Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

“Oh, don’t you even act like you’re innocent.” Hadley pokes him in the chest. “I expected more from you, Peck.”

“You do that. But don’t parlay that into thinking I’m gonna help you get laid by some cartoon character.”

His comment makes Hadley laugh. I can’t latch onto the humorous part because I’m stuck at the “get laid” section. It’s all I can do to breathe deep and not rush to the street to make sure the dickhead is gone.

The thought of her with someone else makes me crazy. It always has. I’m willing to bet it always will. But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna watch it happen.

“I’ll have you both know your little show isn’t what dissuaded me from going with him.” She flips me a look of annoyance. As it melts off her pretty face, a tempting smile replaces it. “I didn’t go because I’m not wearing my pretty panties.”

I can’t stop my jaw from dropping. My cock swells so fast it presses against the rough fabric of my jeans and threatens to burst the seams. Memories of her tanned skin beneath white lace splayed across my sheets doesn’t help. Nor does the grin toying on her lips.

She hops off the stool. Tugging at the hemline of her shirt, the fabric adjusting over the swells of her breasts, she shrugs. “Better go see Cross. Good night, guys.” And before I can say anything else—before I can get my wits together or come up with a quick retort—she’s gone.

And I am too.

“Hey, Peck,” I say as I head toward the back of the bar.

“Yeah?”

“Help Nora lock up tonight.”

“Are we taking money off my tab for that?” he shouts back.

“I don’t give a flying fuck.”

Storming toward the door, my entire body tight, I don’t even look Nora’s way.

“Where are you going?” Nora asks as I blow by her.

“Probably to hell.” My palms hit the door.

Three

Hadley

“Oh my God.” A rush of wind escapes my lungs as the evening air ushers me away from the bar. I’m intoxicated, and I didn’t even drink. That good-looking bastard does this to me every time.

I bend down to tie my shoe. My fingers fumble with the laces, a hold-over from the adrenaline that’s starting to taper off. With each second that passes, I feel a little better about my first interaction with Mach.

There was no real fighting. No bloodshed. No tears.

No sex.

“No,” I groan as I stand. “I’m not going there. That is not a part of the plan.”

“So there was a plan?” Machlan stands, hands tucked in his front pockets, forearms flexing a few feet in front of me. It’s a casual posture that any bystander would read as a guy having an easygoing conversation with a woman. That person would be wrong.

The way his deep brown eyes are almost black and the way the little lines form between them tell me all I need to know. There’s nothing casual about this.

My heart skips a beat as the scent of him rides the breeze and tortures me. It wasn’t as noticeable in the bar. Out here, he’s picking me apart without even trying, using his stupid cologne to unlock me like a puzzle.

His body this close to me is the equivalent of drinking three glasses of wine. I’m hot. Bothered. And the struggle to remember I have a brain and am responsible for my behavior is a real thing.

“Why did you follow me?” My words are smooth, void of emotion, and for that, I’m glad. I don’t know which emotion would come through if any were attached. I want to tease him, fall into the banter we do so well, but that’s not going to help the point of this visit. That’s not going to help me become less attached.

“It’s okay for you to pop in Crave, but it’s weird for me to follow-up?”

“There’s nothing to follow-up.”

“I beg to differ.” He starts to smile but catches it before it really breaks. “Why are you here, Had?”

“I’m not. I’m leaving.”

“Will you stop fucking with me?”

“I’m not fucking with you.” I move deliberately in hopes it exudes a confidence I don’t own. He stands between me and the handle. “Will you move, please?”

“No.”

“You know what?” I say, wedging myself against him and the door. “You’re making this easier than I thought it would be.” Gripping the handle, I lift. It opens, but there’s not enough room to pull it wide because he. Won’t. Move.

I don’t look at him. I’m way too close for a move that dangerous. Instead, I tug again. The metal edge digs into his side, burying itself in the fabric of his black T-shirt, but it’s not enough to make him step away.

“What is it you’re trying to do?” he asks.

“Right now, it’s open a door.”

His chest bounces around with a deep chuckle. “Fine.” He makes an exaggerated step to the side. It’s just enough room for me to pull open the door. “I’m telling you—if I hear you met up with that asshole—”