Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best fantasy books to read TXT) 📕

to her molars, and the inside of her left thigh burned like fire. “It’s not like I planned to do this for fun.”

He scooped her up, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was buck naked. Next thing she knew, she was on the bed and he was touching her just about everywhere, feeling for broken bones, she guessed, because he wasn’t being the least bit romantic about it. “Stop it.” She batted his hands away. “I’m fine. Please go get a towel.”

“Oh.” He sat on the edge of the bed and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He gave her a surprised once-over, as if he’d only just now realized that she was soaking wet and naked. He bolted into the bathroom and came back with a huge folded bath towel, which he whipped out and draped over her like a tablecloth. The thing covered her from the knees up, including half of her face. “I’m sorry.” He dragged the towel down a bit so she could breathe.

He patted her awkwardly—trying to pat her dry? His tanned cheeks flushed a dusky rose color. So now that he’d seen her naked, even carried her naked self from the bathroom to the bed, his primary emotion was embarrassment.

How sweet.

And infuriating. She scowled at the back of his head while he gently patted her legs dry. Did he not find her attractive at all? And here she’d been arguing with herself for two whole weeks over whether or not she should let him get into her panties, while he seemed to consider her to be a responsibility, nothing more. She sat up awkwardly and grabbed his hands, not caring whether the oversize towel slipped. “Quinn. Stop.”

“Shit.” His gaze dropped to her breasts, then zoomed back up to her face. “I’m sorry.”

Some kind of devil made her do it; she leaned toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Stop apologizing.” Then, she kissed him.

His tongue slipped into her mouth, tentatively at first, then with a bold exploration that ignited nerve endings from her teeth to her toes. With one hand at her back and the other behind her head, he laid her back on the bed and stretched out on top of her. Her knees fell open, and her hips formed a cradle that his hips fit into quite nicely. It was just getting good when he stopped kissing and looked down on her with a worried frown. “Is your foot okay? You want me to put a pillow under it?”

“Forget about my foot.” She wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him down. “Kiss me.” With his tongue stroking hers, her broken foot was the last thing on her mind, and she hoped it was the last thing on his.

Even through the damp towel wadded between them, she felt his erection hard against her. She gave the towel a tug, trying to drag it out from between them, but he wrapped his hand around hers, stopping her. His blue eyes were serious, his jaw tight, his face flushed—but this time not with embarrassment. “Don’t move that towel unless you mean it.”

She looked into his eyes and tugged at the towel again. He lifted his hips, taking his weight off her, and she slipped the damp terry cloth out from between them.

He stared back at her as his shoes hit the floor, one by one.

Thunk. Thunk… The sound of the invisible walls they had each erected between them falling to the ground.

Hungry for the heat of his body against hers, she pulled his T-shirt up over his head and unbuttoned his jeans. Then, oh, glory, the rest of his clothes fell to the floor with a soft, tumbling sound, and his naked body skimmed against hers. Rough and smooth, warm and hard, he felt every bit as good as she had imagined.

He rolled her to her side, and they lay facing each other on the lumpy old quilt some long-dead ancestor had so painstakingly stitched. He skimmed his fingers down her arm, a butterfly touch. “You know what this will mean, right?” he asked.

She reached out to touch his face, feeling the warmth of his taut skin, the barely there stubble of beard on his jaw. “No, what will this mean?”

“Everything.” He cupped her breast, lightly rubbing her nipple until it pearled up under his palm. “Are you ready for that? Because I won’t do this lightly. I’m fucking tired of cheap hookups, and I’m fucking tired of being alone.” His voice was deep and quiet, and just a little raspy. He swallowed audibly and looked away from her face, instead watching his fingers move over her breasts. “If we do this, it’ll be the start of something.”

Goose bumps broke out over Abby’s skin, a thrill of excitement—and of foreboding. Ever since she’d met Quinn, she had toyed with the idea of having a fuck buddy she could take or leave—or take and then leave. It wasn’t her style, never had been, but her last failed relationship still stung, so she’d been hoping for a fulfilling relationship that came with an easy way out. Despite her fears and insecurities, she said the only thing her heart wanted her to say, even though the words came with a stomach-dropping lurch that felt like stepping off the edge of a cliff. “I’m ready.”

Chapter 18

Quinn wondered if those two words Abby had just said, I’m ready, felt as heady and exhilarating and frightening to her as they did to him. “You sure?”

“Yes. Now stop talking.” She reached down, wrapped her fingers around him, and leaned in for a kiss. If her tongue hadn’t been in his mouth, he’d have gasped at the gentle pressure of her hand squeezing, then releasing, squeezing, then releasing, as if she had all the time in the world to make him come and didn’t mind spending it.

If only she knew how long it had been, how close he was to exploding just by seeing her luscious