‘I’m not with you, Brodie. You should stop confusing fantasy with reality.’
‘It’s hard to do when you have all that black make-up on.’
Her cheeks flamed and he laughed, holding her tight. It was all she could do to remain upright. With each knock of his hips, his knees, his thighs, her resolve weakened. Maybe one kiss wouldn’t hurt—just so she could see if it was as good as she’d always imagined. Just so she could see if he tasted as amazing as he smelled.
His hand skated around her hip, a finger slipping under the hem of her tank top to trace the line of skin above her shorts. She squeezed her legs together and willed the throbbing to stop. Clearly she had a little pent-up frustration to deal with, but that wasn’t an excuse to let Brodie unravel her.
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