Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance (72 page)

Y
anking the cidery door open
, I walk inside, grateful for the rush of warm air when I enter the building. I push a rogue strand of hair away from my face and tuck it back into my ponytail. "Damn, Mary," I call. "It's starting to get chilly out there in the mornings."

The sound of her laughter reverberates through the front room of the distillery, and the door to the back room swings open as she walks through the doorway, Luke trailing behind her.

"Autumn," Mary says. "Luke was just telling me the funniest story about –"

"Yes," I interrupt, my tone harsher than I intend it to be. I swallow hard, hoping I sound more businesslike than jealous, because I'm totally not jealous and have no reason to be, I remind myself. "I didn't realize you were in the cidery today,
Mr. Saint
."

Luke shouldn't be in the cidery. He should be outside in the orchard overseeing the workers, or repairing a fence, or… something. Like the last time – standing in the sun, sweat glistening off his shirtless chest…

On second thought, it's good that Luke Saint is in here, fully-clothed and not doing manual labor.

"I was looking for you, actually,
Ms. Mayburn
," Luke says, emphasizing my name. My face flushes warm at the way my name rolls off his tongue, slow and warm. Intimate.

I tell myself that the way it sounds is all in my imagination, not intentional on his part, merely an inappropriate fantasy of mine.

But when my eyes meet his, even standing here on the other side of the room, it doesn't dilute the sensation. In fact, arousal practically floods my body, the intensity of his gaze causing heat to flow through me.

Mary stands beside Luke, awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to another as she looks back and forth from me to him. Clearing her throat, she gestures toward the door. "You know, I actually had something to get outside," she says before scurrying past us and out the door.

I'm suddenly embarrassed by Mary's obvious discomfort, as if it somehow makes whatever attraction between Luke and I—that I swear is only in my head—suddenly real. Now
I'm
the one shifting my weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"She ran out of here quickly," Luke says, the sides of his mouth curled up in a knowing smile.

"I don't know why," I say, my tone imperious. But my voice falters, and I tell myself to stop acting like a silly schoolgirl with a stupid little crush. The sight of a cute guy should not be enough to make me lose my mind. It's never been a problem with a guy before, and there's no reason for it to be now. "She should have stayed to listen to the story you were telling her."

Now I sound like a jealous girlfriend.

But Luke just saunters toward me with the kind of cocky confidence that guys like him always have, their egos propped up by women hanging on every word they say because they're
that
kind of gorgeous. I tell myself I'm not one of those girls. Yet, when he reaches me, I find myself closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, some kind of reflex I can't quite control.

God, he smells good.

"I was looking for you," he says.

"Well, I'm glad you found someone to amuse you in the meantime."
Damn it.
I don't even think before I open my mouth. I sound possessive and filled with pettiness.

"Jealous, Red?" Luke asks.

"Not in the least," I lie.

"It's kind of cute." He’s suddenly closer than he was a minute ago, his proximity so intimate that it takes my breath away.

"Cute," I repeat stupidly. It's like my brain can't process what he's saying because I'm too focused on watching his lips move as he speaks. Except him speaking isn't exactly what I'm thinking about when I look at those lips.

I picture those lips against my skin, moving down my abdomen, and farther…

"Adorable, actually," he says, looking down at me, his voice low.

"Adorable. Like a puppy." People don’t see me as cute. Men don't see me as cute. Or adorable, which seems exponentially cuter than cute. Competent. Capable. Bitchy, even. That's how men see me.

"That's not exactly what I was thinking," he says, his voice soft.

"Oh?" I ask, barely choking out the word. "What were you thinking?" My voice cracks mid-syllable, and I swallow hard. My body feels wired, goose bumps dotting my skin even though Luke hasn't even touched me, every inch of me tingling with the anticipation of his touch.

And then he does it. He touches me.

He reaches out and slides his hand to the nape of my neck, pulling me against him in one swift movement before I can even react. A small moan escapes my lips before he covers my mouth with his, and I can't do anything except melt into him. He kisses me, full and hard, his tongue finding mine like a long-lost lover.

Most first kisses are awkward, at least the ones I've had. They're tentative, hesitant, two people who don't know each other, finding each other.

Not this kiss. This kiss isn't the least little bit awkward. It's familiar, as if Luke's lips were always meant to be pressed against mine.

That thought shakes me to my core. I pull away from Luke, touching my fingers to my lips, the lips he just kissed. "I – " I struggle to get the word out. Me, the one who's never been at a loss for words. "I – I'm sorry."

The corners of Luke's mouth turn up. "I'm not."

I need some distance between us. I need space. Being near him, touching him, breathing in his scent, looking into his eyes… it all has the effect of making me dizzy, unable to think clearly. I need to be levelheaded. Mature. I'm not someone who loses herself in a kiss, a look, a touch. I'm a businesswoman. A mother. "I – that – shouldn't have happened."

"You're so full of shit," he says, and the language catches me off-guard.

"What?" I bristle at his tone. "I'm your boss. I'm–"

The door opens, and Mary walks back inside, looking hesitatingly back and forth between us. "I just needed – "

I clear my throat again. "No worries, Mary. I'm actually on my way back up to the house." I don't hesitate before turning around and walking back to the house, my lips still throbbing from Luke's kiss.

Luke is behind me on the way back to the house. I know he is, but I walk faster, as if by ignoring him he will disappear. I don't know what to say to him. I'm mortified that I lost control, embarrassed that I let myself kiss him. I should have remained professional. I shouldn't be fantasizing about how his hands would feel roaming my body.

There are a lot of
shouldn'ts
with Luke. Everything about him is one giant
should not
.

I pause, my hand on the doorknob, while Luke stands behind me, not daring to turn around and look at him. If I do, if I see the way he looks at me and that hunger in his eyes, my resolve will be completely and utterly washed away.

So I don't turn around. I stand there, with my hand on the doorknob, not turning it because I'm torn between desire and being appropriate.

If there's one thing in my life I've always been, it's appropriate. I studied hard, got good grades, and went to the right schools. I married the right man, the one who looked good on paper, the one I thought would be an asset to my father's company.
So what if the chemistry was non-existent?
I told myself.
It was something that would develop over time.

Except that I got absolutely everything wrong with Edward. He was the wrong man in every way.

"Why are you running, Red?" Luke asks. His voice rumbles low under his breath.

I don't turn around. Instead, I lie. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm going into my house because I have work to do. No one's running anywhere."

When he steps closer to me, the air changes between us, causing goose bumps to flit over my skin, up my arms and shoulders, across my back. "Why are you lying, Red? Are you really going to tell me you felt nothing back there?"

"It was just a kiss, Luke," I whisper. "One that shouldn't have happened at all."

"Just a kiss," he says softly. His breath wafts over the back of my neck, and I close my eyes. I want him to touch me. I want to feel the weight of his hands on my shoulders, sliding down my arms, over my breasts, to my waist. And lower.

"Yes." The word comes out like a gasp. "It was just a kiss. That's all."

"That's why you can't turn around and look at me right now, Red. Because that kiss was no big deal."

My hand is on the doorknob, and I stare at it, trying desperately to communicate the message to my muscles that my brain seems intent on not sending.
Open the damn door, let yourself into the house, and shut him out. Go back to burying yourself in work, to being a mother and nothing more.

But my hand doesn't move. Instead, Luke's hand covers mine, his lips on my ear. "That's why you're standing here with your hand on the door, not moving," he whispers. "Because you didn't feel a damn thing when I kissed you."

"Luke," I begin to protest, but the sensation of his breath on my neck makes me practically writhe with anticipation. Heat pools between my legs and I want to give in. I want to do something wild and reckless and uncharacteristically out of control.

"Where's Olivia?" Luke asks softly.

"Toddler music class," I answer. "She goes to class with Greta, and then they go to the park."

"Toddler music class," Luke repeats, his hand unmoving. His lips brush the side of my neck, and I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning. It's been so long since I've been with anyone that Luke's touch feels so good, it's almost painful. "That's a real thing?"

"It's a real thing." I’m barely able to focus. "I mean, they basically run around and listen to kids' songs and…" My voice trails off. I know I'm babbling, the most nervous I've been in years, more so than any business meeting has ever made me. Why does Luke make me so nervous?

"Open the door," Luke whispers, his voice low. "Now."

"I'm not sure we should – "

He moves his hand from mine, places his hands on my waist, and presses his hardness against my ass. Suddenly, I can't think of anything except what he would feel like inside me. "Open the door, because we both know you want me."

I choke out a laugh. "Shit, you're full of yourself."

But I open the door. And the second we step inside, Luke shuts it, slamming me hard against it before reaching up to turn the lock. He slides his hand under my shirt, the movement furious, cupping my breast, his finger finding its way under the fabric of my bra. My nipple hardens immediately to his touch, and he smiles as he watches me writhe under him. It's exquisite pleasure when he touches me, and he knows it.

"Full of myself?" he asks, his lips so close to mine they're nearly touching. I want to feel his lips again. I ache for him to kiss me.

"Full of yourself," I agree, my words catching in my throat. "Yes. Exactly.
Definitely
full of yourself."

"You'd love to be…
full
of
me
," he says, grinning as he thumbs my nipple, and I think I might come from the sensation alone.

"You're juvenile," I say, and he slides his hand from my shirt. For a second, I think he's taken it away, a reaction to me insulting him, but he reaches lower to my waistband, flicking open the button of my pants with a single, obviously well-practiced motion. He yanks my jeans over my hips and slips his hand down the front of my panties before I can even register what he's doing.

When I do realize, I put my hand against his chest, halfheartedly intending to push him away, to tell him I can't possibly do something like this – and up against the front door of my house, no less – but then he's sliding his fingers over my clit, and the sensation that ricochets through my body nearly makes my knees buckle. I have to cling to the fabric of his shirt to even stay upright.

"Juvenile." His mouth is close to mine. "Tell me you still think I'm fucking juvenile now, Red."

He rolls his fingers over my clit, stroking me until my brain is entirely enveloped in a fog of need and desire, until I can't possibly think clearly.

"I – " I start, but I stop myself. I can't remember why I was objecting before.

"What, Red?" he whispers. His eyes are trained on mine as he slips his fingers lower. "You're so fucking wet, so fucking hot for me right now. I'll bet your pussy is throbbing for me. Just admit it. Say it for me."

When he presses his fingers against me, I inhale sharply. "I am," I agree, my voice barely audible. "I'm so… wet."

Luke groans loudly, bringing his mouth down on mine as he plunges two fingers inside me in one swift movement. His other hand comes around the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, gripping the roots, pulling me into him. He kisses me like he owns me, dominant and possessive, in a way no one's ever kissed me before.

And what he does with his fingers inside me, the way he strokes me, isn't like anyone's ever touched me before. He plays me with his fingers like he already knows me, and every part of my body feels alive, positively buzzing with electricity.

When he pulls his lips away from mine, his eyes are filled with lust. "I've wanted this since I first saw you," he says, his fingers still working their magic inside me.

I reach for the button on his pants, but he just laughs.

"Not so fast," he growls. "First, I'm going to make you come right here on my fingers, right in the doorway of your house. Then, I'm going to rip those jeans right off you, and lick you until you come again on my tongue. Then, and only then, do you have permission to reach for my cock."

"I have permission?" I ask, the question punctuated by short breaths, gasps I can't help as Luke presses his fingertips inside me, against the place that sends me hurtling closer to the edge. "You're so… fucking… arrogant…"

Luke just grins. "You heard what I said. Permission," he repeats. "And I'm not arrogant. I just know what I want."

He continues to stroke me, bringing me higher and higher, and I cling to him, desperately wanting to reach out and undo the button of his jeans, to wrap my hand around his cock. I can see it, his hardness clearly outlined, pressing against the fabric of his jeans, and the sight nearly pushes me over the edge.