Love Me Crazy by Camden Leigh Read Free Book Online Page B

soften. His hands, so comfortable and right, tug me closer, closing the electrified space between us, forcing wild energy into my lips, into wanting his on mine.
    He drops his chin, lips inching closer, but instead of feeling their smooth heat and sculpted softness, rough stubble slides against my cheek. His hands slip up my back, encompassing me in the warmest, safest, and sexiest hug I’ve ever received.
    “I should go to bed,” I mumble.
    Quinn leans closer. “Sit with me a while.”
    “With you?”
    “If you like.”
    I study the cushy loveseat situated under the far edge of the magnolia. “Okay, but just for a bit.” Honestly, I feel like I’d regret saying no. Besides, I’m supposed to use my manners right? “ Yes, thank you” and “Of course I’ll sit with you. Where do you want me? Right on your lap? Well, of course” come to mind.
    The gap between us, a mere foot of space, feels like a canyon. A never-ending abyss. I know I should stay away, but an article I read on magnetic attraction keeps popping into my head. It said physical looks and personality have nothing to do with a person’s draw to another, that attraction is energy-based. That would mean I could sit down beside anyone and they could be
the one
.
    I definitely feel something urging me to scoot a little closer.
    I take several deep breaths to discourage falling closer and becoming another statistic to support the article’s claim.
    “Come here,” he says. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and doubles the urge for me to move it on closer.
    He shifts my hair to the side and brushes a finger down my cheek. My heart beats like a rabbit thumping its foot in warning. I should take it as a warning. Instead, I turn into his touch like a needy cat and purr. My eyes pop open. I purred? What the heck.
    I move to stand but he pulls my hips over, causing me to fall into his lap. Instead of fighting it—because I rather enjoy my current position—I push into my hands to get more comfortable, or try, but the only couch to push into is between his legs. My fingers brush against his thigh and I’m pretty sure his jewels.
    “Oh God.” I. Could. Die.
    “Nope. All one-hundred percent me.”
    “Sorry.” I collapse back against him and cross both hands securely over my chest.
    He traces a finger down my knee, down my bare leg. I glance at the path figuring on seeing a red, hot burn in its wake, an illuminated trail of oranges and reds and singed skin because it feels so damn hot and so damn good.
    His fingers drop lower, toward my skirt which has bunched around my hips and is an inch away from showing off my barely-there panties. He hooks my skirt. My eyes go wide and the breath in my chest literally solidifies into yes-please-touch-me hope. He drags the hem of my skirt up my leg, farther and farther away from my panties. Farther from the warm tingles surging to life.
    I grab his hand, my skirt, and hold it in place mid-thigh.
    “Cassidy,” he calls.
    I angle my chin up to see his face. His lips come down, gentle but aggressive. I part mine in surprise and he takes that as an invitation—and sure, yeah, welcome in or whatever—and his tongue! So smooth, so warm, so perfect. He explores slowly but deftly—like a ninja. I lift into the kiss, wanting to taste more of him. He doesn’t give in so I reach my arm around his neck and hoist myself a little higher.
    His hand slips down my leg and kneads my thigh. Don’t know if the subtle squeeze is persuasion for me to invite him in down there, too, or his restraint, but my legs slips apart of their own volition. I’m hungry for him, starved for his touch. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe I’d be starved for anyone’s touch, but right now, it’s him.
    His fingers graze my panties and the sudden heat makes me thrust upward. He chuckles into our kiss. The edge of my panties roll to the side as he strokes beneath it. I moan into our kiss and reach for his shirt, pulling him tighter. Closer. His