BAYOU NOËL Read Free Page B

beneath the feathery stroke
of his fingers. “That’s fine. I’ll find someone who does.”
    Those honey eyes darkened to molten lava, and
his expression went feral and hungry with the power of his
beast.
    “Any male touches you, Molly,” he snarled.
“And he dies.”
    And just to accentuate the point, he kicked
the door closed with his boot.

CHAPTER 5
     
     
    The fire, the heat, the madness that raged
through Garrick was barely contained. Maybe it was because he’d
thought about Molly for too many years to count. Or shit, maybe it
was because he’d tried not to. Whatever the reason for the
onslaught of desire, he couldn’t stop himself now.
    As he closed the distance between them and
took her in his arms, he felt ready to consume her. And hell,
anyone who might be foolish enough to walk into the room at that
moment.
    Her head back and her dark, velvety eyes
pinned to his, Molly whispered in a pained voice, “Why are you
doing this, Garrick? It’s not fair.”
    “I don’t care about fair,” he nearly growled.
“Do you?”
    She didn’t answer him. “You had your chance
and you lost.”
    He bent his head and took her mouth—that
perfectly pink mouth he’d dreamed about every damn night when his
head hit the pillow—kissing her with all the hunger he’d been
storing up and shoving away.
    When he pulled back, her eyes were glassy and
she was breathless. But she still managed to utter, “You lost me,
Garrick.”
    “No,” he said on a growl. “Never.”
    He kissed
her again, hungry and impatient, and pulled her even closer until
her breasts were pressed against his chest, and his thigh was
wedged between her legs. And when he heard her moan, felt her
tongue slip into his mouth, and her fingers slide into his hair, he
felt his male’s stoic mind and his puma’s desperate heart collide.
This was right. She was right.
She tasted so warm and so sweet, and he knew that he could do
this—kiss her hungrily, suckle at her lower lip, feel her taut
nipples brush his chest, revel in the sweet heat of her pussy
against his denim-clad thigh—all day and all night if she’d let
him.
    Desperate to know the feeling of her skin
under his palms, he gripped the edges of her shirt and dragged the
fabric up, up, breaking their kiss just long enough to pull the
thing over her head. Then he dropped it to the floor and took her
mouth again. She groaned and raked her hands up his back.
    He eased back an inch. “Do you know how many
times I’ve thought about this, Molly?” he uttered against her wet
lips.
    “Oh, Garrick,” she whispered, a cry in her
voice.
    “How many nights I’ve touched myself, wishing
it was you. Your hand. Your mouth.” He nipped her bottom lip. “Your
wet pussy.”
    She arched her back, pressed her sex harder
against his thigh. “Oh god, Garrick. Please.”
    “Have you touched yourself, Molly?” he
whispered in the curve of her ear as he pressed her back, groaning
when he felt how wet she was, even through the fabric of her jeans.
“Have you wished it was me? My hand? My mouth?”
    “Yes,” she answered breathlessly. “In my bed.
In the shower.”
    Garrick’s puma growled and snarled beneath
his skin. Just the thought, the image, of her lying back on her bed
naked. Or under the hot spray of the shower with her hands between
her thighs, her nipples beading, her hips swaying. It made him
insane with lust. Fuck. She’d wanted him as he’d wanted her. He was
such an idiot male. It was something he’d always known, always
felt—but had pretended was nothing more than a casual
connection.
    And, like a true bastard, he had stayed far
away to keep it so.
    He drew back. No more. Not now. He wanted
this—needed it. Needed her. Her touch, her taste on his tongue.
With forced gentleness, he eased down the cups of her bra to reveal
her heavy breasts. For a moment, he just stared at her, every inch
of him going hard and anxious.
    “Damn, Molly,” he uttered hoarsely, his hands
clenching with