Read Online Coming Attractions by Rosie Vanyon - Free Book Online Page B

them.
Yes, they had only just met, so she didn’t know the man—didn’t know which
football team he followed, where he’d grown up, whether he preferred boxers or
briefs, vanilla or chocolate...
    But she knew all the important
things. She knew that he was a gentleman, that he was protective, that his hand
fit perfectly around her own, that he kissed like sweet sin, and that he would
be the hottest lover she could ever dream of being with.
    There was suddenly no question of
backing out, no thought of putting off the inevitable, because it was inevitable, she realized. Their
union was as sure as the tides, as predictable as the full moon, and as
unavoidable as the dawn. It was almost as though this moment was preordained,
that there was more to this encounter than just the two of them and the desire
roaring between them.
    Certain now, she looked down at
their clasped hands, met his eyes, smiled, and stepped across the threshold
toward the bed, drawing Levi alongside her.
    Once her decision was made and
executed, Levi no longer held back. At the foot of the bed, he reached for Cara
and pulled her against him, his mouth angling over hers, his palms resuming the
exploration of her body that they had begun downstairs.
    His fingers blazed a sizzling trail
over her neck and chest. His mouth gentled in the wake of his hands as he pried
her shirt away from her body, exposing the petal pink lace of the bra she had
donned after the storm. She felt exhilaratingly exposed as her shirt fell away
from her skin, pooling at her feet. She was at his mercy as he licked her
tender nipples through the underwear.
    She pushed him back and his eyes
gobbled her up.
    “I love the swell of these,” he
said, gazing at her breasts in their lacy cup. “And this…” His gaze traced the
expanse of golden skin across her slightly curved belly and the promise of more
treasures where her faded jeans rode low on her hips.
    She made short work of stripping
him of his shirt and unfastened his belt buckle while she had the opportunity.
    “Turnabout is only fair,” he teased
gruffly as he reached for the snap of her jeans, and they laughed as each
wrestled with the other’s denim. At the rasp of her zipper lowering, his eyes
flashed triumph and her craving for him intensified.
    By silent mutual consent, they
stepped away from one another, then shrugged out of their clothing, toed off
their shoes, stripped back the vestiges of modesty, and revealed themselves
more fully to one another.
    He really was luscious, she thought
as he wrenched off his jeans. Toned and defined but not too beefy, tanned but
not too dark, sporting a little body hair but not a rug. He was beautifully
proportioned with long, brawny legs and a trim waist flaring out to an
expansive chest. The makings of a six-pack were apparent when he flexed, but
there were slightly softened edges to his sculpted body, making him more real,
more human than some pin-up boy or show pony. Standing before her in nothing
but his blue briefs, she thought she might die if she couldn’t get her hands on
him soon. God, but she needed to touch him.
    She hooked her thumbs under the
elastic at the waist of her panties, but before she could draw them down her
legs, his hands stayed hers.
    “Let me,” he said, and she obediently
dropped her hands to her sides.
    He knelt before her, worshipping,
supplicating.
    She was practically naked—the last
pastel pink scrap of lace hid nothing. He could see, touch, taste everything.
And yet there was something incredibly intimate and romantic about the slide of
his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, the slow drift of lace and
fingertips over her thighs, the feel of his breath against her center.
    She was desperately aroused,
screamingly eager, wet and hot and throbbing for him. Her clit was puckered
tight and the muscles inside her were clenched with anticipation.
    He let her panties slither to her
ankles, clasped the cheeks of her butt, and pressed his