Connell (Carolina Reapers 3)

Her father took the cue, and after hugging Annabelle and shaking my hand, the two departed.

Annabelle popped one of the grapes in her mouth, and I watched, utterly transfixed as her lips closed over it. Fuck, that mouth was going to get me into trouble.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, staring at the grapes.

“Ye already said that,” I reminded her. “Now what’s the deal with your sister?”

Her gaze snapped to mine, and it wasn’t friendly. “Why do you ask?”

The granite counters were cool against my back as I leaned against it so I could watch her. “Because the minute she walked in, ye turned to a statue, but I can tell ye love her.”

“I do,” she answered defensively. “Savannah is one of my best friends. She taught me all about makeup and dresses and boys. She really is the perfect sister.” Her eyes flickered toward the peeled cupcake, and I pushed it toward her. “She means well,” she whispered, and I knew she wasn’t talking about her sister.

“That’s a question for another time. Why were you so uncomfortable when she got here if you think she’s perfect?”

Annabelle lifted the cupcake and took a bite.

Damn, I wanted to taste those lips.

“Because you were here,” she answered after a moment.

“I don’t follow.” Her sister had seemed protective of Annabelle, not predatory.

“You wouldn’t.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “She’s perfect. Beautiful face, beautiful body, beautiful heart.”

“So are ye.”

The woman glared at me.

“What? Ye are.”

“I’m pretty,” she admitted. “And I try my best to be a good person. To make things better for other people. But I’m no Savannah. She’s a damned beauty queen! When you think of the epitome of the American standard of beauty, Savannah is it. No, don’t look at me like that. You asked, and I’m answering. I’ve always been...thicker than my sister, and I’m good with it. I love my body. I love my life—”

“I happen to love your body, too,” I assured her, letting my eyes wander to the rise of her breasts at her neckline.

“Shush.” She wagged a finger at me. “I love my sister. I’d die for her. But I’ve never brought home a boy who didn’t take one look at her and think they were with the wrong Clarke sister, and just the thought that you might look at her like they did had me as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”

“I don’t even know where to start with that statement.” She thought I’d want her sister?

“You don’t start with it.” Her voice dripped sass as she took another bite of her cupcake.

“Lass, those boys were idiots, thank God.”

She looked at me like I was the daft one and swallowed her cupcake. “What?”

I took the cupcake from her hand and put it on the counter, only because I wanted her full fucking attention. Then I pivoted until I stood in front of her and pressed her back against the counter. “They. Were. Daft. And I’m so bloody thankful because if one of them had realized what a treasure ye are, I wouldn’t be here with ye.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, but she didn’t shy away. No, the lass lifted her chin and stared me down.

“I don’t want your sister.” I gripped her hips and groaned as her flesh filled my hands. “I don’t want any other woman, and that’s actually a problem for me right now because this body? It’s all I see when I close my eyes at night.”

Her lips parted and she rested her hands on my chest, but they didn’t push me away.

“Fuck, Annabelle, you have me twisted in knots, and all we’ve ever done is kiss.” I rubbed my lips over hers but didn’t kiss her.

She gripped my shirt and tugged me closer. “I’m not your type.”

“Fuck that. You are exactly my type. Soft and curved and so fucking sexy that I’m permanently hard when you’re near.”

“What?” she arched for a kiss, but I held my lips just above hers, not giving in to what either of us clearly wanted.

“You heard me.” I pulled her against my erection. “Feel that? Now tell me again that you’re not my type. You Americans have such a fucked up idea of what a woman should look like—should feel like.” I gripped her arse, and she gasped as I lifted her easily, placing her on the counter.

“What should a woman feel like?” she asked, her breaths coming faster.

I cupped her face between my hands and let my thumbs graze over her skin. “Soft, with silky skin just like this.” I passed over her lips and almost forgot what I was doing when she kissed the pad of my thumb. “Lips made for kissing, just like these.”

I lowered my head and passed my lips over hers, letting my tongue catch the sweet aftertaste of frosting on her lower lip.