t's a Summer Fling for
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***
It would be soft, her skin, should he touch it. Incredibly lush and smooth against him, like the plump petals of a rose. And her hair--he'd like to let it fall pin by pin, until it ran in any endless ebony river through his fingers.
He'd got so used to repressing every strong emotion that he barely felt them anymore. Until now. The urge to reach out and yank her hard against him nearly left him unbalanced. He wanted to cradle her and protect her from the cruelty of the world and her own folly. He wanted to ravish her mouth, steal her soft, sweet breath and brand her with the heat of his desire.
He couldn't do any of it, of course. Shouldn't do any of it. This girl had enough pain heading her way, the last thing she needed was for him to add to it. So he did the safe thing. The right thing. He pricked her. Poked her like he was a spoilt, bored boy at church and she was the unlucky girl in the pew ahead.
"That kiss didn't mean a damn thing."
Surprise had him snapping his mouth shut. That hadn't been what he meant to say at all.
"Certainly not," she murmured. Her gaze never left the window.
Certainly not.
Exactly the response he needed. So why did it irritate the hell out of him?
***
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