All Revved Up Read Free

the frame of the driver’s side window and the other on the roof, she stared at the small bungalow behind Victorian Secrets Bed and Breakfast. Its original purpose, back when the property had been built two hundred years ago, was as the housekeeper’s residence. The main house was once the governor’s mansion. Seated on two acres in the middle of an otherwise modern residential area, the two story bed and breakfast had a wide wraparound porch and huge yard.
    God, the place had memories. She was certain Miguel had chosen it for that very reason. To unsettle her, maybe. Which was also the likely reason for why he didn’t appear when she honked the horn. He was going to make her go inside, make her face the ghosts of their past.
    Faith shoved the car door closed and headed for the bungalow’s entrance. Her stilettos clicked across the driveway, beating out a staccato rhythm that couldn’t keep up with her racing heart. With effort, she resisted the urge to smooth the skirt of her dress. It was classic black, in a soft jersey and wraparound style. The crisscrossing halves created a plunging neckline that revealed the upper swells of her breasts and a hint of blue lace demi-bra, the hue of which matched her eyes. The whole ensemble was new, from her earrings to her heels.
    She thought of it as armor. Her only defense against Miguel was his desire for her.
    Reaching the door, she knocked on the inset glass. He called for her to come in, so she entered, but nothing could have prepared her for what she found inside.
    “Sorry,” he said, sounding completely unapologetic as he scrubbed at shower-damp hair with a towel. “I had a business call that took longer than expected.”
    He was naked.
    She closed the door by stumbling back and leaning heavily against it, her knees weakened by a lust so ferocious it made her dizzy. Brazenly unabashed, Miguel stood in the living room completely nude, his gorgeous caramel-hued skin on display, his beautiful abs and biceps flexing as he dried himself. His body was the stuff of orgasmic dreams, hard and rippling with muscle. Wide shoulders tapering down to a lean waist and hips. Maturity graced him, turning his formerly sinewy and lanky body into a powerhouse of potent masculinity. He personified the fantasy of a sensual Latin lover, dripping sex and confidence, free of any inhibitions.
    Her gaze fell to his cock and stayed there helplessly, her mouth watering at his virility. He was half-erect and impressive. When he was fully aroused, as he was quickly becoming under the avidity of her gaze, he was a sexual god. A small sound escaped her, a needy cry as her pussy grew slick and soft with wanting. He had been her first lover, her virginity given to him in the bedroom that waited just a few feet behind him, a room in which he’d ruined her for other men.
    Sharp possessiveness sunk its claws into her, curling her hands into fists. The need to claim him, and that decadently sinful body he’d once pledged to her, was so voracious she burned with it. Mine , she thought savagely. He’s mine .
    The towel fell to the floor.
    Faith panted through parted lips as he came toward her in a riveting display of golden skin and sinuous muscle. His eyes, so dark they were nearly black, smoldered with carnal intent. The curve of his exquisite mouth was etched with cruelty. He was so hot with lust and anger she was surprised the dampness on his skin didn’t steam away.
    A shiver of fear sharpened the knife’s edge of her hunger. She was aching with emptiness, tense with expectation, heartbroken that they should be at this place—wanting each other so deeply they were sick with it.
    “Miguel,” she breathed as his hands caught her by the hips.
    “I can’t go anywhere like this,” he bit out, sounding furious. His face was pressed into her hair, his breathing harsh against her ear. One hand cupped the back of her thigh, kneading with almost painful squeezes as he moved up and under the hem of her