Pure Seduction Frank, Ella (little readers .TXT) 📖

Thank you, Jesus. I dropped my heels to the floor and slid my feet inside.

“But Laurel?”

“Yeah?”

“Jake’s almost an adult now. It might be time you start thinking about you for a change. I’m pretty sure he wants you to be happy too, and why not with someone who’s right there in front of you?”

That might be the case, but Noah wasn’t the answer to that. We had way too much history, and he was only going to be here for a year at the most. Then he’d pack his bags and head back to Italy. That didn’t scream happiness to me—it screamed heartbreak all over again, and having barely survived it the first time around, I wasn’t about to voluntarily sign up for a second chance.

“I really should go.” I walked to the kitchen door, but before I left, I stopped and looked back at my friend. “Hey, Willa?”

She glanced up from the blueberries she was washing.

“You might want to take some of that advice for yourself.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I go on dates all the time.”

“I know you do.” I looked around the kitchen she’d poured all her time and effort into over the last ten years—five of which had been renovation. “But maybe it’s time you start looking at what’s in front of you?”

Before she could tell me something along the lines of I don’t see anyone, I quickly headed out the door, leaving her to ponder what it was I was truly getting at.

17

Noah

THE SMELL OF freshly baked muffins was not a bad way to start a Sunday morning. I could think of an even better one that involved smooth skin moving on top of mine while soft curls fell around my face, but for now, I could settle for baked goods.

Last night had been a lesson in sweet torture and painful restraint. One my body was still rebelling against this morning as I thought about the sensual way Laurel had responded to my touch.

When I returned to my room last night, I’d spent the better part of the evening kicking myself for pulling back after finally getting the green light. But then I reminded myself just how explosive it would be if I let those sparks that had flickered build to an all-out burn, and suddenly I was happy I’d left things where I had.

I glanced at the clock to see it was just turning eight, and I wondered if Laurel was still somewhere here at the B&B. If I had to guess, she’d already left for the morning. She didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’d stick around for a potentially awkward scene the next day. Not that she had anything to feel awkward about.

Laurel had turned into the sexiest women I’d ever had my hands on, and every time I closed my eyes last night, I’d thought about her in some way or another. Her mouth, her hair, that sinful moan that slipped free when I gripped it just a little too tight.

Even now as I lay here, I could clearly see her lust-filled eyes as she stared up at me with the hazy look of arousal, and I reached under the sheet to rub my aching cock.

Fuck. If this was what she could do to me from a ten-minute make-out session with all our clothes on, I couldn’t begin to imagine the power she would wield naked, in my bed.

I shoved aside the covers and thought about heading to the shower, but I knew if I got in there this morning I’d finish what I’d started just now—and for some demented reason, I found myself wanting to wait. I would wait until I got inside that hot, luscious body of Laurel’s, and that was when I’d finally let go.

Once I was decent, I made my way downstairs, following the mouth-watering scent in the air. Willa was a damn fine baker, I’d learned that firsthand over the past week, as I’d enjoyed her morning pastries, muffins, and pancakes. But if I didn’t get out of here and find somewhere else to live, and soon, I was going to end up fifty pounds heavier.

However, when I walked into the dining area where the usual breakfast setup was located, I found an empty table. There was no tablecloth, no tray filled with different juices, no coffee or tea sitting at the far end. There was absolutely nothing, and for a moment I wondered if I’d missed something on the brochure that said there were no breakfasts served on Sundays.

Just as that thought entered my mind, the kitchen door swung open and Willa rushed out carrying the tray of juices. When she spotted me, she plastered on a smile, and I rushed over to help her.

“Good morning,” she said as I took the tray from her. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it. I’m just running a little behind.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind, and good morning to you.”

I placed the tray on the table, and when she hurried off into the kitchen, I followed, ready to lend a helping hand. I pushed through the door and stepped inside, and the sight that greeted me was impressive, to say the least.

There must’ve been over a hundred muffins around the large kitchen. There were some in Tupperware containers, some in baskets, some on cooling racks, and some still in trays.

Willa grabbed one of the baskets on the end of the counter and whirled back around, barely missing running right into me. “Oops.” She laughed and then waved a hand behind her. “Ignore all of this. I make muffins on Sundays for the town, and, well, you’re the only guest here right now, and time got away from me.”

I took the basket she was holding. “You make muffins for the entire town?”

Willa glanced over her shoulder and shrugged. “Give or take a few. We have our local Sunday baseball match.”

“That’s right. I remember those. They still have them, huh?”

“They sure do. Rain, hail, or shine. I often