Hot Winter Nights

Lucas slid his hand around to the nape of her neck, pulling her in closer, brushing his lips over hers, lightly at first, small, teasing kisses until it wasn’t enough. She moaned for more, touching her tongue to his bottom lip until he deepened the kiss.

Closing her eyes, she let herself fall into the sensations. The sound of the rain hitting the roof of the car. The taste of Lucas, the feel of his touch, the scent of him, the heat radiating off his body . . . all of it making her feel like this was all that mattered. Screw thinking. All she wanted to do was feel.

As if he could hear her thoughts and he agreed, he made a low sound deep in his throat, tightening his grip on her as he pulled his mouth back a fraction. “Be sure, Molly. Because after last night I didn’t think we’d—”

“Shh.” Not wanting to think about last night, or what would happen later, she brushed her mouth up his jaw toward his ear at the same time as she slid her hand beneath his T-shirt to caress his abs. “I’m sure,” she whispered and nipped his earlobe.

With a low growl, he hauled her over the console and into his lap. Outside, the icy rain and windstorm continued to beat at the car. They’d heated up the interior and fogged all the windows, so the real world was a complete blur. Inside, things went just as wild, but thankfully without the cold. Just the crazy heat and chemistry between them as he aided the already rising hem of her dress northbound until he had a front row view of her pale blue lace panties.

With a rough sound of pure male pleasure, he ran a finger along the lace, making her fist her hands in his hair to hungrily pull his mouth back to hers. When he slipped past the lace barrier and gently stroked her wet flesh, she arched against his hand and cried out.

She’d only meant to tease him out of his famed control so that he’d feel some of what she did, but she was the one she’d teased out of control. She needed him now, and to that end, she reached for the button on his jeans.

He caught her hand. “Not here.”

She rested her forehead against his, her breathing irregular and coming in short gasps. “Why not?”

“Because you deserve a bed.”

“I don’t need a bed.”

“Good to know. But inside at least, where no one can interrupt us, because Molly?”

“Yeah?”

“This is going to take a while.”

She gulped and the bones in her legs melted as he came around for her, grabbing her hand, running with her through the cobblestone courtyard up the stairs to his fourth-floor apartment.

They were drenched and dripping all over the hallway as he pulled out his keys. When he turned to the door, Molly took in the way his shirt clung to the muscles of his shoulders and back, and utterly unable to help herself, she ran a hand down his spine.

He dropped his keys and swore.

Smiling as he straightened, she pressed a kiss to his wet biceps.

With a groan, he shoved the door open, curled an arm around her and pulled her inside. Kicking the door closed, he picked her up and headed with fierce intent toward his bedroom. Setting her down by the bed, he stripped off his wet shirt before backing up a few steps to hit the light switch with a slap of his hand.

Then he came back to her, dropped to his knees and fisted his hands in the material of her dress to tug off of her.

“Wait,” she gasped.

Going still, he met her gaze, his passion in check thanks to his incredible control, but she’d bet by the look in his eyes, he was barely leashed.

She’d felt that way herself only seconds ago, but the light flooding the room had been like a bucket of ice water. “The light . . .”

“Molly.” He cupped her face. “I want to see you.”

“Yeah . . .” She squeezed her hands together and stared down at her white knuckles. “About that. Um . . .”

Holding her gaze, he glided his hands up and down her thighs. “You’re beautiful, Molly. Let me show you how much.”

“See, I was sort of planning to skip the show part.”

He took her chilled hands in his warm ones, a question in his eyes, though he didn’t say speak.

She blew out a breath. “Okay, so I have a . . . thing.”

“A thing.”

“A hang-up thing,” she said.

“Okay, well, that’s better than what I thought you were going to say. A hang-up we can work with.”

“I—Wait,” she said. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“That you didn’t want to get me naked again.”

She snorted. “Have you seen you naked? I’d have to be dead to not want to get you that way again.”

He didn’t smile. Instead he rubbed her still chilled hands between his and then pressed them to his chest. “Molly.”

“Right,” she murmured. “You realize I’m trying to scare you off.”

“Yes, but I don’t scare off easily.”

“I’m starting to get that.” She blew out a breath. “Okay, it’s just that . . . You know what happened to me, about the surgeries.”

“Yes, and it sucks you went through that, but they helped, right?”

“Some,” she said. “They’ve gone in from my front, from the back, and in through my side. And there are scars. Ugly ones. And I don’t know if you know, but if you’re not a size two with zero body fat, and if you have a bunch of scars in some of your . . . problem areas, things don’t look quite right once you heal. There are bulges where there shouldn’t be bulges and—”

“I’ve felt your scars,” he said. “They don’t matter. They’re just a road map of your life. I have plenty myself. Nothing changes the fact that I think you’re incredibly sexy and absolutely perfect.”

“But that’s because we were in the dark,” she said, “and you were highly motivated to get to the good stuff.”

He flashed a smile at that. “Still highly motivated. But, Molly, it’s all the good stuff.”

Damn, he was good. “Okay, so here’s the real thing,” she said.

“Finally.”

“So when I’ve been in this situation before . . .” God, this was awkward. So awkward. “People sort of freaked out on me and then I couldn’t . . . um, finish, so to speak, and I ruined everything.”

Still on his knees before her, butt-ass naked, he didn’t budge. Maybe he didn’t even blink. “People?”

“My first boyfriend.” She grimaced. “And my second.” She’d been nineteen when she’d dated Ben. They’d both been inexperienced and it’d been several times before they’d had sex with enough light for him to really get a look at her. There’d been no missing his reaction—and she’d only had two of the surgeries at that time—but he’d gone from aroused, to horrified, to pity.

Pity was her kryptonite.

And maybe the worst part of it was later, when he’d tried to deny his reaction, they’d petered out before trying again.

Her second boyfriend, Tim, had been four years later. She’d been twenty-three. They’d dated for six months, during which time she’d managed to make it so they’d only had sex in the relative dark. If he ever questioned the feel of her scars, he’d never said a word. She’d liked him. A lot. Probably too much. She’d let her guard down and allowed herself to be talked into going out on his family’s boat on Lake Shasta. He’d taken one look at her in her bathing suit and gotten that expression in his eyes.