The Road to Rose Bend by Naima Simone (best book club books of all time txt) 📕

of his body touched her, but somehow, he still surrounded her. His scent, his heat, his intensity. She should backpedal, insert distance between them, so she could think. So his overwhelming presence didn’t scramble her thoughts. So it didn’t ratchet up the hunger inside her.

“I’m not done. And I haven’t addressed the evidence you brought up to prove your very flawed case.”

She scoffed, assuming an annoyed nonchalance that was ninety percent bullshit and ten percent nerves. “Using lawyer speak? Really?”

“Sydney.”

“What?”

“Shut up. Or in ‘lawyer speak,’ you’re out of order,” he tacked on, the steely tone of his voice betraying that he would condone nothing but obedience from her.

She reeled at that hard note; he’d never used it with her before. What did it say about her that it both angered and aroused her? That you need to get your shit together and check him. Or climb him like a rock wall. Dammit. Even her conscience was no help.

“As far as avoiding you and not being able to look at you...” He paused, the strong line of his jaw clenching. “That has more to do with me than you, Sydney. You came to me crying, seeking the comfort of a friend. And I...” He bit off the words, scrubbing a hand over nonexistent curls. Turning his head, he stared off in the distance for several silent, taut seconds before returning his burning, golden gaze to her. “And I took advantage of that. I almost stole what you weren’t offering. So it has nothing to do with not being able to look at you. It’s me I can’t stand. Me I’m angry as hell at, not you.”

“How do you know I wasn’t offering?” she breathed, the question blurting out of her before she could trap it. Or consider the lunacy of voicing it.

She didn’t even have alcohol to blame for her lack of control. That heat in his eyes looked a little too close to desire—she could blame her inhibition on that. Hell, just staring into it, feeling singed by it... Yeah, it had her head swimming harder than if she’d downed a bar full of cranberry vodkas.

Cole stiffened, air sucking through his flared nostrils, his eyes narrowing on her. “Don’t joke with this, Sydney. Now isn’t the time,” he commanded, iron still threading through his voice.

“Why do you assume I’m joking?” she pushed, even as her mind screamed caution in red, blinking letters. For her, this man was pain wrapped in beauty. Yet, she didn’t walk away. Because though she’d matured, she obviously hadn’t lost the impulsive streak that didn’t heed danger. She would end up wrecked by pressing this. But in this moment, with his glittering, hooded stare licking over her skin and that big, wide body unnaturally still, as if forcibly holding himself in check, she didn’t give a damn. She wanted him to break. To shatter. And take her with him.

“If I was anyone else but me, what would you have done?” she taunted softly, tilting her head. “Finished what you started? Taken my mouth? Bruised it? Owned it?” she whispered. Rising on tiptoe, she pressed her forehead against his chin, a breath shuddering out from between her lips. An answering shiver rippled through his large frame, and her eyes closed. “You can’t take advantage of what I would’ve freely given you.”

A second passed. Then two. A couple more. And neither of them moved.

Until he did.

Cole stepped back. Away from her. Leaving her brittle and cold in the summer heat.

Slowly, she rolled down to the soles of her feet, humiliation churning in her stomach. Jesus, when would she learn?

She parted her lips, the apology there, ready to be uttered. But it wouldn’t emerge. Instead, she tore her gaze away from Cole and turned. Walked away from him before he could do it. Before she could glimpse the regret and guilt that would undoubtedly darken his gaze. Again.

“Fuck.”

The harsh, coarse growl reached her only seconds before a hand gripped her hip, spinning her around and hauling her against a solid, wide chest. Another hand stroked roughly up her back, over her neck, and tunneled through her hair. Long, implacable fingers twisted in her hair, tugging her head back, sending tiny pinpricks scattering across her scalp. A moan broke free of her. But before embarrassment at the needy sound could set in, Cole crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing the tail end of that sound.

Oh. God.

She hadn’t been ready. No matter how many times she’d dreamed of his kiss, of his rangy, powerful body pressed to hers, she hadn’t. Been. Ready.

Not for the hot, demanding thrust and sweep of his tongue. Not for the wet but firm slide of lips against lips. Not for the sensual graze of teeth over sensitive flesh. Not for the deep, ragged groan that poured into her mouth and vibrated against her chest.

He consumed her.

Licking. Sucking. Stroking. Giving her pleasure even as the firm grip and tug on her hair demanded she surrender to him. He took utter control of the kiss, of her passion...of her. He angled her head so he could go deeper. So he had more access, more of a claim.

With a whimper, she circled his wrists, held on. Because that’s all she could do. His lust beat at her like hot, living flames, stoking hers higher and brighter. Rising on her toes again, she opened her mouth wider—so wide the corners of her mouth twinged. She would emerge from this with bruised, swollen flesh. And loving it. Craving it. She wanted his mark of passion on her.

As if reading her mind, the kiss turned harder. Wilder. Wetter. Cole crowded impossibly close, his chest pressed against her breasts, and her nipples peaked, beading. Her flesh had grown more sensitive with the pregnancy, and just the minute shift of his body arrowed electric spikes of pleasure straight to her aching, drenched sex. Seeking some relief of that carnal pain, the emptiness, she squeezed her thighs, but it didn’t work. Every twist of his