Fast & Loose by Elizabeth Bevarly (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📕

source of income she had, he couldn’t afford to own anything. Certainly not in Crescent Hill, unless the place was falling down around him.

She held the door open while Rufus entered, then closed it behind him. Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t left on any lights, so she reached for the switch by the front door…only to smack her hand against Rufus’s chest. Or rather, the acreage that was Rufus’s chest. Good God, she’d never thought he would have such a hard body—he seemed too tall and lanky for that. But what her knuckles grazed was solid rock. Just to be certain, she opened her palm flat over the soft fabric of his white bartender shirt and pushed lightly. Yep. Although his shirt was virtually identical to the one she wore, what was underneath was totally different. He was like Granite Man. Just to be absolutely certain, though, she skimmed her palm downward—bump, bump, bump—over abdominal muscles that rippled like the Sahara after a sirocco.

Wow. She never would have thought Rufus would be the gym type. Maybe, just to be absolutely, positively certain, she should—

“Bree?”

“Yeah, Rufus?”

“Either turn on the light you were reaching for, or it’s going to stay off for a long, long time.”

Yikes.

“Uh, sorry,” she mumbled as she took a giant step to the right to feel for the switch she’d all but forgotten about.

She flicked it quickly, activating a wall socket into which was plugged an antique standing lamp with an amber glass shade. The room was immediately bathed in soft, ambient gold, giving it a sort of otherworldly aura. The lamp was the very first purchase she’d made for her very first apartment, and when she’d seen the color it cast, she’d bought all her additional furnishings to match it. The overstuffed sofa and club chair were a tawny cognac color, while the pillows tossed onto both and the throw slung over the sofa’s back were the color of strong tea. Two prints hanging on one of the creamy walls were of dark yellow flowers framed in gold, while another wall held antique-looking maps of the Aegean and Mediterranean, two of many areas in the world Bree hoped to visit someday—preferably with her Greek tycoon boyfriend Stavros and his fully outfitted yacht. An old steamer trunk covered with the remnants of someone else’s travels nearly a century ago served as her coffee table, and two throw rugs that were shaggy with all the colors of the room combined rounded out the decor. Every time she looked at it, she felt like she was watching an old sepia-toned movie.

Usually, coming home and turning on that lamp to reveal her golden room served to calm Bree after a long night’s work. Now, though, it allowed her to see the way Rufus’s cheeks had darkened in response to her careless touch, the way his pupils had expanded, and the way he’d halfway lifted a hand to touch her. Although his black bartender pants were virtually identical to hers, too, what was under them, it was more than evident, was also way different from what was under hers. Immediately, he dropped his hand to his side and shifted his weight to make his condition a bit less obvious—though, she had to admit, there was no way he could completely hide something like that.

“Uh, coffee?” she asked quickly. Even more quickly, she made her way to the tiny galley kitchen to start a pot brewing. Even though the last thing she needed at the moment was any kind of, ah, stimulant. So she added, “Beer? Wine? Scotch? Oh, wait, I don’t have any Scotch. Or wine, either.” She feared she was also out of beer, but tugged open the fridge door anyway. “Aha!” she said when she saw a solitary bottle of Sam Adams—one of Lulu’s—sitting on the shelf. She plucked it out and held it up as if she were a spokesmodel for the brand. “Here ya go. Sam Adams is just waiting to make your night.”

The trip across the room had sent the butterflies in her stomach scurrying back to the Amazon, thankfully. But taking their place was an odd knot of tension that clenched tighter with every passing moment. It pulled taut enough to cut off her breath when Rufus began to walk across the apartment toward her. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers, until he stood barely a breath away from her. He extended his hand forward, and she thought he was going to take the beer from her, but instead, he moved his fingers to the dark curtain of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. In one swift, economical move, he brushed it away from her face, dipped his head to hers, and kissed her.

It was totally unexpected. Bree was in no way prepared. Without even thinking—because thought was impossible when a man’s lips felt as good as his did—she kissed him back, leaning her entire body forward, as if he were a magnet and she was steel. Hot, molten, malleable steel just waiting to be hammered. When he opened his mouth against hers, she eagerly parted her lips, drawing his tongue inside, tasting him as deeply as she could.

It was all the encouragement he needed. He drove both hands into her hair and turned himself and Bree until her back was against the doorjamb. Then he crowded his body into hers and kissed her more deeply still. She roped her arms around his waist, opening her palms over his back, dragging her fingers down the finely sculpted muscles she felt beneath his shirt. He slanted his head first one way then another, as if he couldn’t decide which way he liked kissing her better. She followed every move, giving as good as she got, taking as much as she could. Not that Rufus seemed to mind her demands, since he met them with a fire and passion to equal hers.

Where had this come from? she wondered vaguely. Yes, she’d always found him attractive, but