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‘Ah, I see what you mean,’ she gasped, as the ridge in his jeans imprinted itself on her belly. She could feel every solid inch of him – and there were a lot of inches. Her chin rose so she could meet his gaze as she settled her hands on his lean waist to complete their clinch. He smelled as glorious as he looked. Of salt and spice and sandalwood and juniper berries with an added hint of wild rose shampoo. ‘I’d say those proportions are longer and thicker than the Empire State though …’ She tilted her head to one side, considering. Then rolled her hips to get the full measure of him, loving the outline of his strident erection – and rejoicing in the thought that she was the cause of it. ‘Perhaps more New World Trade Center,’ she mused.
He groaned. ‘Jesus, quit it,’ he said as she went for a second pass. His hands clamped down on her hips, preventing any more movement down below. ‘Who knew? Under that cute-as-a-button exterior, you’re a badass,’ he said.
He sounded tortured. Her joy increased.
‘And your point would be?’ She flattened her palms on his pecs, and then let them run riot over the planes of muscle and sinew – which quivered.
Result.
He swore. But with his hands full preventing her hips from moving she had him at her mercy, so why not torture him some more because … Cute! He’d called her cute as a button. When she wasn’t cute as a button or anything else, she was a flirty dirty badass. And boy was she proving it.
‘Damn. Ruby, don’t, I’m not kidding.’ He leaned back and her palms paused. ‘You need to stop, before this gets out of hand.’
The tortured rasp of his breathing and the desperation in his voice had her lifting her hands, and shoving them behind her back – not easy when his hands were still clamped on her hips.
She could still feel his erection pulsing against her midriff, but what had been hot and joyful and empowering a moment ago now felt the opposite.
When was she going to stop exploiting this man?
Touching without consent wasn’t sexy. Ever. She owed him an apology.
‘I’m sorry, Luke, I was just teasing you. I …’ She raked her hands through her damp hair. Horrified by her behaviour.
What was wrong with her? He’d rinsed her hair and she’d turned into Ruby the rampaging ho. There was absolutely no excuse for it.
‘I wasn’t going to …’ She shifted, so uncomfortable now her throat closed. ‘I wouldn’t have taken it any further. I promise. You can let me go now, I absolutely won’t check out your boner.’
Or salivate. Definitely no salivating. Under any circumstances.
Shame filled her at the salivating still going on in her knickers as he lifted his hands from her hips. She stepped back as far as she could go before her back hit the fridge, and forced her eyeline to remain level with his face to keep her promise.
His skin was flushed and taut. His expression … Shocked? Disgusted? Wary? Angry? It was impossible to tell. But he had a right to feel all four and more.
For crap sake, Ruby, you just molested him.
How was an apology ever going to compensate him for that?
‘I feel terrible, Luke. I don’t know what got into me,’ she said, but the explanation was lame at best. Because she knew exactly what had got into her.
Forget exploiting and objectifying him, she’d wanted to devour him – his unfortunate physical response like a red rag to her rampaging ho pheromones.
‘Will you ever be able to forgive me?’ she asked, more sincerely sorry than she had ever been about anything in her entire life – even agreeing to go all the way in the back seat of Stan McCormack’s dad’s Skoda Octavia.
***
‘Forgive you for what?’ Luke asked, still so horny it was hard to concentrate, because every last drop of blood had left his brain close to ten minutes ago.
But while he was struggling to shift his brain back into gear, one thing he had figured out was that he’d screwed up somewhere, badly, because Ruby looked as if she’d just run over a puppy. Instead of cute and delicious and hotter than a chilli tamale. She’d scrambled out of his arms so fast when he’d let her go that he’d wondered for a second if the lava pouring through his body had scorched her.
Jesus, Devlin, get real, you didn’t turn into the Human Torch, it just felt like you did.
‘For … for molesting you,’ she murmured, dropping her chin and looking away.
‘For what now?’ he asked. Did she say molesting? Or was his hearing now as compromised as every one of his cognizant brain cells? It must be, because that made no sense.
But then she lifted her head, stared directly at him and he could see the cloud of fresh guilt shadowing her bright green eyes.
‘For attacking you, Luke. I got completely carried away. And I feel absolutely awful about it. Especially after traumatizing you last week during the About a Boy screening.’
