Read Online These Boots Were Made for Stomping by Julie Kenner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julie Kenner
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Whatever happened
to shy Lydia?
Apparently, she’d been kicked to the curb. And that, frankly, was just fine with the new model.
“I sent in a report while we were in the air.”
“Right,” she said, remembering the PDA he’d typed a message on as she’d been gawking at the ground below them. “So, they answered
already?”
“Not yet. I’m waiting for new intelligence. That lead was the best we’d had in months, and with zero hour drawing closer—”
“In other words, I blew it big-time.”
“You did,” he said, “but you didn’t know. And if it comes down to a Council investigation, I’ll be sure to let them know that.”
“Thanks,” she said, but her brow furrowed, wondering how the heck she’d gotten drawn into a whole world of rules and regulations
simply by ordering a pair of shoes. Somehow, that didn’t seem fair.
What did seem fair—or, if not fair, at least fabulously fortuitous—was that for the time being at least, she got the guy. This wonderful
guy was spending time with her . Waiting in her apartment until he got his marching orders. And, frankly, he seemed perfectly on-board with that plan.
She tilted her head, watching him and drinking in the wonderful curve of his jaw, the sculptured lines of his body, and the
intensity of his gaze. What was he thinking, she wondered. Because she was thinking that she wanted him. More than that, she was thinking about actually telling him that she wanted him. Which,
honestly, wasn’t the kind of thing that Lydia Carmichael did.
She wasn’t entirely sure who she was turning into, but part of her liked the new Lydia. Liked the confidence and directness.
Liked the idea that if Mr. Stout had fired her now, she would have had the cojones to stand up to him. Liked that she seemed
to be growing stronger from the inside out.
That was what part of her thought.
The other part was scared to death.
The other part couldn’t quite get the words out.
Her feet were more than willing to move, however, and before she had the chance to think about it—before she could be scared
or shy or anything else that screamed old-school Lydia—she’d moved toward him, pressing her body against his and hooking her
arms around his neck. She didn’t speak, because the words wouldn’t come. But the truth was, she didn’t need words to ask for
what she wanted. No, because what she wanted was him. His hands. His mouth. Every single, solid, sexy inch of him.
Boldly she drew him closer, her eyes locked on his. No surprise or shock reflected back at her; instead, she saw only her
own need mirrored in those azure depths. A need as deep as an ocean, and a pull as strong as the tide.
She took his mouth with hers, feeling bold and crazy and more than a little drunk. Only, not from alcohol. No, this inebriation
was of a purely sensual variety. She wanted more and, so help her, she told him so.
“What’s that?” he asked, his whisper warm and sensual and teasing. “I’m not quite sure I heard you.”
“You,” she said, taking a quick nip of his ear. “I want more. I want you,” she added, more boldly than she’d ever spoken.
“I want all of you.”
“Sweetheart,” he said, as his hands slipped under the back of her shirt, “I think that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”
Sweet shockwaves rushed through her, tumbling down to her toes and bubbling right back up again, like carbonated electricity.
She felt fizzy and floaty and more turned-on than she could ever remember being. She’d dated men before, of course. Even slept
with them. But she’d never felt this way. Never had a man’s touch so thoroughly fire her senses. It was as if everything in
her life had disappeared except for this man and this moment. Right here, right now, and the warmth of his caresses.
With a low moan, she again lifted her mouth to his, desperate to taste him. His hands slipped down, fingers dipping beneath
the waistband of her jeans
to shy Lydia?
Apparently, she’d been kicked to the curb. And that, frankly, was just fine with the new model.
“I sent in a report while we were in the air.”
“Right,” she said, remembering the PDA he’d typed a message on as she’d been gawking at the ground below them. “So, they answered
already?”
“Not yet. I’m waiting for new intelligence. That lead was the best we’d had in months, and with zero hour drawing closer—”
“In other words, I blew it big-time.”
“You did,” he said, “but you didn’t know. And if it comes down to a Council investigation, I’ll be sure to let them know that.”
“Thanks,” she said, but her brow furrowed, wondering how the heck she’d gotten drawn into a whole world of rules and regulations
simply by ordering a pair of shoes. Somehow, that didn’t seem fair.
What did seem fair—or, if not fair, at least fabulously fortuitous—was that for the time being at least, she got the guy. This wonderful
guy was spending time with her . Waiting in her apartment until he got his marching orders. And, frankly, he seemed perfectly on-board with that plan.
She tilted her head, watching him and drinking in the wonderful curve of his jaw, the sculptured lines of his body, and the
intensity of his gaze. What was he thinking, she wondered. Because she was thinking that she wanted him. More than that, she was thinking about actually telling him that she wanted him. Which,
honestly, wasn’t the kind of thing that Lydia Carmichael did.
She wasn’t entirely sure who she was turning into, but part of her liked the new Lydia. Liked the confidence and directness.
Liked the idea that if Mr. Stout had fired her now, she would have had the cojones to stand up to him. Liked that she seemed
to be growing stronger from the inside out.
That was what part of her thought.
The other part was scared to death.
The other part couldn’t quite get the words out.
Her feet were more than willing to move, however, and before she had the chance to think about it—before she could be scared
or shy or anything else that screamed old-school Lydia—she’d moved toward him, pressing her body against his and hooking her
arms around his neck. She didn’t speak, because the words wouldn’t come. But the truth was, she didn’t need words to ask for
what she wanted. No, because what she wanted was him. His hands. His mouth. Every single, solid, sexy inch of him.
Boldly she drew him closer, her eyes locked on his. No surprise or shock reflected back at her; instead, she saw only her
own need mirrored in those azure depths. A need as deep as an ocean, and a pull as strong as the tide.
She took his mouth with hers, feeling bold and crazy and more than a little drunk. Only, not from alcohol. No, this inebriation
was of a purely sensual variety. She wanted more and, so help her, she told him so.
“What’s that?” he asked, his whisper warm and sensual and teasing. “I’m not quite sure I heard you.”
“You,” she said, taking a quick nip of his ear. “I want more. I want you,” she added, more boldly than she’d ever spoken.
“I want all of you.”
“Sweetheart,” he said, as his hands slipped under the back of her shirt, “I think that’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”
Sweet shockwaves rushed through her, tumbling down to her toes and bubbling right back up again, like carbonated electricity.
She felt fizzy and floaty and more turned-on than she could ever remember being. She’d dated men before, of course. Even slept
with them. But she’d never felt this way. Never had a man’s touch so thoroughly fire her senses. It was as if everything in
her life had disappeared except for this man and this moment. Right here, right now, and the warmth of his caresses.
With a low moan, she again lifted her mouth to his, desperate to taste him. His hands slipped down, fingers dipping beneath
the waistband of her jeans
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