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She wraps her legs around my waist and squeezes, making me groan as her center grinds against where I’m already hard. “Up the stairs and turn left.”
I head for the stairs, determined to show her that tonight, her wish is my command.
ChapterTwo
KAYLEY VALENTINE
A woman who will not get attached to a certain
sweet and sexy sheep in wolf’s clothing.
He’s perfect—from the powerful arms that carry me up to my bedroom, to the hungry way he looks at me as he strips off the top of his wolf outfit, to the reverence in his touch as he reaches for the zipper at the front of my tight pink ski jacket.
Not to mention his smile and his laugh and his obvious distaste for all the usual “dating games.” He’s just so honest and up-front about what he likes, what he wants.
It’s refreshing.
I can’t remember the last time a man told me I was beautiful in such a sweet, simple way.
Bran Ratcliffe is something special. Almost special enough for a girl to rethink her policies on long-distance relationships and city boys…but not quite. I did long distance in college, clinging to the hope that all my issues with my high school boyfriend would be resolved once we were in the same state again, only to find out the day before graduation that Wes had been cheating on me the entire time.
With my cousin, no less. Becca’s a second cousin and we hadn’t spent much time together since winning the three-legged race at the family reunion when we were ten—but still!
It was awful and was made even more upsetting by the fact that I’d wanted to break up with Wes since Christmas break freshman year. I’d known that long distance wasn’t working for me, but I’d swallowed my feelings, ignored my own needs, and focused on doing what other people expected me to do.
Mom and Dad were high school sweethearts, as were their parents and their parents’ parents. I’m pretty sure my great grandmother was only fourteen when she got pregnant and dropped out of school to marry my great grandfather—so I’m not sure that counts as “high school”—but that’s the way the story was told when I was growing up.
It’s part of the Valentine family lore.
Like the holiday, we Valentines excel at love. We find our One early in life and stick together until death do us part. It’s what my big sister and little brother did, too, making me the loneliest branch on the family tree.
I’m the only person in my immediate family who’s never had a romantic Valentine. Wes “didn’t believe in Hallmark holidays,” and I’ve somehow managed to be single on the big day ever since. I usually have a great time hanging out with my other single friends and hitting the midnight ski at Mount Love, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like to have a special someone on V-Day this year.
I’m thirty-three. I’ve had my share of fun and flings and am past ready to settle down and make beautiful memories with the man who was meant for me.
As Bran strips my coat down my arms and we fumble at the close of each other’s pants, kissing the entire time with an easy sensuality that makes me feel so comfortable and safe, a part of me whispers that this time might be different.
Maybe Bran will decide to stick around for a while.
Maybe, like his brothers, he’s open to relocating in the name of love.
Or, at least initially, hot sex.
It’s going to be hot between us; there’s no doubt in my mind about that. I still have my wool shirt and long underwear on, and I’m already dying to feel him inside me.
“Too many clothes,” I complain as my hands dive down the back of his loosened pants only to find a second layer of clothing beneath. “Way too many.”
“Well, it was cold outside,” he says, grinning as I try to shove his pants and base layer down with my toes. “I could stand up and take them off.”
“No,” I say, clinging to his bare shoulders with my hands. “I like you on top of me.”
His gaze darkens as he adds in a husky voice, “I like that, too. I promise I’ll come right back.”
“Promise?” I ask, my stomach flipping as his fingers tease beneath my shirt, making my nipples tighten.
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” he says, kissing me until I’m breathless before he slides off the bed and starts shedding the rest of his clothes.
After a beat, I hurry to catch up, wiggling out of my shirt and long underwear until I’m wearing nothing but a matching pink bra and panties. I silently congratulate myself on always wearing pretty lingerie, even when I haven’t been laid in months. It’s an expensive habit, yes, but it means I’m always prepared for moments like these.
