Bring the Heat Margot Radcliffe (classic romance novels TXT) 📖

Oh God, she was not going to make it.

Meeting his eyes, she felt powerful because he made absolutely no effort to hide his desire for her. Idly, he stroked himself just as he cataloged every inch of her exposed body.

Oliver was a different type of animal than her; he slid in and out of decadence, physical and material. Even the way he moved, he prowled like a leopard, showy and flashy, but no less sly or dangerous for it. His hot, beckoning gaze dared her to be bad, to forget about the circumstances that brought her on this boat and just play with him. It would be harmless if that’s all it was, playing.

Scooting off the railing, locking her eyes with his, she let her own pants fall to the ground.

“Goddamn,” he cursed, the words hushed on his lips. “You’re so perfect.”

Her gaze dropped down to where he was stroking himself. “You, too.”

That grin—perfect white teeth and wide, full lips with eyes dancing—she’d never forgotten it over the years. He shouldn’t be so nice and so handsome and make her feel so different than she normally did. She felt safe with him, less guarded, even though they really hadn’t been close in over seven years.

“You are something else, Molly,” Oliver growled, his thumb running over the head of him, slicking the moisture there around the wide head.

She shrugged, tucking her thumbs into her underwear, glancing at the other boat and feeling unsure if she should continue. “Don’t chicken out now.”

Looking at his eyes only, she tugged down the kelly green cotton boy shorts that weren’t exactly textbook sexy but felt extremely so when his gaze went hot at the sight of them. His hand moved faster and when she straightened back up he was looking at her expectantly.

She bit her lip, pretending to consider whether or not she should take this next step, but knowing there was no way she couldn’t. Her veins were vibrating with lust, just watching him; feeling his closeness even from far away as he struggled with their burgeoning attraction pulled her to him. Her fingers slid down into her folds, inhaling sharply as she encountered the sensitive bud, the welcoming wet heat to smooth her way. Her eyes fluttering closed as she began to move her finger over herself, she heard his grunt of approval on the periphery of her senses.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, and she opened her eyes to see that he’d stopped stroking and was watching her.

She figured it was her turn to put on a show so she leaned back against the railing, legs splayed, head falling back as she let her own moans of pleasure float away in the breeze.

Every muscle strung tight, she was on the verge of going over when movement had her cracking her eyes open. Oliver was striding toward her, a determined look on his face.

“We’re not doing this for the first time in years in front of all these assholes,” he ground out before hoisting her up into his arms and heading off for the interior of the boat. He carefully maneuvered her down the narrow steps to the main deck, where he made a beeline for his master suite.

She inwardly laughed at her assumption yesterday about all the time she’d be spending alone in her own bed. That had been silly. As if she’d had no intention of sleeping with Oliver when she’d accepted this trip. As if she hadn’t relived their time together over the intervening years a million times. She excelled in lying to herself.

He finally set her down at the edge of the bed, her bare feet digging into the soft, plush carpet. Her nipples beaded tightly against the cool air-conditioning and she was still wound up from touching herself. And she also wanted to touch him, so she reached out a hand and placed it flat on his chest between the raised square sections of his pectoral muscles and was shocked at the heat of him, reveled in the patch of rough hair against her palm, the racing of his heart that matched hers.

Licking her lips, she ran her fingers over his nipples, playing there for just a moment before kissing the areas her hand had greeted, licking and caressing and exploring. She wondered how he’d gotten these muscles, if he worked out in a gym every day or if he still lifted anchor chains for exercise like he’d done that summer.

“You always liked touching me,” he said, eyes dark as he followed the movements of her hands.

Her fingertips drew across his collarbone down the corded hills of his biceps and beneath to the delicate skin of his triceps. She grinned when he shivered. “I like knowing the parts of something, how they all work together,” she agreed, her thumb pressing into the taut muscle of his forearm before exploring the contours of his palm and fingers. “And you’ve got some pretty impressive parts.”

Oliver laughed, interrupting her exploration by tugging her in for a quick kiss. “If you pay half as much attention to the best part as you’re doing to all these others, I’ll be a very happy guy.”

“It’s definitely my favorite part,” she murmured against his lips. “And not just because I know exactly how to make it work.”

“Christ, I’ve missed you, Molly,” he sighed against her lips before taking them again in a slow, sweet kiss that she felt in the tips of her toes and in the corners of her heart.

“Me, too,” she whispered back when they came up to breathe.

He stepped away from her and held his arms out. “Well, then, I think it’s time we get reacquainted. Go ahead and study me, Molly.”

She loved that he could command without being bossy—it was the easy way he always had about him; nothing was too serious. Kneeling in front of him, she started at his feet, loving the sounds of frustration and desire he made as she ran