I swear I can feel the swollenness of his lips from the harsh way he kissed me. This time, though, the touch is soft but firm.
I bite back a sigh when he pulls out of me and reaches for his boxers. Without pulling his pants up—which are hilariously around his ankles—he bends for my dress and hands it to me. I take it from him and pull it over my head, kicking my shoes off before I slide off the table and ease the fabric of the tight dress over my butt and down my legs.
I step around him, awkwardness descending. The room is rife with it, but I’m almost sure I could step into the yard and still be embraced by the words either of us refuses to say.
“I meant what I said,” Drake says when I turn the kettle on. “About Giorgio Messina.”
How’s that for a post-sex conversation starter? “I’m sure you did.”
“Stay away from him,” he whispers, coming up behind me. His chest is hot against my back, and he wraps an arm around me, his hand flattening against my stomach. “He’s not good for you.”
I sigh, pausing with the teabag in my hand. “I canceled our next date. I’m too busy tryin’ to stay alive to pander to Nonna’s silly little demands.”
“What if,” Drake murmurs against my ear, “I asked you out? Would you say yes?”
“We’d kill each other in ten minutes.”
“But it’d keep your nonna happy. I’m Catholic, and I’m a quarter Italian. She can’t complain.”
“I repeat: We’d kill each other in ten minutes.”
“Isn’t that part of the fun?”
“Really? You call that fun?” I raise my eyebrows and turn to look at him, but I can see he’s deadly serious. Fighting? For fun? Is he fucking crazy?
But then… Nonna and Nonno—they fought. Every day. Like cats and dogs.
Passionately.
Ridiculously.
Relentlessly.
And they were married for fifty-something years before Nonno gave in to the cancer that ate at his bones.
And like she told me once… It isn’t fighting in a relationship you have to worry about. It’s when you stop fighting, ’cause that means you’ve stopped caring. As long as there’s something to piss you off that’s worthy of complaining about, it means you still care with all of your heart.
I look at Drake, his icy eyes framed with dark-brown lashes, and his sharp cheekbones curving down toward his soft, pink mouth, which is currently turned up in that God-awful, smug smile I can’t stand. I look at him, still feeling his naked body against mine, him inside me, his lips burning mine with every begging kiss, and Nonna’s words go around and around in my mind.
Hey, he’s handsome. Catholic. Italian. It could be worse.
And we’re sure as hell gonna fight like cats and dogs anyway. Or, as Bek puts it, like gunpowder and a match.
Maybe that really is us. Maybe, no matter what, Drake and I will always be gunpowder and a match—explosive.
“What’d’you say, Noelle?” he asks, running his fingers through my hair.
“It’s real dumb,” I reply honestly. “We can’t have a single conversation without getting at each other’s throats.”
Slowly, those damn lips move into a sexy smirk that has my heart hopping. “Who said a thing about a conversation?”
I shake my head with an amused sigh and tap his arm. “I’d tell you to behave if I thought for a single darn second you’d listen to me.”
“Never,” he confirms.
“Fine,” I say before he can carry on. I touch my thumb to his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble scratch my jaw. “We’ll go on a date. One date. As long as you pay. And there are—”
“Cupcakes at the end of the night. I know.”
My smile matches the one slowly stretching across his handsome face. “Okay. But I’m not promisin’ I won’t kick your ass by the end of the night.”
He curls his hand around the back of neck and leans in, his lips barely brushing mine. “I’m countin’ on it, cupcake.”
Read other books by Emma Hart
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By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies - usually wine - and writes books.
Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her readers at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.
She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.
Connect with Emma online at:
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TWISTED BOND (Holly Woods Files, Book One)
Emma Hart
Copyright 2015 Emma
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Books by Emma Hart
About Twisted Bond
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tangled Bond
About the Author
Copyright Notice