The Bachelor (Chandler Brothers 1)

“I didn’t think you’d care about the hows or the whys.” She reached for the collar of his denim shirt and ran a shaking finger down one pointed edge.

He actually broke into a sweat. “I do have morals and standards, you know.”

“You’re also up front about your intentions. You aren’t sticking around. I appreciate your honesty.”

“I’ll always be honest with you, Charlotte.”

“Well, I decided that works fine for me.” A hesitant smile tipped her lips. “You want to acknowledge the attraction? So do I.” She swallowed hard. “I … I want you, Roman.”

“Oh, damn,” he muttered. What kind of man could resist a declaration like that? His hand came around the back of her neck, his fingers threaded into her hair, and he sealed his mouth tight over hers.

This first kiss began gently, indulging the need to explore, but quickly flared out of control, thanks to the hunger of too many pent-up years. A driving need to make up for lost time consumed him. Hot and ravenous, he ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, demanding entry, and she gave it to him. She was moist and damp inside, sweet and pure, and she tasted so damn right.

A throaty moan escaped her lips. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but she backed up and he followed, his mouth never leaving hers. They hit the wall behind them. Once they were in the small, enclosed dressing room, the swinging doors closed shut, sealing them inside. His hands traveled from her neck to grip her waist, pulling them into intimate contact. His groin nestled into the vee of her legs and his erection grew, swelling with need as he found a warm and welcoming home.

Her damp feminine heat cushioned him through the rough denim of his jeans. “Sweet Jesus,” he muttered, his body full to bursting. The barrier of clothing was restricting and a painful ache begged for fulfillment. He shifted from side to side, his dick seeking deeper access than was possible through his jeans.

As if she’d read his mind, her legs slipped open wider, and he sucked in a ragged breath. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her fingertips dug into the skin beneath his shirt, and her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.

She surrounded him. Physically, her body cradled his, and when he inhaled he was enveloped in her essence. Her scent fulfilled him in a way that surpassed mere sexual need, and that was the notion that brought reality surging back. “What the hell are we doing?” he managed to ask.

She let out a shaky laugh, her breath hot on his skin. “I don’t know what you’d call it, but I’m getting you out of my system.”

He ought to be insulted yet he understood. Besides, he didn’t think such a thing was possible. Ten years later, and this was still the only woman who jumbled his emotions along with his hormones. She had the ability to make him throw his resolutions to hell and back.

Her head resting against the wall, she studied him through glazed eyes. “You have to admit, the idea’s got merit.”

He stepped back and ran an unsteady hand through his hair. The idea had merit—if he had the time to play around until he tired of her. Assuming he ever tired of her. Roman had his doubts.

He also had his plan. A destiny he hadn’t intended but had to fulfill, thanks to the flip of a coin and strong family obligation. Right now he hadn’t a clue how he was going to accomplish his objective, but this woman was hazardous. She didn’t want a long-term commitment with a man who didn’t plan to stay in Yorkshire Falls. That alone put her off limits.

But Roman also feared she had the ability to pull him back to her, to this town, and make him forget the dreams and life goals he’d always had.

The more he indulged, the deeper she drew him in. “Getting you out of my system’s a damn good idea. I haven’t a clue how to go about it, but this …” He gestured between her nearly naked body and his thoroughly aroused one. “Isn’t the smart way of doing it.”

Before he could change his mind, he turned and stormed through the swinging doors, the hinges creaking in his wake. He didn’t let himself look back.

CHAPTER FIVE

The streets of Yorkshire Falls were empty as most of the town gathered inside town hall. After getting a breath of fresh air, Charlotte walked inside to her volunteer workstation, where she acted as punch bowl lookout. On a typical day, no smart adult would touch the punch bowl filled with green liquid, but at the Annual St. Patrick’s Day dance, everyone indulged in the colored Kool-Aid.

She told herself she was better off concentrating on making sure no one spiked the punch bowl than on Roman. Just remembering their sensual run-in earlier that day caused goose bumps to prickle along her skin.