Bubba looked up to see two new blondes jabbing dangerous-looking fingernails in his direction. Three-fourths of the population of Austin was composed of different shades of bottled blond, something else that was far different from Lonesome Point. A moment later, the two women started his way, jogging the painful-looking, mincing trot of women whose impractical footwear was on the verge of crippling them for life.
Marisol propped her hands on her hips with a soft curse. “Hell, Robert. Women are literally throwing themselves at you. How can you have an ounce of insecurity in that big body of yours?”
“I’m a sensitive soul,” he said, his eyes still glued to Marisol’s face, too intrigued by the flustered note in her voice to give the blondes skittering toward them a second glance.
Marisol made a sound that was half laugh, half snort, and all sexy—at least to him. “Get going, sex god. I’ll make sure the lusty twins know you’re not interested, and call you in a few.”
“I’d rather show them I’m not interested.” Bubba’s pulse spiked as he angled closer to Marisol, knowing this might be his only chance to see if the chemistry between them was more than smoke and mirrors.
Her eyes widened. “How’s that?”
“Like this.” Bubba reached for her, driving his fingers into her hair and tightening his hand into a fist as he pulled her close and took possession of her beautiful mouth.
The moment their lips touched, Marisol’s breath rushed out and her neck went limp in his hand, making his cock swell until his jeans felt like they’d do him damage. He’d let himself dream that Marisol would enjoy being kissed like this—being taken, claimed, the way he’d been dying to do for weeks—but he’d never imagined she would respond this way. That she’d open for him, melt against him, giving in without a hint of resistance. That she’d twine her arms around his neck, press her curves against his chest, and gasp in pleasure when he swatted her bottom before cupping her ass in his hand and squeezing tight.
God help him, he hadn’t intended to do anything but kiss her, but now he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to bundle Marisol into his truck, and bring her back to his hotel room. He wanted to strip her sexy red tank top off with his teeth and discover the taste of her skin, make her squirm beneath him as he showed her what good old boys can do to a woman when they’re given permission to be bad.
He was on the verge of proposing that they take this public display somewhere more private and reconsider the “just business” part of their relationship, when Marisol abruptly jerked out of his arms.
He opened his eyes to see her swiping her arm across her mouth. A moment later, she was laughing.