Taming Lily (The Fowler Sisters 3)

She takes a few cautious steps toward me, those plump, sexy-as-hell lips still parted in surprise, and my fantasies go into overdrive. I can imagine tracing them with my finger. Slipping my dick between them, hearing her sigh in pleasure just before she licks the head of my cock with her wicked tongue …

“No one’s ever done that for me before. Thank you,” she says sincerely.

Now I’m the one who’s shocked. I push all dirty thoughts out of my head and concentrate on the stunned woman in front of me. “What the hell are you talking about, no one’s ever done that for you before?”

“Rushed to my defense,” she explains, tilting her head to the side, as if she’s observing me in a whole new light. “I’m usually left on my own, having to take care of myself.”

Guilt nails me in the gut and I try to ignore it, but I can’t. I hate her admission, hate thinking of her all alone, all the time. I shouldn’t feel sorry for her. I shouldn’t give two shits about this girl, but … I do. Why? I don’t know her, not really. She’s bound to be more trouble than she’s worth. Only a couple of days in and I’ve already rescued her twice.

Leave. Just turn around and go.

But my feet stay firmly in place.

“That guy …” My voice drifts and I stare at her hard. She’s the one who puts herself in these types of situations. It’s as if she looks for trouble. “He could’ve hurt you if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“I know. It was dumb. I shouldn’t have talked to him, let him get that drink for me.” She moves even closer, and I can smell her. Honey and sunshine. Sweet and warm. “You’re like my white knight.”

“I’m no one’s knight, princess.” I want to say more, but the words get caught in my throat when she wraps her arms around my neck and presses that hot, tight little body against mine. I can feel her, every single inch of her, and my cock twitches in response at the same exact time my brain short-circuits.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, her hand curling around the back of my neck and tugging my head down to hers. “At least for tonight.”

And then she presses her mouth to mine, her lips sweet and insistent, the faintest sigh escaping her when my lips gently part beneath hers. No tongues are involved, just lips and breaths and her fingers tightening around my neck, her mouth so damn soft and damp and fucking delicious. I don’t touch her, just let her guide the kiss, let her have all the control, though it goes against everything I normally do when I’m kissing a woman. I restrain myself from taking it deeper. Harder.

It’s the most difficult thing I’ve done in a long-ass time.

When she pulls away from my mouth, her hand loosening its grip on my neck, I stare down at her, wondering what her motives are. I need to remain suspicious. This girl is the enemy. Hell, more like I’m working for her enemy. I can’t lose focus. “Why’d you kiss me?”

She smiles, managing to be sweet and sexy all at once. Her breasts are nestled close to my chest, the deep V of her dress allowing me a fine glimpse of her cleavage. I could slip my hand beneath the neckline and touch warm, bare skin in seconds. I’d bet good money she’s not wearing a bra. “Aren’t all princesses supposed to kiss their white knight as a way of saying thank you for rescuing them?”

I slip my arm around her waist and tug her closer, her eyes going wide when she feels just how much she’s affected me. She wants it bold? I’ll give it to her bold. “Like I told you, I’m no one’s white knight, princess. No matter how badly you want me to be.”

The sassy look on her face tells me she likes the challenge. “I like it when you call me ‘princess.’ ”

“And I don’t like it when you call me your white knight.” I splay my fingers wide at the small of her back, touching just the top of her ass. I want to smooth my hand down lower and cup her flesh but damn it, we’re in a public place.

A public place called Vice, you idiot. You can do just about anything you want in a club like this.

“Maybe I should call you something else.” Her smile grows. She sure is receptive after nearly getting into a dangerous situation with a complete jackass only minutes ago. “Maybe with that slight drawl of yours, I should call you ‘cowboy.’ ”

I lift a brow. “Drawl?”

“Your accent,” she explains as she slides her hands down the front of my chest, so slow I’m wondering if she’s trying to memorize the sensation of my body beneath her palms. I know I’m sure as hell trying to memorize the feel of her gentle touch. “You’re from the South, right?”

“Maybe,” I say, stretching out the word, letting the Texas back into my voice at full force, liking the spark that lights her eyes.

“Tell me where you’re from,” she demands.

Fuck it. I cup her backside and haul her in as close as I can get her, her eyes going wide, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt so I can feel the light scrape of her nails against my skin. “Awfully demanding, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been known to get my way a time or two,” she practically purrs, her lids lowering as she stares at my chest, her fingers loosening their hold on my shirt.

I squeeze her ass tighter, making her squeak. It would be my absolute pleasure to mark that pretty, pale skin tonight with my bare hands but she probably won’t let me. Bossy thing. “Tell me why you wouldn’t sit with me earlier.” I shouldn’t ask. It’s as if I’m trying to torture myself and I might not like the answer.