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“You could say that.”
I step forward. Maybe that’s why she’s here on this impulsive visit to Jackson Harbor. Maybe she’s running from someone, escaping a home that’s not safe. “Do you have somewhere safe to go?”
“It’s not that kind of hurt,” she whispers. She swallows, and her gaze dips to my mouth. “Why are you so sad?”
Because you remind me of Elena. Because I couldn’t walk away from her either. “I’m just worried about you.” I don’t know if I step closer or if gravity pulls me that way, but in a breath, she’s at my fingertips and my thighs brush her knees.
“Will you do me a favor?” she asks, her attention still on my lips.
“What?”
“Will you kiss me?”
“Nic . . .” I wait for the excuses to find their way onto my tongue, but they don’t, and I realize I don’t want an excuse to walk away from her. My whole body is warm and my fingers itch to touch her. The only thing I want is my mouth on hers. I want to taste her joy and sadness. I want to know how it feels to have that body pressed against mine.
I’m silent a beat too long, and she winces. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not that I don’t want to, but you’re vulnerable.”
“Are you always so noble?”
“If you think my thoughts are noble right now, you’re even more naïve than I feared.” I lean my forehead against hers. Christ. Who am I kidding? She’s asking me to do something I’ve been thinking about since I first laid eyes on her. I couldn’t deny her if I wanted to, and I don’t want to. Not even a little.
I cup her face in my hand and run my thumb along her jaw.
She slides a hand behind my neck. “I like the way you look at me. You make me feel sexy. Wanted.”
“Who made you feel like you weren’t?”
“A mistake.”
“Then he didn’t deserve you.” I lower my mouth to hers, telling myself the kiss will be brief, that I won’t get carried away. But then her other hand joins the first behind my neck, and her breasts press against my chest. Her thighs part, and I step between them in my instinctive need to be closer. A soft moan slips from her lips as our mouths connect.
This girl kisses like she does everything else—with unabashed emotion. She doesn’t hide a thing she’s feeling, and I’m hard even before her mouth opens under mine and our tongues sweep across each other.
I thread one hand into her hair and slide the other up her bare leg, my fingers curling into the flesh of her hip while my thumb strokes her inner thigh. Her skirt is bunched around her waist, and it would be so easy to follow this soft skin up and find her panties. She’s making the sexiest sounds, and I’m dying to touch her, to find out if she’s as turned on as she sounds, but I keep my hand where it is and give her the kiss she asked for. I offer the evidence that she’s sexy and desirable, no matter what some asshole made her think.
The Wrong Kind of Love © 2018 by Lexi Ryan
Lexi Ryan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of emotional romance that sizzles. A former academic and English professor, Lexi considers herself the luckiest girl around to make a living through storytelling. She loves spending time with her crazy kids, weightlifting, ice cream, swoony heroes, and vodka martinis.
Lexi lives in Indiana with her husband, two children, and a spoiled dog. You can find her at her website: www.lexiryan.com
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