Smooth-Talking Cowboy. Maisey Yates

because of that. This was Luke and she didn’t feel emotions for Luke.

      Luke.

      Instead of pushing him, she dragged her fingertips along that sharp edge of his jaw, tracing the line of his face down to his chin, brushing her thumb beneath his lower lip as he widened his mouth to taste her even deeper.

      She could feel the motion of the kiss under her hand, and somehow, that added to the intensity of the moment.

      Which seemed impossible, really. Because the kiss itself was so slick, so hot, so all consuming in a way that she had never imagined a kiss could be.

      It eradicated her sense of responsibility, her sense of self. The reason that she was here in this truck with Luke in the first place. The fact that they were on the side of the road—a public road just outside of town where anyone might spot the vehicle and be able to identify it.

      None of that seemed as important as what he might do next. As the way he might angle his head, the way the tip of his tongue might trace her lip, might slide against hers.

      She was hot all over, her breasts heavy, the ache between her legs a fierce and unrelenting thing that made her feel hollow all the way through.

      Luke shifted, pressing both of his hands between her shoulder blades before moving them down her back, coming to rest on her hips. He gripped her hard, his fingertips digging into her skin, through the thin fabric of her dress and her leggings.

      Then, suddenly she found herself being hauled across the cab of the truck, as Luke quickly undid her seat belt and drew her up onto his lap, positioning them both at the center of the bench seat, her back to the dashboard.

      He pulled her hard against him, until she could feel that telltale, uncompromising ridge between her legs. There was one moment where she thought about protesting. Where she had a spare brain cell in her head that told her she needed to put an end to this.

      But it was only a moment. And when he flexed his hips forward, meeting that place at the apex of her thighs that was so desperate, so needy for some satisfaction, it burst into blinding brilliant light, lost completely in the heat and intensity of the moment.

      He kept one hand placed at her hip, raised the other one and cupped her face, his hand sliding around behind her head, sifting through her hair as he continued to kiss her, deep and slick.

      Then he abandoned her lips, and she groaned, her sound of regret quickly replaced by one of pleasure when that hot mouth of his made contact with the vulnerable skin on the side of her neck, down farther, down all the way to the neckline of her dress. And back up again.

      She didn’t know what was happening to her. Didn’t know what had possessed her. She felt like a stranger inside of her skin, one who had no control over the reactions happening inside of her. One who had no understanding of them.

      Of course she had been kissed. She had been kissed quite passionately before. But she had been so very aware of herself, so very aware of what was happening, of what might happen next and what she would allow.

      Here, now, all of that had been blown apart. Reduced to such tiny fragments that she would never be able to piece them back together. In the moment, she didn’t want to.

      In the moment, all she wanted to do was feel.

      There was no sound apart from their breath, hard and heavy, mingling together. A sign that the two of them were completely lost in this. Together. It was so intimate. Yes, of course, her tongue against his was intimate, her most sensitive place pressed against his was intimate. But their breath, their heartbeats, that evidence of what this did to them... Somehow that was even more. Even deeper. Even more impactful.

      Something dark, delicious and unfamiliar was building inside of her. Dimly, she thought she should fight it. That it was something she had fought against before. But his hands were so warm, so large and masculine and wonderful holding her head, holding her hip. The whiskers on his face burning delicate skin on her cheek, her neck, her collarbone, too wonderful to pull away from. She rocked her hips against his, the rhythm natural, seeming to blend with the rhythm of their kiss as he licked a path down to the very edge of her dress, then lifted a hand and flicked open the top button, then the second.

      Until he revealed the edge of her bra and licked around the edge of that, his tongue tantalizing the sensitive, aroused skin there.

      She rolled her hips forward, the tension low in her midsection drawing up even tighter, that place between her legs slick and sensitive. He moved the hand on her hip lower, around to grip her butt, pulling her hard against him. And then the world burst into brilliant color behind her eyelids. She pressed her hips forward, rubbing herself against that hard ridge in his jeans as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her, as internal muscles she hadn’t been aware of before clenched tight.

      She buried her face into the curve of his neck, a hoarse cry on her lips as she shivered through the onslaught of release that seemed to be unraveling her, pulling at some previously unseen thread deep inside of her, undoing everything that had been Olivia Logan before. Leaving behind a worn, threadbare stranger that was sweating and panting in a man’s arms.

      In a truck. On the side of the road.

      And then it hit her. Fully hit her.

      She had been making out with Luke Hollister on the side of the road.

      She’d...

      She scrambled out of his hold, pinning herself against the passenger door, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid it was going to break into a million pieces as it slammed itself against her breastbone. As if it were trying to escape, or trying to destroy itself, to release her from this moment. From this humiliation.

      She grabbed hold of the door handle and opened the door. And before she could fully think her next action through, she jumped out of the truck and started to walk back toward her house. Away from Luke.

      Away from the kind of insanity she knew had the power to ruin her carefully laid plans.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      LUKE WAS OUT of the truck and heading after Olivia before he had time to process what had just happened.

      They had been kissing, of that much he was certain. An explosion of restraint that had reached its breaking point. At least on his end.

      He was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one, though. Judging by her response to the kiss. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d had an orgasm. And then she had tumbled out of his truck like he was an ax murderer chasing her down, and not the man who had just made her come.

      “Olivia,” he called after her retreating figure. He could just barely make out the shape of her, fluttery and small in the darkness.

      She didn’t stop moving away from him.

      “Olivia Logan,” he called again, taking three steps and catching up with her, grabbing hold of her arm and stopping her progress. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

      “I’m walking home,” she said, jerking out of his grasp and starting down the road again.

      “You are not,” he said. “Get your ass back in the truck.”

      “Don’t tell me what to do,” she said. “I’d rather take my chances out here than get back into that truck with you.”

      “Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t act like I did something to you that you didn’t like. Don’t hide behind all your prickles and indignation. We both know you wanted that.”

      She laughed, a kind of hysterical hoot, her brown eyes glittering in the pale light. Her hair was a wreck, and he’d place a bet her cheeks were flushed from the pleasure he’d just given her. She looked like a woman who’d been ravished. He imagined she wouldn’t like that one bit. “I did not want that. I have actively avoided things like that my entire life. Nothing in me wanted that.”

      “Then