Summer Nights of Delight Excerpt:
Head Over Heels
by Paris Brandon
Head Over Heels (PG13 for language and adult situation)
He placed his hands flat on the counter and leaned across. “I’ll be honest with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted anyone as much as I want you. I just don’t want to be ‘revenge-sex guy’ or ‘rebound-guy’ or the guy who helps you figure out that what you really want is your last lover.”
“I think technically that would be rebound-guy,” she said because she was nervous and she said stupid things when she couldn’t think straight. She’d never been the focus of this much bottled-up intensity and as much as she wanted a passionate fling with a lust-crazed lover this was new territory and she didn’t have a map. But she could understand not wanting to be used.
“I apologize for jumping to a conclusion that I had no business-” He shook his head. “What do you need taken down?” She opened her mouth and he growled, “You are not getting on that ladder again.”
“My Valentine decorations,” she said, pointing to the hatboxes with reproduction Edwardian Valentine cards glued to their fronts. They’re on the very top shelf, next to the storeroom. “
He situated the ladder and started climbing.
“I admire a man who’s willing to battle cobwebs and lace doilies to make me happy,” she said, watching him balance three full hatboxes and step back down. The muscles in his legs and ass clenched and her mouth watered. She was going to be a giant puddle before this was over. She hastily cleared the counter.
He set the boxes down between them. “Anymore balancing acts I should know about?”
She shook her head. “Not this week,” she said as he grabbed his coat and hat. She didn’t want him to go but if he didn’t there was a real threat that she’d start rationalizing a quickie, drag him into the storeroom and fuck his brains out among the clutter and cast-off furniture. There was a fainting couch but the upholstery was shot and the stuffing was marginal.
Oh damn. She’d been without sex way too long.
He turned the handle and the door popped open. “I know I locked this.”
She shrugged. “I have to use the deadbolt if I want to lock it securely.”
He frowned. “Were you afraid of being in here alone with me?”
“Not for the reason you might think,” she said, smiling because the thought worried him enough to ask. And he did look worried. “You’re almost too good to be true and I don’t want to screw it up.” He shut the door, deliberately and she cringed. “I open my mouth and-”
He crossed the shop in quick, deliberate strides closing the distance between them.
“Open your mouth, Bella,” he whispered, lowering his head. His soft command swept through her and brushed away any doubt that this was what they both wanted.