Page 41 of Liar

The flimsy, wet yarn is caught on his shirt button.

“Maldito bañador,” I curse and throw my arms around his shoulders, using my full weight to tug him back into me. The unexpected movement knocks him off-balance and we’re tumbling backward across the seat, with him landing flush on top of me.

I lock my arms around his broad shoulders before he can pull away.

His entire body tenses as if he can’t stand the feel of me.

I wiggle beneath his massive weight. The movement only causes my nipples to harden into steel beads. A spark of pure pleasure jolts through me and elicits a groan.

“Fuck,” he answers.

“My bathing suit,” I manage. “The water loosened the material, and the yarn is unthreading.”

He doesn’t say a word but is still on top of me.

“If you pull away, the whole thing will unravel.”

He makes a noise deep within his throat. A sexy, animalistic sound that I’ll put on mental replay when I’m home.

“Unsnag me.”

“What?”

“Slip your hand between us and free the bit that’s stuck on your button.”

He shifts his head and our eyes lock.

My mouth goes dry.

Raw, hot lust fills his eyes. It’s a hungry look, like I’m the sweet treat he’s given up for Lent. Tempted and starved for a taste.

Inexperienced or not, I recognize it for what it is, because it’s the same sizzling hot feeling I get whenever he’s around.

I lick my lips.

His nostrils flare.

And I’m completely, utterly enthralled. We’re caught in something greater than a web of material. Something far more complex, something far from identifiable. I feel it in my heart. I feel it in my bones.

His hand slips between us. I gasp as his knuckle brushes across my right nipple, sending a jolt of lust straight through me. He does it again, and this time it’s no accident, the sexy curve of his lips says it’s so.

He knows what he’s doing, and that turns me on even more.

God bless this bathing suit.

I arch my hips up, wanting, needing him to feel the same way, like my touch sets him on fire, like this thing between us is all that matters.

“Don’t, Luciana.”

“Don’t what, Hayden?”

“Tempt me.” His eyes harden. “Capisci?”

Italian. He didn’t lie to me like everyone else. He told me the truth.

“Are you ... tempted?

He’s so silent I could hear a teardrop land on concrete. But his fingertips ... Dios mío, his fingertips run lightly over my breast in a soft caress, answering my question with a resounding yes.