So Wright (The Wrights 1)
She wore jeans and a white tank underneath a long-sleeved flannel. Her hair was loose, bouncing around her shoulders.
When she reached the corner, she spotted him, and a big grin brightened her face. The sight made his heart skip. She waited for cars to pass before jogging across the street, up the stairs, and straight into his arms.
The moment she wound her arms around his waist and hugged him, Jack’s world stopped spinning. He grew roots. Felt the click of a missing piece settle into place, completing him. He wrapped her in a bear hug and held on for several long, amazing moments.
“Mmm,” she said, her head against his chest. “You smell good.”
Spell broken, Jack eased back to look directly into her eyes.
Her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
His stomach fisted. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”
“Okay.” She straightened away from him.
“Are you involved with someone? A boyfriend or”—he closed his eyes a dreaded second—"God forbid, husband?”
Her frown was immediate and hard. “What? Why would you think—”
“Having Violet cover for you. Leaving your car at the bar.”
Realization filled her gaze, and her expression relaxed again. “Oh, God, no. My sister showed up over the weekend, and we’ve got a complicated history. I was dying to get away but didn’t want to suffer anyone’s wrath or hurt anyone’s feelings. Just trying to keep the peace—”
He’d heard all he needed. Jack framed her face with his hands, lowered his head, and kissed her. A comfortable, familiar bond instantly formed between them. Jack backed her into an alcove between the building and the
landscaping, a private little nook hidden from view. Miranda stretched up his body and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head down. She opened to him, tasted him, showed him she’d been needing him as much as he needed her.
When he finally broke for air, he brushed her hair back. “You left scratches on my ass. I can’t sit down without thinking about you.”
She laughed, the sound bubbly and euphoric. “You left a bruise or two of your own.”
He tightened his arms low on her back, pulling her hips against his. She smelled like fresh flowers, light and sweet. “This is crazy, right? Or have I just been missing out on the headiness of hookups?”
She grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling. “This is crazy.”
God, he wanted her so badly. He took her hand and pulled her into the hotel, heading straight for the elevator. Inside, she pressed him against the wall and kissed his neck.
“How was your day?”
“Long.” He ran his hands down her back, over her hips, gripped her ass. “Yours?”
“Same.”
“We should probably get more sleep.” He grinned. “Just not tonight.”
She laughed so hard, she dissolved into giggles, and the sound bubbled through his blood. By the time the elevator dinged on his floor, Jack felt drunk. They hurried down the hall, fumbled with the key card, and finally pushed into his room.
Miranda jerked his shirt from his pants before the door even closed behind them. Then struggled with his belt and almost broke his zipper.
Jack caught her wrists and spun her, pressing her back against the nearest wall. He pinned her hands above her head. They were both breathing hard already. He’d lost track of where they were in the suite. Could have been the living room, the bedroom, the fucking hallway for all he cared.
She broke the kiss with a breathless “Jack.”
He transferred both her hands into one of his, then let his free hand stroke down her chest and cover one breast. “You make me crazy.”
She moaned and moved against him. Their rhythm was already familiar, and even more intoxicating than it had been their first night. Now, he knew her body, knew her signals, knew what she liked, knew how she tasted. Now he knew exactly how quickly and how often he could make her come. Knew what a thrill it was to watch her shatter. And he needed that. Right now.
He lowered his hand to the waistband of her pants, and his fingers hit the cool metal of her belt buckle. “Jesus. Next time, don’t wear a fucking belt.”