Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

And then, we kissed.

We kissed.

Oh, my God, we kissed. The sweetest of kisses—soft, shallow, but soon becoming deeper and more meaningful. My eyes closed without my even being aware of it, and when I opened them again, I saw that his eyes were closed, too. Dark crescents of thick black lashes swept his cheek. I ran a hand up along his arm, sliding over his shirt. The contrast of hard muscle under the soft fabric did something to my insides.

His eyes opened slowly, trapping me in a pool of sparkling amber. He cranked the engine. “Let’s get you home.”

Butterflies of anticipation somersaulted in my stomach. Neither of us spoke as he drove the few blocks to my house. The riverside restaurant was so close we could’ve walked there and back if we’d chosen.

The Methodist church was having some event, so the curbside space in front of my house was taken. He parked down the block, and on the walk to my house, he paused to pluck a wild climbing rose from the trellis that arched over old Mrs. Mercer’s sidewalk. He stripped the leaves and thorns from the short stem and tucked the fragrant bloom into my hair.

Then, we were standing on the sidewalk in front of my house.

The white planks of the old Victorian farmhouse glowed under the streetlight. The facets of the antique beveled glass front door sparkled in welcome. Chester roused from his spot on the porch rail and meowed, arching his back and rubbing his face against the upright post. Dimly, I heard the dog door bump as Lizzie entered the house from the side yard, ready to meet us at the front door.

Ian turned me toward him and linked his hands behind my back, holding me loosely in the circle of his arms.

I licked my suddenly-dry lips. “Would you like to come in?”

“Only if you want me to.”

I could have kissed him good night on the sidewalk and gone safely inside. But instead of “Good night,” the words that jumped out of my mouth were, “Come in.”

Lizzie gave Ian the grand tour, unimpeded by her inability to speak English. “Here’s my dog bed, here’s my toy basket, here’s my treat jar, on the hall table.”

Ian ruffled Lizzie’s fur and looked at me. “Can I give her one?”

“Sure. Make yourself comfortable. Pick out a CD. I’ll go pour us some wine.”

Then I stood in my kitchen, wringing my hands.

Holy Shit. What had I done?

Well, I knew what I’d done, and that’s what had me wringing my hands. I had just invited a handsome almost-stranger into my house with the unspoken intent of having sex with him.

My fingers shook as I took down two fishbowl crystal wine glasses and set them on the counter beside an unopened bottle of Cabernet and a corkscrew. I looked at all the familiar items spread before me, but my mind and my hands weren’t communicating because the rest of my body was yammering on about something else entirely.

The CD player came on in the living room—Dave Matthews, of course, because who can listen to Dave without wanting to have sex?

Taking command of my fingers, at least, I opened the bottle. I measured almost exactly the same amount of Cabernet into each glass, then took a sip from the glass I’d overfilled by just a tad.

Ian came up behind me. “What an incredibly sexy backside.”

What an incredibly sexy voice.

Ian reached around me from behind. His arms bracketed me for a moment then curved to hold me close. With my sexy backside cradled by his sexy front side, I was surrounded by his warmth, his spicy scent, and some mysterious, magical pheromone. I let my head drop back onto his shoulder. He kissed my neck, then turned me around.

He lifted me up until I half-sat on the edge of the kitchen counter. I wrapped my legs around his waist, hooked my ankles together, and rested my thighs on his hard, muscular forearms. My you-know-what was right up against his, and the iron-hard blast-furnace of his erection just about melted my panties.

My body responded without consulting me. My arms wrapped around his neck, my lips parted, my tongue slipped into his mouth.

He opened to me, hot, wet, delicious. His tongue skimmed the roof of my mouth, raising goosebumps on the back of my neck. I was hardly aware of it when he carried me out of the kitchen.

He took his lips off mine. “Where?”

I pointed to the bedroom door with my foot and slipped my tongue back into his mouth. He spread me across the quilt, lifted my dress over my head and tossed it aside. His kisses burned a trail—eyelids, cheeks, jaw, neck—then paused to feast on my collarbone. My skin tingled with static electricity.

“You’re so beautiful.” He caressed my bare breasts. “Your nipples are like little raspberries. I wonder do they taste...” His whispered words trailed away as he nipped lightly then sucked.

“Lord God.” I moaned, and felt his smile against my heated skin.

He chuckled, then moved up to kiss my lips. “I hoped you’d remember my name by now.”

“Ian.” I loved the foreign sound on my lips. “Ian.”

“That’s better.” With a fingertip, he conducted a lazy tour of my body. From my neck... to the tip of one breast... across ribs... across belly... then lower. “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I first saw you.”

I couldn’t help but squirm under his hand. “You have?”

He didn’t answer, but knowing what I needed, brushed lightly at the edge of my panties. Up and down, up and down, he ran a finger along the thin elastic barrier, finally pressing the edge aside, sleeking his finger inside where I wanted it to be.

He propped his head on one hand while the other continued its lethal caress. My eyelids fluttered down, my hands fell limp at my sides.

“Casey.”

“Ahhh,” I said. But it wasn’t exactly in response to what he was saying.

“Casey, do you have