Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Elizabeth Knox (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📖

Then I show him the answer with my kiss.

After long minutes of kissing and clinging to each other, he lifts his mouth an inch and whispers, “You want to get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“How’d you get here?”

“Uber.”

“Good. Then we don’t have to worry about your car.”

“That was the plan.”

He grins and taps my forehead. “That’s what I like about you, Sara. You’re always thinkin’.”

7 Sara

It’s past midnight by the time we get back to Irish’s house. He parks and comes around to help me out of his truck. I stare up at his childhood home. “You still live here?”

“Moved back not long ago. My grandmother left it to me.”

I meet his eyes. “She died?”

He nods. “Couple months back.”

“I’m so sorry. I always liked her.”

“She liked you too.” He jerks his chin toward the front. “Come on.”

I gather my skirts as I climb the stairs, and he unlocks the door. I sweep inside, stopping on the parquet floor to glance around the place. Dressed as I am, it’s almost like we’ve stepped back in time to a bygone era when women dressed in long gowns and walked up the front walk from a carriage dropping them at the street.

“It’s just like I remember,” I say, suddenly nervous. For as close as we were in high school, it’s been twenty years since I’ve seen this man. There’s so much I want to know. I wonder what he’s been doing all this time. Is he divorced? Was there a wife? Children? Did he ever take up welding like his uncle? I heard rumors he’d joined the military after 9/11, like so many of the boys in our graduating class did that year. Has it changed him?

He turns to me and tilts my face to his with a finger under my chin. Perhaps he can see in my eyes all those things I’m wondering about. He shakes his head. “No questions tonight. We can get to all that tomorrow, I promise. Tonight . . . tonight I just want to feel and remember everything we had.”

“And find out if it’s still there?” I whisper.

He nods. “Though I already know the answer, at least for me. It’s still there, hell, I don’t think it ever left me.”

His mouth lowers to mine, and he pulls me against his hard body. I melt against him, feeling safe, and protected, and treasured. His touch is gentle but firm. Finally, he lifts his head to stare into my eyes. “Come upstairs with me.”

It’s not a question, but I nod my head anyway, and take his hand.

The room he leads me to is huge, and my eyes fall to the carved four-poster bed. It’s as grand as the house.

Irish drops my hand and moves to the fireplace. He squats by the hearth and lights one of those easy-light fire logs you buy at the grocery store. The bag catches, and soon the log is blazing and sizzling. I can feel the heat radiating.

Irish returns to me and takes my hands in his. “Let me take care of you tonight, okay?”

I nod, lost in the deep feelings I see in his eyes and completely under his spell.

He reaches up, and begins pulling the pins from my hair, dropping them to the oriental carpet. Finally, the mass of curls tumble around my shoulders, and he threads his fingers through it.

“Soft as silk. Always was.”

I lift my hands to the black studs fastening his tuxedo shirt, and slip them free, one by one.

He pulls it off his shoulders, then strips the white undershirt over his head, and tosses them both to a chair.

My gaze drops to his muscled chest and the colorful ink that scrolls across it. In the firelight I can’t make out what it all is, but it looks badass, and I stroke my palms over his skin. His belly quivers under my fingertips, and he drags in a shuddering breath.

At my touch?

He’s ridged with muscle and just a soft, thin trail of hair to his belly button that disappears into his slacks.

I lift my gaze to his. He’s got that smoldering hunger in his eyes I remember from high school, only this time it’s mixed with danger and a commanding presence that ups the heat level off the charts.

“Turn around,” he orders softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead, his hands already on my waist, turning me, taking control.

He works the hooks down the back of my tight corset, taking his time and drawing it out. His mouth nuzzles the back of my neck, and his lips press kisses along the bare skin of my shoulders until the anticipation has me trembling.

He mistakes my reaction, whispering in my ear, “You nervous, Sara?”

I shake my head and tilt it, giving him better access.

“You know I’d never hurt you, not in a million years. I can take this as slow and gentle as you want—as you need—baby girl.”

I melt inside at his words and drop my head back against his chest. He reaches the last hook and pulls my dress free to fall in a billowing cloud on the carpet around my feet. Now I’ve nothing on but a pair of lacy satin panties and thigh-high stockings.

He steps closer, his arm snakes around my waist from behind, and he hauls me against his big, solid body. I gasp, and his rough hands close over my bare breasts, turning the gasp to a moan. The firelight flickers over my skin in golden and orange hues while desire licks over my body. Irish dips his head to my shoulder, his cheek to mine, and he watches as he squeezes and thrums his thumbs over my peaked nipples. And oh my God, the way it feels.

I loll my head on his shoulder and moan in pleasure.

“God, you’re beautiful, Sara. The way you react to me, prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I rub myself against him; his words working their