I found Killian drunk and sprawled out on my lawn like some lost prince. With the face of a god and the arrogance to match, the pest won’t leave. Sexy, charming, and just a little bit dirty, he’s slowly wearing me down, making me crave more.
He could be mine if I dare to claim him. Problem is, the world thinks he’s theirs. How do you keep an idol when everyone is intent on taking him away?
As lead singer for the biggest rock band in the world, I lived a life of dreams. It all fell apart with one fateful decision. Now everything is in shambles.
Until Liberty. She’s grouchy, a recluse—and kind of cute. Scratch that. When I get my hands on her, she is scorching hot and more addictive than all the fans who’ve screamed my name.
The world is clamouring for me to get back on stage, but I’m not willing to leave her. I’ve got to find a way to coax the hermit from her shell and keep her with me. Because, with Libby, everything has changed. Everything.
“You know,” I say conversationally, as I kick back, “I want to fuck you right now.”
Libby jerks as if pinched and sits a little straighter, before getting a hold of herself and slouching as if she’s completely chill. Cute.
She gives me a smirk and sips her water before drawling, “And what? Mark you territory? Assert your manly dominance?”
“Yep.” I slide my gaze to hers. “But mostly I just want to fuck you all the time.”
God, I love the way her lips part and body flushes with heat. So subtle, but there all the same. It makes me hard as steel, my balls squeezing tight. I don’t look at her but pretend I’m observing the room. The lights are dimming for the movie now, the empty chairs in front of us obscuring our lower halves.
Slowly my hand falls to space between us and smooths along her hip. She delicately shivers as my fingers trace down her thigh.
“What about you,” I murmur, lightly toying with her skirt in the darkening room. “You want to fuck me, baby doll?”
“Right now, I want to kick you,” she gets out between clenched teeth. “Keep your hands to yourself. There are nosy ass people everywhere.”
“They’re all watching the movie. Not us.” Focusing on the screen, I keep my expression neutral as I ease my hand under her skirt. Her skin is smooth and warm. The movie starts in a blast of music and the familiar old logo as I trace over her knew and up her soft thigh.
“And that wasn’t a ‘no.’”
She makes a cute growl in the back of her throat, but her legs part just enough to give me room to delve between them. Her inner thighs are hot and damp, and my cock twitches.
The storyline rolls along, my touch idly roams. Libby remains utterly still but I can practically feel the tension vibrating within her. When the tip of my finger skims the crease where her thigh meets her lip, her breath catches, legs parting wider.
“Have I mentioned how much I appreciated this new skirt-filled wardrobe?” I whisper, lightly drawing circles along her skin.
“Brenna’s idea.” Her hips shift just a bit, following my touch. “Right now, I’m missing my shorts.”
I smile, my eyes on the screen, my fingers drifting to the edge of her panties. “Later, you can put them on and we’ll play ‘Fuck the Farmer’s Daughter.’”
She grunts, a stifled laugh, which turns to a strangled whimper when I pluck her panties. Her voice turns breathy. “I’m trying to watch the damn movie. I’m not interested in fooling around.” She moves a tiny fraction, nudging against my finger.
In the dark, I grin, heat and lust pulling my abs tight. “I’m sorry,” I say, not sorry at all, “But I don’t believe you. I’m gonna have to check.”
Kristen Callihan is an author because there is nothing else she’d rather be. She is a three-time RITA nominee and winner of two RT Reviewer’s Choice award. Her novels have garnered starred reviews from Publisher’s Weekly and the Library Journal, as well as being awarded top picks by many reviewers. Her debut book FIRELIGHT received RT Magazine’s Seal of Excellence, was named a best book of the year by Library Journal, best book of Spring 2012 by Publisher’s Weekly, and was named the best romance book of 2012 by ALA RUSA. When she is not writing, she is reading.