A Redo (Sterling Shore 6)

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, biting back the words I’d really like to say right now.

“I hope you do. Wren is really good about playing innocent even when he’s the devil in charge.”

He continues to grin, and I twist the doorknob to Wren’s room, deciding I’d rather not continue being in the hallway with Billy Prize. I’ll end up telling him what I think, and I have to remember he’s family to Wren and Melanie. Fortunately, it’s not locked, and I shut the door behind me without a backward glance toward Billy.

To my surprise, the light is on, brightly illuminating the enormous room with the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. Large windows are all around the room, and there’s a balcony across from me—way across from me.

Hell, I thought the room I had was big.

“Allie?” Wren’s voice snaps me out of my trance, and I turn my head toward the bathroom where Wren is walking out… in a towel.

My eyes take in his broad shoulders, and I follow the trail of the water that is dripping down the hard lines of his chest and ungodly set of abs. How is it possible for one person to look so good?

I almost whimper when I see the sexy, pronounced V of his lower abdomen until it disappears behind the low-hanging towel that is tied around his hips.

Sex on legs—that’s Wren Prize.

It takes a second to remember I’m drooling, gawking, and losing all dignity. I finally snap my eyes up to see his wet hair that looks blacker with the water in it, and my eyes take their time finding his blue ones that look all too amused.

“Enjoying the sight?” he asks, sounding even cockier than usual as he lifts an eyebrow.

I swallow hard around the instant knot in my throat. This static between us feels supercharged right now, and my entire body is tingling in response to his heated gaze as he shamelessly rakes his eyes down my body. He bites his lower lip as he studies me, and with slow, predatory prowess, he stalks toward me.

“Because I’m sure as hell enjoying what I see,” he says softly, a growl in his voice.

Breathe, Allie. Before you pass out.

My eyes fall down his chest once again, gliding down the toned, tanned skin of a body that deserves to be worshipped. I always hated myself for being so weak and hormonal seven years ago.

I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman, and I’m a frigging puddle. No way did my eighteen-year-old self stand a chance if I’m falling apart right now.

Strong hands grip the smooth material of the gown against my waist, and my head slowly falls back as Wren’s grin forms. His eyes look a little glassy up close, but they don’t usually.

Shit. I still haven’t spoken.

“I guess you missed me,” he says, leaning down and surprising me when he picks me up by my waist, carrying me to the bed.

My breath catches in my throat, and my hands go to his shoulders. A thousand warnings go off in my brain that something isn’t right, but every protest in me dies on my tongue when he lowers me to the bed and slides over me, pushing against me with nothing on but his towel.

A whimper is the only sound I make when his lips attach themselves to mine, and my fingers go to his damp hair, pulling him closer when his talented tongue sweeps in. Fingers run up my legs as he slides my gown up, and I don’t bother fighting him off. I don’t want to.

Every part of me is burning for more, and his hungry kiss kills my resolve to try and think rationally. Fabric tearing resonates in my ears after my gown is pushed up past my hips, and it takes a second to realize he just tore my lace panties away.

A growl comes from his throat as the towel around his waist is ripped away, and I suck in a sharp breath when I feel the heat from his bare skin between my legs. When something very hard nudges against my inner thigh, I whimper again.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says against my lips before he starts kissing down my neck, assaulting more of my nerves and stripping me of the right to think.

Still unable to utter a single word, my head falls to the side as I drink in the feel of his body on mine, and my eyes close to relish each touch. The second his tongue slides against the swells of my breasts, my eyes pop open and I arch into him.

But then I see something that douses me in ice cold water. There’s a bottle of whiskey on the nightstand, and it’s almost gone. Three glasses are next to it, all of them looking recently used, and I frown, going numb against his lips and tongue that are still thoroughly exploring the tops of my breasts.