Easy Charm by Kristen Proby
“Bullshit.” She offers me a saccharine sweet smile, then sips her drink.
“I don’t trust easily either, Gabrielle.” Her eyes widen when I use her full name. “But I trust you. And you can trust me, too.”
“I know,” she whispers. “And it’s weird.”
“Weird?”
“Maybe new is a better word.”
“Nothing wrong with new,” I reply as our food is set before us. She stares at her plate for a long minute, then raises her gaze to mine.
“Don’t make me regret trusting you.”
I tilt my head, taking her in, her hair, her eyes, her mouth, neck, shoulders, then return my gaze to her eyes. “Never on purpose.”
She nods and we’re quiet as we eat our fried catfish. She only finishes half of her plate, so I eat what she can’t, then pay the bill and escort her outside, where night has fallen.
“It’s a bit cooler without the sun. Do you want me to put the top up?”
“No way.” She smiles and sits in the car after I open the door for her. “You’re quite chivalrous.”
“They’re called manners, sweetheart.” I wink, walk around the car to join her and pull out of the parking lot, headed back toward the inn. “There was a sign for a scenic outlook up here that I’d like to check out.”
“It’s a pretty spot,” she says and pats her flat belly. “I’m so full.”
“You barely ate anything.”
“I ate half my plate! And portions in the South aren’t small.”
“True.” I take her hand in mine again, kiss her knuckles, and this time rest our hands on my thigh.
“You have some pretty smooth moves, Mr. O’Shaughnessy.”
“Who, me?”
Gabby simply giggles, and to my surprise, pulls her hand out, then links her fingers with mine, still resting on my thigh. Aside from the hug in her kitchen, this is the first time she’s taken the initiative to touch me.
And I fucking love it.
I pull onto the road with the sign for the overlook, and we follow it for about a half a mile before coming to the top of a bluff that looks out over the Mississippi River. The sky is clear, with a full moon, and there is no light noise from the city, so the stars are stunning.
“Wow,” I whisper and kill the engine. “Pretty doesn’t really cover it.”
“No,” she agrees and leans her head on my shoulder, then pops back up. “Oops, that’s your bad shoulder.”
“Touch doesn’t hurt,” I reply and she returns to rest her head there, skims her fingertips up my hand and arm, and holds onto my bicep.
Since when does a woman touching my damn arm give me a hard-on?
Apparently, since now.
“So, this place has a history,” Gabby says and tips her face up to mine, not taking her cheek from my shoulder.
“Do tell.”
“Well, there’s a legend that goes with this place that has been told for a couple of generations, probably longer. It seems there was a young woman, about nineteen, who came here from France with her well-to-do family.” Gabby gently and absent-mindedly brushes her fingertips up and down the inside of my arm, sending goose bumps all over me as she tells her story. “She was lonely at first here, not knowing any English, and not having any friends. Her father had many slaves, as most of the plantation owners did. One of the slaves was a sweet boy about her age, and he helped her learn English. Of course, they had to meet in secret.”
“Of course,” I reply and kiss the top of her head, already knowing where this story is going.
“Well, of course they fell in love, but when her father found out, he was livid.” Gabby shakes her head, as though she’s talking about friends. “He sold the boy so his daughter couldn’t see him anymore, and she went a little crazy. Story goes that she would run away from the plantation, trying to find him. And one stormy night, she came here to these cliffs, and in the dark, she fell to her death.”
“That’s a very sad story.”
“Some say you can still hear her weeping.”
“Of course they do. It’s a tragic ghost story.”
Gabby chuckles, then turns her face into my shoulder, and presses a kiss there. “Does it still hurt a lot?”
“Only when I exercise.”
She kisses it again, then clears her throat. “There’s another story about this place.”
“Why do I think you’re about to share it?” She pushes her finger into my side, and I yelp dramatically.
“Because I want to know just what makes you think I’m that kind of woman?”
“What kind?”
She smirks. “The kind you bring to make-out point.”
I nudge her back so I can see her face and grin. “Is that what this is, sweetheart?”
She nods.
“Have you been here before?”
She shrugs one shoulder.
“Is that a yes?”
“In high school I came here once or twice. No one got past second base.”
“Good girl.”
Chapter Five
~Gabby~
Good girl.
Why do my insides quiver when he says that to me? Because seriously, those words come out of his sexier-than-should-be-legal lips, and my whole body does the happy dance.
Channel your inner flirt! She’s fun.
I pull my index finger down the inside of his muscular bicep and draw circles on the thin, smooth skin inside of his elbow. His breath catches, drawing my gaze up to his.
His green eyes shine in the moonlight, as if they’re on fire. His breathing has sped up. And I swear that through his shoulder I can feel his pulse speeding up too.
Talk about ego boost.
“Gabby,” he whispers, his eyes pinned to my lips. “I’m going to kiss you.”
“I hope so.” Did those words come from me? His mouth tips up in that half-smile as he scoops me right up out of the seat, pulls me over the console onto his lap with my feet sitting in the passenger seat. He cups my cheek in his palm, his thumb circling over the apple of my cheek as he nuzzles my nose with his, just the way he did last night.
I can feel the warmth of his skin, not quite touching me. His breath smells like the mint we ate after dinner.
And his eyes are dark, dark green and full of unadulterated lust.
His lips brush over mine in just a whisper of a kiss, once, then twice, before they settle at the side of my mouth and nibble, sending shivers through me.
His hand drifts down from my cheek to my neck, then over my blouse to cup my breast, and his lips settle over my mouth, firmly now.
Wet.
Needy.
Someone—me?—growls as the kiss deepens. He’s a taker, that’s for sure, but then he mixes it up, giving me more than I’ve ever had before.
And I’m no virgin. I’m a mother, for crying out loud!
But, oh, the way Rhys O’Shaughnessy makes me feel, it’s like no one has ever touched me before.
Because they haven’t. Not like this. Not like he’s drowning and I’m his first breath of air. Not like the thought of not touching me is pure torture.
He grunts as I shimmy in his lap. I can feel his excitement pressed to my right hip.
And I want to feel it. Right now.
As if he’s reading my mind, Rhys grips my hips and lifts me, helping me straddle him, and I press my center against him, making us both catch our breath.
“Jesus, you’re the sweetest fucking thing,” he growls against my lips. His hands are roaming up and down my back. I grip his face in my hands and kiss him. Deeply. Our tongues are stroking, lapping.
God, he tastes good.
He grips my ass in his hands and tugs me down more tightly against him, and I can’t help but circle my hips, enjoying the way the ridge in his jeans rubs against my center.
Holy crap, can I come like this?
Surely not.
“Surely not what?” Rhys whispers against my lips.
“I didn’t say anythin
“You said ‘surely not.’ Surely not what?”
I bite his lower lip as his hand takes a journey from my ass, up my side, to cup my breast. His thumb rubs over my tightened nipple, over and over again, making me squirm.
Everything this man does makes me squirm, and he’s technically still at second base!
“You’ve kind of got me all worked up,” I whisper.
“Back at you, baby.”
He presses a button at the side of the seat, tilting his seat back just a few inches, then grips my sides and lifts me so he can nuzzle between my breasts, and down to my belly.
Which sets me on edge.
Please, God, don’t lift my shirt and look at my disgusting stretch marks!
The scruff on his cheeks feels soft, yet prickly, on my skin.
“Why did you stiffen up?”
I shake my head and plunge my fingers in his hair, holding him close to me, loving the kisses he’s pressing to my chest, and the way he brushes his nose over my nipple.
Holy fuck, I’m turned on.
The next thing I know, Rhys is lifting me back over the console into my seat and righting his own. He’s breathing hard.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He swallows, then takes a deep breath. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Why did you stop?”
He turns to me now and kisses me, then pulls the seat belt over me and clicks it into place. “Because second base is as far as we can go here, and if I kept kissing you the way I was, you’d be naked and I’d be inside you right now.”
I feel my eyes go wide and my pulse speed up even more, if that’s even possible.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” He kisses me once more, then starts the car. I can’t help but cover my lips with my fingertips and giggle. “What’s funny?”
“This.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was looking for.”
“I can’t believe I’m making out like a teenager here.”
He smiles and brushes his knuckles down my cheek. I love how much he touches me. His touch is simply sinful.
Without another word, he pulls back out onto the highway and we drive the hour or so back to the inn in companionable silence. I’m tempted to lean over and give him a satisfying memory for later, but decide against it.
Hopefully, I can do that another time.
I’d love to taste him. To hear him, watch him, as I suck on him and work him over with my hands. I wonder how he likes it?
“What are you thinking over there?” he asks as he takes my hand and kisses my fingers.
“You don’t want to know,” I reply and turn my face to watch the darkness pass by.
“Oh, I definitely want to know.”
“I—” I bite my lip, and feel my cheeks heat.
“You… Hey, look at me.” I turn my face to see him smiling at me, in that special way he does, that I’ve learned is just for me. “What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”
“I was thinking about, um, going down on you.” The last few words are said on a whisper, and I cover my eyes with my hand, completely mortified. Suddenly, the car stops.
Just stops.
He pulls my hand away from my face and grips my shoulders, turning me to face him.
“What did you just say?” His face registers shock, curiosity. Lust.
So much lust.
So I smile and reply, “I was thinking about going down on you. How you might like it.”
He pulls me to him for a long, deep, wet kiss, and then, against my still-damp lips, whispers, “Any way you give it to me is how I like it, baby. Now, no more sexy talk about your lips wrapped around my cock, okay? I don’t want to wreck this car.”
I grin against his mouth. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
***
The house is dark when we drive up, aside from the porch lights and the light I always leave on in the foyer. The oak trees look like huge grey ghosts in the yard, framing the white plantation house perfectly.
It’s a bit spooky at night, and I grew up here. I’ve felt things here. I’ve felt the sorrow of the slaves as I clean and stage the slave quarters so the guests can learn about that dark part of our history. I’ve felt joy in the rose gardens.
Doors have slammed when no one was there to slam them.
But this house is centuries old, and the Boudreaux family is known for being a passionate one. It’s no wonder that someone is still hanging out, just to keep an eye on things.
I often wonder if my father is one of those someones. I hope so.
Rhys stops the car and before he can even cut the engine, I climb out and onto the porch. Rhys follows me inside, his hands in his pockets, quiet as he watches me check the locks and the alarm system, then walks me quietly to my room.
My heart is heavy, knowing that Sam isn’t here to fight bedtime with me. And I can’t help but feel so fucking guilty that I enjoyed myself so much tonight with my son being gone.
I’m a hot mess.
“Hey,” Rhys says quietly as he turns me to him and scoops me up into one of his hugs, rocking me back and forth. “Are you okay?”
I nod, soaking in the warmth of him. I want to invite him in, but I’m not sure that I’m ready to take what happened in the car further.
And yet, I don’t want to be alone.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I pull out of his arms and kiss his cheek. “I’m just a little sad that the house is so quiet without Sam, that’s all.”
His bight green eyes survey my face before nodding. He brushes his fingers down my cheek. “Okay. Good night.”
“Good night.”
He turns to walk away. I hold my breath for about two seconds, then burst out, “Rhys?”
“Yeah?” He turns back to me, concern on his handsome face.
“Um, nothing.” I shake my head and offer him a happy smile. “Never mind.”
But rather than nod and walk away, he saunters back to me, his gaze pinned to mine. Wordlessly, he gently pulls my hair out of its knot and lets it fall around my shoulders, combing it with his fingers.
“Would you stay with me until I fall asleep?” I whisper. He just smiles softly, kisses my forehead, and gestures for me to lead the way into my room.
I’ve never had a man in my bedroom. Never shared my bed with anyone.
Ever. In my life.
The room is dark as I lead the man that puts me on hyper-drive to the edge of my bed. And to my surprise, Rhys calmly unfastens my shorts and lets them drop off my hips to the floor. Then, with his eyes pinned to mine, he pulls my top over my head. He reaches for the tank I sleep in that’s laying at the end of my bed and tugs it over my head, pulls my hair through, and helps me into the bed. I watch with sleepy eyes as he pulls off his T-shirt, steps out of his jeans, and joins me, wearing nothing but snug black boxer-briefs.
And then, to my utter shock, he simply turns me away from him, curls up behind me, and whispers in my ear, “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
“You don’t want to…?”
“For now, this is perfect. I’m just happy to share a pillow with you. Sleep.” He kisses my neck, and his deep, even breathing eventually lulls me to sleep.
***
I wake to hands and lips and heat.
“You’re still here.” My voice is heavy with sleep.
“I fell asleep too.” And his voice is just heavy with sexiness.
Dear sweet Jesus, how do people wake up like this every day? I’d never leave the bed!
Rhys is pressed up behind me, kissing my neck and shoulder. His hand is roaming down my side to my hip, then back up under my shirt over my skin, and every molecule in my body is now awake.
Wide awake.
“Mm, you feel so damn good,” he growls in my ear, his voice still heavy with sleep, and nothing has ever turned me on so quickly. “Do you have any idea how fucking soft your skin is?”
&n
Who in the name of all that’s holy can form words when Rhys O’Shaughnessy’s hands are all over them?
Not this girl.
I reach behind me and drag my fingernails up his thigh, over the fabric of his boxer-briefs, his thigh, to his belly, and he bites my earlobe.
“Careful, baby. I’ve been feeling your sexier-than-fuck body against me all night.”
I grin and don’t stop touching him. My panties are soaked. My nipples are hard nubs, rubbing roughly against the bra he didn’t take off of me last night.
I turn onto my back. Rhys’s face is still buried in my neck, kissing, licking, turning me the hell on.
Damn, this man is a master with his lips.
I love the way he feels. He’s not super hairy, with smooth arms and abs, and just a light dusting of hair on his chest that feels amazing under my fingertips.
“You feel good yourself,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder as my hand drifts farther south. I gently wrap my fingers around the length of his dick, over his underwear, then push my hand under the elastic waistband, cup him in my hand and brush my thumb over the tip, wiping away the moisture that’s already gathered there.
“Oh God,” he breathes against my shoulder, then kisses my jaw, my cheek, and finally my lips, cupping my face in his hand. I stroke him more firmly, but still slowly, watching his face as his breathing increases. Sweat forms on his brow. His eyes are closed.
“Look at me,” I whisper against his lips, turning his words back on him. He pins me in his bright green gaze, and I have to clench my own thighs together, shocked at how much making him crazy makes me crazy.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says and kisses me, always watching me as he shifts his hips back and forth, working them down his hips and legs. “God, your hands are—”
He swallows hard, unable to continue. We’re both breathing hard, him naked, me half-dressed and enjoying the way he feels, sounds, smells.
God, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of him.
Suddenly, he grits his teeth, panting, and utters, “Fuck,” as he comes into my hand. He closes his eyes and tips his forehead against my shoulder, his breath shuddering in and out.
Wow.
“Jesus, Gabrielle,” he whispers. “I’ve haven’t come in a woman’s hand since I was a teenager.” He plants wet, firm kisses on my shoulder, my neck. “What are you doing to me?”