Flame (Fire on the Mountain #2) Read Free Page B

introduction, mostly because it’s all true . . . especially the part about me not being sorry. I own my awesomeness without hesitation, and it has nothing to do with feelings of superiority. Genetics blessed me with my natural, all-American-boy good looks, one of the only positive things my parents gave me, but I work damn hard to keep my body in top shape and take pride in the amount of time I’ve spent learning the secrets of the female body. I ensure when I’m with someone sexually that she knows I’m just as concerned about pleasing her as I am myself. ’Cause that’s what a real fucking gentleman does. No apologies necessary.
    “Levi? That’s an interesting name.” Her eyes drop down to my jeans, checking to see if I’m actually wearing Levis—which I am—and based on the way the tip of her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip, I’m assuming she approves. “Wow. Button fly and all. Color me impressed.”
    Penetrating the worn denim, the heat from her enduring stare, as well as the now wet, pink, pouty flesh of her mouth, stirs my cock immediately and sends a myriad of X-rated visions through my brain. Most of them involve me bending her over the nearest table, hiking up that yellow sundress around her waist, and plunging balls-deep into her sweet pussy. Color me fucking hard.
    “James Levi,” I finally reply, holding my hand out to Dakota, once I realize Gunner and Emmy Sue are both watching us shamelessly eye-fuck each other in the middle of the bar. “And I didn’t mean to barrel over you there.”
    When she places her dainty hand in mine, a jolt of electricity surges through me, culminating at my now throbbing erection, and the goose bumps blanketing her arm assure me I’m not the only one feeling this thrill. I need to fuck this girl. ASAP.
    “No worries. I may be small, but I’m a tough cookie.” Leaning in to me with our hands still joined, she lifts up on her tiptoes and whispers, “Plus, I like it rough.”
    Holy shit. This girl. ASAP just became right fucking now.
    Unfortunately, before I can verbalize our goodbye to my friends still gawking at us and drag her out of the restaurant and directly into my hotel bed, a girl who looks a lot like Dakota, but taller and with longer hair, and a guy approach to tell her they’re leaving. She runs through a quick introduction. I hear the word sister , but I’m not paying any attention to their names because all I can think about is her. Naked. Underneath me. Screaming my name.
    As soon as they leave, I twirl her around to face me to tell her what’s about to happen, about how I’m going to show her all about what rough is, but then another couple strolls up. Again, with a girl who looks incredibly similar to Dakota. Dude, how many sisters does she have?
    This time, however, when Dakota introduces us, I see something else in her expression. Regret? Confusion? Guilt, maybe? I’m not exactly sure, but when she offers me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and announces she has to leave with them, I want to explode with frustration.
    Is she serious? Leave? Now? What the fuck?
    I try to think of something to say, short of sounding like I’m pathetically begging some chick I don’t know not to go, but I come up empty. Seconds later, she’s hugging Emmy Sue goodbye and exchanging phone numbers with her, and then, right before she turns to meet up with her family at the door, she tips her chin at me as one side of her mouth curls up wickedly.
    “See ya at the wedding, James Levi.”

THURSDAY, JUNE 14
    OH MY GOD.
    Oh my God.
    OH MY FUCKING GOD!
    How in the world I just walked away from him —the most spectacular sampling of the male species I’ve ever seen up close and personal—I honestly don’t know. I should win an award for Most Willpower of the Century or some shit. Any other female between the ages of sixteen and eighty-six with a pulse would’ve taken him up on the offer his eyes made . . . and probably quite a few guys too. He really