Read Online Back in the Game: A Stardust, Texas Novel by Lori Wilde - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lori Wilde
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going to kiss her. Of course he wasn’t. He wouldn’t do that. Gorgeous, successful men who could have any woman they wished did not kiss plain girls like her. Facts of Life 101.
But this was her dream, right? Her fantasy. Why couldn’t he kiss her?
His head inched lower, and he murmured, “I am going to kiss you now. Don’t ask questions. Just go with it.”
What the frig? She blinked in confusion, staring at the sweaty male chest in front of her, and then peeping into those smoldering blue eyes. His intense scent tore through her like a freshly fired bullet. Her senses stumbled, reeled.
This absolutely had to be a dream. Soon enough Callie would jump on the covers, wake her up, and she’d be back in her bed like Dorothy home from Oz.
Gently, he lifted her glasses off her face, his fingers brushing against her temples. The world blurred, went fuzzy.
Helplessly overtaken, she parted her lips, let down her drawbridge, ceding to the marauding intruder. Come on in, handsome. Make yourself comfy. Pillage away. Take whatever you want. It’s all yours.
His arm went around her waist, and he drew her closer to him, right up against his hard-muscled sweaty body, and engulfing her mouth with his.
She cupped his cheek in her palm, felt the scrape of beard stubble. Her heart oozed wet and slippery. Lord have mercy, the man could kiss, just the right amount of pressure, and moisture.
And the taste of him? Heavenly.
Not that she had tons of practice on that score. She had been kissed no more than a handful of times, but he was so skillful, so accomplished. No experience required on her part.
But this man . . . ah, this man . . . he knew exactly what he was doing. She was the baseball, and he was the bat, his lips rocking her so hard she shot clean out of the stadium.
Yearning burned inside her. More than anything in the entire world she ached to blend blood and bone with him, to tangle her body, her brain, and her fate with his forever.
It felt as if he were marking her. Stamping her with intention that could both irrevocably change and wreck her life.
The desperate need to merge was eerie, inescapable, and ultimately terrifying because it felt so limitless.
This single, earth-stopping, soulful, falling-off-the-edge-of-the-world kiss, absolute in its purity, kidnapped her equilibrium. If he hadn’t tightened his grip on her, she would have tumbled right over.
He held her steady, his tongue skimming over hers, kissing her as if they’d been made for each other, as if he would never let her go.
And that was scariest of all.
This was not a dream.
This was real. And for some unfathomable reason Rowdy Blanton had kissed her , Breeanne Bliss Carlyle, the mousiest wallflower in all of Stardust.
Oh dear God.
No matter how scintillating, how compelling, his kiss was unreliable. He was a well-known playboy who’d elevated womanizing to an art form. He probably kissed strangers on a daily basis.
The kiss meant nothing to him, but it meant the world to her.
Her heart was a wild jackrabbit, running fast and frantic. No more. She couldn’t take any more. Breeanne broke away, staggered back, hand to her mouth, shock rippling through her body.
She peered into his face, dug her fingernails into her palm to hide the trembling. His eyes clouded, but he gave nothing away. No hint of emotion or reaction to what had passed between them. Whatever prompted the kiss, it had nothing to do with her.
As the sweet dream morphed into a humiliating, cheek-scalding nightmare, the emotional ground beneath her shifted, and she felt as if she were plunging headlong off a cliff onto jagged rocks below.
CHAPTER 6
I have no trouble with the twelve inches
between my elbow and my palm.
It’s the seven inches between my ears that’s bent.
— T UG M C G RAW
Hell’s bells. What was this?
Rowdy’s pulse raced harder and faster than Giancarlo Stanton’s famous line drive scorcher, the impact of their kiss nearly knocking him to his
But this was her dream, right? Her fantasy. Why couldn’t he kiss her?
His head inched lower, and he murmured, “I am going to kiss you now. Don’t ask questions. Just go with it.”
What the frig? She blinked in confusion, staring at the sweaty male chest in front of her, and then peeping into those smoldering blue eyes. His intense scent tore through her like a freshly fired bullet. Her senses stumbled, reeled.
This absolutely had to be a dream. Soon enough Callie would jump on the covers, wake her up, and she’d be back in her bed like Dorothy home from Oz.
Gently, he lifted her glasses off her face, his fingers brushing against her temples. The world blurred, went fuzzy.
Helplessly overtaken, she parted her lips, let down her drawbridge, ceding to the marauding intruder. Come on in, handsome. Make yourself comfy. Pillage away. Take whatever you want. It’s all yours.
His arm went around her waist, and he drew her closer to him, right up against his hard-muscled sweaty body, and engulfing her mouth with his.
She cupped his cheek in her palm, felt the scrape of beard stubble. Her heart oozed wet and slippery. Lord have mercy, the man could kiss, just the right amount of pressure, and moisture.
And the taste of him? Heavenly.
Not that she had tons of practice on that score. She had been kissed no more than a handful of times, but he was so skillful, so accomplished. No experience required on her part.
But this man . . . ah, this man . . . he knew exactly what he was doing. She was the baseball, and he was the bat, his lips rocking her so hard she shot clean out of the stadium.
Yearning burned inside her. More than anything in the entire world she ached to blend blood and bone with him, to tangle her body, her brain, and her fate with his forever.
It felt as if he were marking her. Stamping her with intention that could both irrevocably change and wreck her life.
The desperate need to merge was eerie, inescapable, and ultimately terrifying because it felt so limitless.
This single, earth-stopping, soulful, falling-off-the-edge-of-the-world kiss, absolute in its purity, kidnapped her equilibrium. If he hadn’t tightened his grip on her, she would have tumbled right over.
He held her steady, his tongue skimming over hers, kissing her as if they’d been made for each other, as if he would never let her go.
And that was scariest of all.
This was not a dream.
This was real. And for some unfathomable reason Rowdy Blanton had kissed her , Breeanne Bliss Carlyle, the mousiest wallflower in all of Stardust.
Oh dear God.
No matter how scintillating, how compelling, his kiss was unreliable. He was a well-known playboy who’d elevated womanizing to an art form. He probably kissed strangers on a daily basis.
The kiss meant nothing to him, but it meant the world to her.
Her heart was a wild jackrabbit, running fast and frantic. No more. She couldn’t take any more. Breeanne broke away, staggered back, hand to her mouth, shock rippling through her body.
She peered into his face, dug her fingernails into her palm to hide the trembling. His eyes clouded, but he gave nothing away. No hint of emotion or reaction to what had passed between them. Whatever prompted the kiss, it had nothing to do with her.
As the sweet dream morphed into a humiliating, cheek-scalding nightmare, the emotional ground beneath her shifted, and she felt as if she were plunging headlong off a cliff onto jagged rocks below.
CHAPTER 6
I have no trouble with the twelve inches
between my elbow and my palm.
It’s the seven inches between my ears that’s bent.
— T UG M C G RAW
Hell’s bells. What was this?
Rowdy’s pulse raced harder and faster than Giancarlo Stanton’s famous line drive scorcher, the impact of their kiss nearly knocking him to his
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