Killer Summer, Lynda Curnyn [books suggested by bill gates .txt] 📗

wouldn’t happen to have a condom anywhere, would you?”

“Ah, Sage,” he said, and I knew by the shadow that came into his eyes, that he didn’t.

“My purse,” I said, feeling suddenly glad I always carried my own condoms—and more than a little pleased that he didn’t. “I think I may have dropped it somewhere in the living room.”

He leaped up, moving through the shadowy room like a shot, and returned moments later with my bag in hand.

I almost felt a little sad about covering that beautiful erection of his in latex, but cover it I did, first with my mouth, then with the condom, once I located the packet in my bag.

And then he was in me, completely in me, his eyes on mine as he moved slowly, torturously, touching his mouth to mine in a series of soft kisses that made me ache all the way to my toes.

He started moving faster, those dark eyes on mine and an almost animal sound coming from his mouth.

This was how I had imagined it to be. No, I thought, looking into his eyes, this was better. Better than I could have possibly imagined. So good, in fact, I felt a clutch of possessiveness move through me as my body began to throb beneath his.

cried out and he pressed his mouth to mine, his body shuddering against me as he let go, his hand moving to my hip to pull me closer.

I snuggled against him as he lifted his head, smiling gently down at me as his eyes roamed over my face, his eyes taking me, as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

I knew the feeling, I thought, studying his dark eyes and long lashes, the gentle hook of his nose and stubbly slope of his cheek as I pulled him more tightly against me and, for the first time in my life, prayed I would never have to let go.

Chapter Thirty-five

Nick

Love is the drug. But a little dope doesn’t hurt, either.

A bottle of wine, two steaks and eighty-five dollars later, I realized that Francesca might be more than I could handle. Hefty price tag aside, dinner wouldn’t have been so bad if maybe she had done more than sit sulkily in her chair, picking at her food. I guess I never realized how quiet she was. I even ordered us some after-dinner drinks in the hopes of getting some life into her, but she only sipped at her cocktail sullenly. Like she was depressed. Or something.

Maybe she had always been like this. Maybe I’d been so focused on that hot body of hers that I hadn’t noticed the head wasn’t screwed on too tight. I mean, yeah, I guess I thought she was psycho to begin with. But weren’t most chicks psycho anyway, on some level? Especially once you got into their pants. Analyzing every little word you said. Making all sorts of demands and shit.

But this was different. Francesca wasn’t making demands. Or analyses, for that matter. In fact, it was as if she was uninterested in everything. She barely even touched the expensive steak she’d ordered. Hardly batted an eye at the amazing sunset that shimmered across the bay as we sat over our meals.

It was making me a little crazy, to be honest. I was on edge the whole time we were at the restaurant, wondering what was going on in that head of hers. Talking way too much about myself, about my business, even going as far as mentioning the Les conundrum, but that only earned me a look of disdain.

By the time we were done and walking back to the house in the darkness, 1 was damn frustrated. Even more so when I looked down at her as she walked beside me, looking so fucking pretty in that dress, her hair falling over her soft cheeks…

“What are you doing?” she cried.

I wasn’t even sure. All I knew was one minute I was wondering and worrying about her, and then the next, I had picked her up and flipped her over my shoulder.

“Kidnapping you,” I replied, spotting the wooden walkway to the beach in the distance and heading straight for it.

“Put me down,” she said, her hands beginning to pummel at my back. But she was laughing.

I never thought I’d be so glad to hear that happy sound.

Once we were on the beach, I did put her down, easing her gently to the cool sand, then plopping myself beside her.

“I’ve got something to cheer you up,” I said, then reached into my pocket for my bag of weed. I hadn’t been smoking much out at the house—at least not in the presence of Tom. Mostly because I sensed Tom might not approve. But Francesca looked like she did.

“Where’d you get that?” she said, her eyes lighting up.

“I have my resources,” I replied, pulling out my one hit pipe and filling it.

I handed it to her, then held the lighter over the bowl, watching as she toked on the end of the pipe. “Atta girl,” I said, which only earned me a puff of smoke in the face and a glare.

“I’ve smoked pot before,” she said, snatching the lighter from me and taking another hit.

I watched as she inhaled, closing her eyes as she did, then opening them again as she blew out. “That tastes good,” she said, looking at me with surprise.

“Of course it’s good,” I said, taking the pipe from her and refilling it. “I don’t fool around when it comes to my dope.” I took a hit, then leaned over and placed my mouth against hers, blowing the smoke in. When I pulled my mouth away, she blew it back out, giggling as she did.

“Let me try,” she said, taking the pipe from me and lighting it. Once she filled her mouth with smoke, I opened my mouth over hers to receive it, leaning back and looking into her eyes as I slowly let the