With You

“Emily?”



I just knew if he kissed me with those perfect lips that it would be the single best experience of my life. Okay, I was only twenty, but still I’d been kissed by guys, and I couldn’t imagine them being better kissers than Sculpt. Not that he’d even consider kissing me. “The Sculpt” as the women screamed when he entered the ring, could get any woman he wanted. And from the blonde I’d witnessed, they’d be nothing like me. They were prime rib, and I was pork chops.



“Lego building.”



I jerked at his words. “What?”



“You think too much.”



“So? I have a lot on my mind. And what does Lego have to do with it?”



His dark eyes narrowed. “You build up blocks in your head in techno color.”



He was right—I did. I knew I was way out of Sculpt’s league, but I couldn’t help imagining him doing more than knocking me onto my ass time and again. Since we’d spent two to three hours a week together I thought I’d get over this little infatuation, but I didn’t. It was getting worse, and it was getting worse because we were going for ice-cream after practice, eating our cones while sitting on the curb beside his bike, and he was texting me every day. I really had no clue why he texted me; it was just a quick check in, and it pissed me off, because now whenever my phone vibrated my heart went on a hundred-mile run.



“Did I hurt you?”



I shook my head and met his gaze. He was staring down at me with hooded eyes; they were dark because he was still a little pissed, and his brows lowered over them. And he had these great eye lashes, black and a little long for a guy, but it totally suited him. No wonder I couldn’t concentrate. He was the ultimate distraction.



“You need to pay attention.” He gripped my chin with his thumb and forefinger. “And you should be out shopping, not in this filthy abandoned barn with me.”



I’d chosen a place just on the outskirts of Toronto. I often came here when I managed to snag Matt’s car. I’d sit up on the hill just north of the barn and watch the horses. I’d been coming here for two years, and the herd had grown to thirty-two horses; most of them looked like quarter horses—palominos, pintos, and my favorite the appaloosa—like wild mustangs.



Besides, I’d take a filthy barn with Sculpt any day over shopping. When Kat managed to bring me to the mall with her it was like being dragged slowly across gravel on a sweltering day—naked. Pure torture. She had to try on everything then hum and haw over whether it fit right or if the price was right or if she actually needed it. More often than not, Kat put it back on the rack after spending fifteen minutes trying to come to a decision.



I was feeling pretty confident with the self-defence moves Sculpt had taught me, even though he’d laid me flat on my back a few thousand times without even blinking. It hurt. I had bruises to prove it. But if some guy attacked me again, I at least had some clue as to how to defend myself instead of trembling like a washer on spin cycle.



His thumb stroked back and forth across my chin. I swear he had no idea he was doing that delicious, small movement. But my body new it, felt it, and it was pissing me off. I hated that he could do that to me. I felt out of control, and he was no doubt completely unaware of how he was making my insides burn, my heart race and my skin tingle with shots of electricity.



The last time we were eating ice-cream after our practice, a drip of vanilla escaped the corner of my mouth. Sculpt gently wiped it away with the pad of his thumb before I had the chance to use my napkin. He went back to crunching on his sugar cone while I tried to get control of my body’s reaction to his intimate touch. My only saving grace was that Sculpt never seemed to notice my response to him.



“Eme?” His tone was sharp and agitated.



“I’m paying attention, okay?” I snapped. His brows rose with surprise, and my heart stopped dead then dove into a racing force of beats. “But you sitting on top of me, your hands holding me down, and you looking at me like that . . .” His eyes smoldered, and his lips parted. “Damn it, I’m not fucking immune, okay?”



“Emily.”



I knew he had no interest in me; I was younger by four years, and he could get any girl he wanted. There was no sexiness about me. God, I didn’t even own a pair of high heels. Plus I was a brunette.



His head lowered as he leaned forward. Eyes watching me. Hands on my wrists sliding over my palms until our fingers interlocked.



“Eme.”



I turned my head to the side, not wanting him to see my glistening eyes. “It’s fine. Just get off me.” And then I lied—big time. “It’s not like I’m interested or anything, cause I’m not—at all. You have a shitty track record, you’re cocky, and I hate guys that fight.”



“You know nothing about me.” His tone was harsh, and I quivered beneath him.



“Well, you’re hot. And I’m sure you know it, which is so unattractive.” I’d purposely avoided going to see Sculpt’s band play at Matt’s bar, because Sculpt singing on stage would be my kryptonite.



I certainly didn’t need another reason to drool over him; it was already embarrassing. “I bet you have girls hanging off your every word. Probably after a fight you walk down a row of girls and pick the one you want for the night. How many have you slept with? A hundred? No, you’re a lead singer in a band, so I’m betting more.” Was I blabbering? Damn, I was. Where was my dry mouth when I needed it? God, I sounded absolutely ridiculous. “Listen, I don’t care what turns you on. I need to get home.”



His fingers tightened around mine. “You.”



“Me what?”



He lowered further, and I could feel his breath on my face, the sweet scent of him dragging into my lungs with each inhale. “I don’t sleep around, and you turn me on.”



“Me?” My voice cracked, and my chest heaved in and out.



“Yes.”



“What?” Was my skin tingling? It felt like I was on fire. Were we on fire? Was the barn burning down?



“You heard me.”



“Oh.” Holy bejesus. Five weeks he’d been teaching me self defense, and in those five sexually frustrating weeks I’d been dreaming of him kissing me, touching me, his hands gripping my thighs as he pressed me against the wall, his mouth devouring every inch of my naked body.



He leaned in further. I swear my breath was sucked from my lungs by some mysterious, high-powered vacuum that was hanging above me, because I couldn’t breathe. Being scared and excited does something to your body. The emotions put you into overdrive with trembling limbs, heart pounding, and that sweet ache between your legs. I knew how to satisfy myself, but this . . . this could put my orgasms to shame, because this guy rocketed my body into another dimension.



“Shh, relax Mouse.” The scruff on his face rubbed against the underside of my chin as he kissed my neck. “I’ve been taking you down on the mat for five weeks now . . . feeling your curves beneath me.” He kissed my ear, a nibble on my lobe that sent a spark right through my body, and my fingers tightened around his. “I don’t play games, Eme. If you feel what I do then your time is up.”



“Um, what does that mean?”



“It means I don’t screw around. No games. You’re into me, so now I’m taking you.”



Holy crap. I was trembling, and all I could think about was him taking me. “Okay.”



“I wasn’t giving you a choice. Too late for that.”



“Oh.”



He kissed my chin, then along my jaw line. “Eme, you’re something sweet, and I want sweet. Wanted it for a while now.”



Damn it, kiss me, I screamed. Bad, wrong, or whatever, I wanted him to kiss me.



He pushed back, and I panicked, eyes widening at the thought he was going to leave. Instead, Sculpt stared down at me for several seconds, then released one of my hands and stroked the side of my face until his finger reached my jaw line.



“I kiss you Emily . . . there’s no going back. No other guy kisses you, touches you, or gets to taste what’s mine. I don’t share.”



I started to laugh but quickly frowned. He didn’t look like he was joking. “You’re serious?”



“Yeah, Emily, I am. I don’t share, and I don’t like to lose—ever.” My mouth gaped with shock. Was he kidding me? No, he looked serious, and he was distracting me again with his finger tracing over my ear and then down my neck and back.



“I’m not something to win, Sculpt.”



He huffed. “Yeah you are, Mouse. You’re a trophy. I’ve known that for weeks.”



I gasped. Wow. Just wow.



His finger drew a line down my neck into the hollow then over my collar bone and kept going. “This part right here.” He circled his finger right above the crevice between my breasts. “Is hot. When you’re turned on, it heats up like your cheeks.” He leaned down and kissed the spot, then his tongue traced where his finger had been.



“Sculpt.” My breathing was harsh, and I felt as if my insides had just been set off by a land mine. “Sculpt.”



He raised his head, and his eyes were magnificent, blazing with lust. “Yes?”



He didn’t wait for a response as he trailed kisses up my throat until he hovered over my mouth, barely touching, both of us breathing hard. I lifted my head to try and reach his lips, but he moved back, and I moaned with frustration.



“What’s your full name, Emily?”



“Emily McAughtrie.”



“Emily McAughtrie” The way he said my name sent shivers sprinting across my skin in a heated fever. “I’m going to kiss you now, Miss McAughtrie.”



His mouth came down on mine before I had time to suck in air, and it was hard, possessive and . . . all encompassing. His tongue slipped between my lips then swirled within the heated wetness. He let go of my other wrist, and my hands came down to touch him— fingers curling in his hair while the others caressed his back, feeling the muscles flexing beneath his T-shirt.



His hands were everywhere, holding my head as he deepened the kiss, then running down the side of my body. Every part of me was alive in that one moment. He was ruining me for all other men. There was no other guy who could ever make my body feel more alive than Sculpt did.



“Eme.” He kissed the corner of my lips, then my eyes, then my temple. “This needs to stop.”



“No.” I pulled him down, tilting my head so his lips could take mine again. He groaned as ours mouths met, and I sighed beneath his warmth, suckling on his tongue and sinking my fingernails into his back and dragging down.



It was like I was starving. I couldn’t get enough of him. Comparable to living in gray for years and suddenly Sculpt had woke me up, and I saw a rainbow of color.



He suddenly rolled over and threw his arm over his face, his breathing erratic, chest heaving. “No, Eme. We need to go.”



“Oh.” Did he not like my kiss? I knew I wasn’t that experienced, but it felt like he’d been into it.



He must have heard the disappointment in my voice, because he was up on his side, taking my hand and looking down at me. And those eyes . . . His expression was soft, and yes, there was a hint of frustration, and his brows were drawn together.