stands still around us, as I take her in. I could stare at her radiant, flushed face all day.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she bites her bottom lip and scoots back a little to give us some space. A gap too big for my liking. But it’s understandable she still has reservations. Still wondering if I will follow through like I should have done, time after time, all those years ago. If slow and steady is what she needs, then that is what we’ll do.

I’d do anything to make her happy.

Anything to show her how much she means to me.

“Ready to get back to painting?” she asks shyly.

I nod, reaching out to brush her cheek. “Come on, Trouble. I need to do something to distract these hands from roaming over every inch of you.”

Her cheeks burn even brighter, making a nervous laugh fall freely from my lips. Placing my palm at the base of her back, I usher her back toward the bathroom. “We’ve got a lot of work to do to get this place ready for guests in a few weeks.”

CHAPTER 27

Emerson

“How dare you!” Henley shrieks, wet paint dripping down her arms. “Emerson Lane, you better start running.”

“Bring it on, Trouble.” I smirk. One hand still holding the hose, I use my other to motion her forward.

Lifting a paintbrush from the tray we haven’t cleaned yet, she launches toward me. The ferocity in her eyes excites me and terrifies me at the same time. Naturally, I do what any respectable man would do and aim the hose straight at her.

I swear the woman must be some kind of undercover Olympic athlete. The way she dips and dives around the spray of water leaves me speechless—and honestly, kind of turned on. I’m so stunned that I’m nowhere near ready for her brutal attack. Hen leaps into the air like a damn sage green banshee.

“Oh, shit!” I yell as she manages to tackle me to the ground. She’s a surprisingly strong, feisty little thing.

We hit the grass with a thud as uncontrollable laughter rips through me. It fills my entire body with so much warmth, it almost hurts. She straddles my hips, and her thighs pin me down on the ground. Her infectious laughter spills over me, as she uses the paintbrush to cover me from head to toe.

I could easily roll her over. Trap her beneath me. Kiss every inch of her until we are both sated and breathless. Even my stubborn dick agrees. Caged beneath my zipper, it’s growing more impatient. Especially as she unconsciously slides up and down against it while she covers me in paint.

But I resist.

There’s nothing more alluring than watching exuberance burst through her. My laughter fades as I lay in awe of the enchantress on top of me. The sunset’s golden hue is still bright enough to glisten over her body. I’ve decided I’ve died and gone to heaven, because glowing before me is an angel.

“Ha! You’ve been served!” she exclaims, breathless. Satisfaction rolls off her in waves as she drops the roller into the grass like a mic drop. Her chest heaves rapidly as my hands find her hips. Squeezing gently, I bite down hard on my cheek as I watch her eyelids flutter close.

“Em,” she whispers.

The shorts she wore today leave plenty of skin bare for my touch. Slowly, I tease my fingertips over her thighs. Up and down, setting a leisurely pace with each caress. A shiver ripples through her as my palms sweep through the wet paint. It seeps between my fingers as I stroke her legs, only making the feeling more intense. As I trace my way over her thighs, I guide my hands higher. Stopping at the hem of her shorts.

Her hooded eyes lift open, just as the tips of my fingers slip underneath. She grabs my wrist, halting my path. “I’m sorry . . . as much as I want to, I just⁠—”