Read Online Wrecked (Sons of San Clemente Book 2) by Sinclair Jayne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sinclair Jayne
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need to prove once again to Hollis that she retained all the power.
“Okay, that should work.”
“What?” She looked up at him, her amber eyes, golden with passion still glowed with heat and a hint of confusion.
It took all his willpower to maintain the pretense instead of pulling her back into his body.
“A diversion. Two teens with a cell phone taking our picture.”
“What?” She sat up slowly and leaned away from him, her eyes sparking now with temper.
And that turned him on even more.
Sick bastard.
“I don’t want to announce the extent of my injury to the world and you want to fly under the radar.”
“So you kissed me?” Her voice rose.
God, she was hot when she got pissed.
“So,” he said casually as if he were in total control of his libido when he so totally wasn’t. “I think the fanboys have lost interest.”
“What?” Her eyes, still flared with passion, darkened in anger. “That’s why you kissed me? Two teenage boys.”
“With a cell phone.”
He stood up fluidly, holding her and then putting her on her feet beside him, feeling cold where moments ago he’d been a seething cauldron of heat. He smiled and shrugged reaching for the crutches when he really wanted to break them in half and hurl them into the street, but instead he swung his battered body around so they could walk to the car. He was nothing if not disciplined. His entire childhood and his career had been honed by the need for discipline. Control. Power and determination that would cut through the pain and exhaustion.
“Why else?” He grinned at her, not a care. “Well, it was fun.” He dropped a kiss on her head. “See, I was right. We still got it.”
T he short outing must have taken a toll on Kadan, Hollis thought, trying to beat back bitterness. She was relieved he’d stopped the kiss. Over the moon happy because not only would she have happily pulled down his shorts, she would have ridden him in public, probably been arrested, and charged a bail she could no longer afford. And then she’d be a felon. Hard to reinvent herself after something like that. What kind of a job could she get after that? Seemed like only rappers and rock stars could come back after prison. Or a sex tape.
And now he was sleeping while she was creeping around like an interloper in what should be her beach guest house. Kadan sucked. He really did. How could he possibly sleep while her mind had jammed on an infinite loop of the kiss and her overly enthusiastic reaction to it as if six years broken up meant nothing—let-me-ride-you-like-a-bike. And now she was making dinner for the idiot. Chopping vegetables so he could have a healthy diet while he recovered from surgery.
And how bad was his injury? She felt her stomach bottom out at the thought of him permanently damaged. He had always been so strong, so daring, so intensely physical and sensuous and sexual in the way he threw himself into life. The way he rode a wave was as graceful as any principle ballerina.
Stop!
She was worse than an idiot.
“You can stop banging around,” he said from the bed. “I’m awake.”
“Have a nice sleep?” she asked as sugar sweet as possible.
“It was fantastic.” He pulled himself into a sitting position and stretched.
The comforter slid off him and she could see his tanned, cut chest, the tattoos that formed sleeves down his arms, from his massive shoulders down to his wrists with only the bare oval peek-a-booing, waiting for further art. She wondered what it would be. Her mouth went desert dry and she turned away. Why couldn’t he even remotely look debilitated? And not wearing clothes should be outlawed.
She finished shredding the cabbage, radishes, and golden beets. The sweet potatoes were already sautéing.
“Hollis, I’m not expecting you to cook for me.”
He came up behind her without her even realizing he’d risen. She could feel the heat of his body. She gripped the counter top, so afraid she would let herself
“Okay, that should work.”
“What?” She looked up at him, her amber eyes, golden with passion still glowed with heat and a hint of confusion.
It took all his willpower to maintain the pretense instead of pulling her back into his body.
“A diversion. Two teens with a cell phone taking our picture.”
“What?” She sat up slowly and leaned away from him, her eyes sparking now with temper.
And that turned him on even more.
Sick bastard.
“I don’t want to announce the extent of my injury to the world and you want to fly under the radar.”
“So you kissed me?” Her voice rose.
God, she was hot when she got pissed.
“So,” he said casually as if he were in total control of his libido when he so totally wasn’t. “I think the fanboys have lost interest.”
“What?” Her eyes, still flared with passion, darkened in anger. “That’s why you kissed me? Two teenage boys.”
“With a cell phone.”
He stood up fluidly, holding her and then putting her on her feet beside him, feeling cold where moments ago he’d been a seething cauldron of heat. He smiled and shrugged reaching for the crutches when he really wanted to break them in half and hurl them into the street, but instead he swung his battered body around so they could walk to the car. He was nothing if not disciplined. His entire childhood and his career had been honed by the need for discipline. Control. Power and determination that would cut through the pain and exhaustion.
“Why else?” He grinned at her, not a care. “Well, it was fun.” He dropped a kiss on her head. “See, I was right. We still got it.”
T he short outing must have taken a toll on Kadan, Hollis thought, trying to beat back bitterness. She was relieved he’d stopped the kiss. Over the moon happy because not only would she have happily pulled down his shorts, she would have ridden him in public, probably been arrested, and charged a bail she could no longer afford. And then she’d be a felon. Hard to reinvent herself after something like that. What kind of a job could she get after that? Seemed like only rappers and rock stars could come back after prison. Or a sex tape.
And now he was sleeping while she was creeping around like an interloper in what should be her beach guest house. Kadan sucked. He really did. How could he possibly sleep while her mind had jammed on an infinite loop of the kiss and her overly enthusiastic reaction to it as if six years broken up meant nothing—let-me-ride-you-like-a-bike. And now she was making dinner for the idiot. Chopping vegetables so he could have a healthy diet while he recovered from surgery.
And how bad was his injury? She felt her stomach bottom out at the thought of him permanently damaged. He had always been so strong, so daring, so intensely physical and sensuous and sexual in the way he threw himself into life. The way he rode a wave was as graceful as any principle ballerina.
Stop!
She was worse than an idiot.
“You can stop banging around,” he said from the bed. “I’m awake.”
“Have a nice sleep?” she asked as sugar sweet as possible.
“It was fantastic.” He pulled himself into a sitting position and stretched.
The comforter slid off him and she could see his tanned, cut chest, the tattoos that formed sleeves down his arms, from his massive shoulders down to his wrists with only the bare oval peek-a-booing, waiting for further art. She wondered what it would be. Her mouth went desert dry and she turned away. Why couldn’t he even remotely look debilitated? And not wearing clothes should be outlawed.
She finished shredding the cabbage, radishes, and golden beets. The sweet potatoes were already sautéing.
“Hollis, I’m not expecting you to cook for me.”
He came up behind her without her even realizing he’d risen. She could feel the heat of his body. She gripped the counter top, so afraid she would let herself
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