Bad Boys Do (Donovan Brothers Brewery 2)

She

wasn’t just inexperienced at irresponsible fun. She was inexperienced, period.

Victor was the only lover she’d ever had. Ever. If she slept with Jamie, he’d be her second. Not that she would ever, ever let him know.

She was, after all, a modern, educated woman. A divorced thirty-five-year-old with no moral objections to a healthy love life. As a young woman, she hadn’t been specifically saving herself for love or marriage or a soul mate. She’d just been a skinny girl in glasses who was too shy to willingly look beyond her books. And like so many quiet girls before her, she’d been struck with an awful crush on the smart teacher who’d tried to draw her out. He’d seemed so interested. In her, of all things. She hadn’t stood a chance.

That was all well and good. She’d been inexperienced. Victor had liked that. But being inexperienced with Jamie was a whole different issue. She’d just have to fake it. Which shouldn’t be too hard, really. She’d been having sex for over a decade now. One man couldn’t be so radically different from another. Same parts. Same process. And she had the same body. Which was her current worry.

When she’d asked, Victor had said he didn’t mind her small breasts. He didn’t mind them. But it had been impossible to miss the way he’d looked at other women’s cleavage. And of the three women she knew about, all of them had been fairly impressive in the size department.

But she was silly to worry. They were just breasts. Only one small part of what Jamie was interested in, hopefully. As for the other…she might be inexperienced, but he’d never know. She’d fake her way through it.

As pep talks went, it was lacking in enthusiasm, but Olivia had always been a logical kind of girl. She felt better as she made herself pick out her favorite bra. It was pretty lilac cotton edged in white lace. She pulled on matching underwear and tied on the bright yellow wrap dress, then put in her contacts and did her makeup.

The clock told her she had half an hour left, and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself, so Olivia simply sat on the couch with her hands folded in her lap. If she wanted to, she could just go to Jamie’s house and share a meal. She knew that. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to have him. She wanted to feel him on her and in her. So, scary as it was, she wouldn’t back down. Someone had to be the first after Victor, and it was going to be Jamie.

After thirty quiet, calm minutes, Olivia stood, put on her heeled sandals and left for Jamie’s place. She’d approach fun the way she approached everything: with logic and calm.

Logic, calm and a crazed, thundering heart. It seemed that fun wasn’t easy to trick, because by the time she reached Jamie’s place, she couldn’t hear anything past her rushing pulse.

She vaguely noticed that he lived in a beautiful neighborhood of large houses, and his place was no exception. The porch was split into two entrances, and she walked up to the left one and knocked. When she started getting dizzy, she made herself breathe, even when she saw a figure approach behind the frosted glass.

“Ms. Bishop,” he said, a smile spreading across his face like a warm, melting treat. “Thanks for coming.”

Hopefully he’d be repeating that same phrase later.

She fought back a nervous laugh as he opened the door wider and motioned her to step inside. She started to walk past him, then stuttered when he moved to kiss her. At the exact moment she realized he’d meant to kiss her cheek, she turned in to kiss his lips. It was too late then. Their mouths bumped awkwardly before she stepped away.

Damn it.

The door clicked closed.

“It smells good in here!” she said brightly.

“Thank you.”

“And…” She finally registered her surroundings and turned in a slow, awed circle. “It’s so pretty!” This was no dingy apartment. It wasn’t even a man cave. The tall windows were open to the breeze, letting sunlight fall across wood floors. The baseboards and doors were warm, polished wood against almond-colored walls. “How long have you lived here?”

“About eighteen months.” He led her toward the back, to a small kitchen done in dark granite and stainless steel.

“Beautiful. I didn’t expect this.”

“Oh, yeah?” he opened the oven and pulled out a pan. “What did you expect?”

She cleared her throat and didn’t answer.

“Neon beer signs? Posters taped to the walls?”

“No. I—”

“I save those for my bedroom. Then I know I’ll start the day off right.”

“Stop,” she said, slapping his arm.

Jamie snagged her wrist and pulled her into him. “I’ve been waiting to do this.”

His arms curved around her, his mouth touched hers, and the world crashed into them. She parted her lips and his tongue slid in, and though it started warm and slow, she was soon pushed against the kitchen counter while Jamie’s tongue worked her mouth and his hands clutched her hips. She clutched him right back, loving the way he smelled and tasted and felt. For three nights, she’d fallen asleep with his voice winding around her. She’d been waiting for this.