1

She arched on a gasp as the heat of his mouth met her neck. His hands, clever, wicked hands, quickly divested her of her shirt, leaving her free to rub against him like a cat. She groaned as he moved away, reaching to grab him back. He grinned. That cockeyed uptilt of his mouth that had driven her insane for years.

“Sugar, don’t rush me. Do you know how long I’ve waited to have you like this?” Cope’s voice was rusty, filled with burrs and edges as it washed over her. His hair, gleaming blue-black, caught the glow of light from the nearby lamp.

“Take your shirt off. I want to see.” God, how she wanted to see his body. She’d fantasized about him for so long it seemed beyond surreal as he peeled off the tight, black T-shirt, revealing acres of sexy muscles, taut skin and tattoos.

She sighed happily as heat bloomed low in her belly, tightening her ni**les.

“Like what you see? Oh sweet Christ ...” He left off on a hiss of pleasure as she cruised her mouth and tongue up his belly and to the ring in his left nipple. Her hands slid over the ornate Chinese dragon tail wrapping around his left biceps. The body of the dragon dominated Cope’s entire back, marking him in a decidedly masculine way. She knew it had taken Brody Brown nearly six months to complete. Worth every moment. It was breathtaking. Beautiful and beyond sexy.

“This tattoo makes me so hot.” She nipped his side, and he leaned into her. His skin was salty; the taste filled her with craving and a sense of triumph at finally being able to touch him the way she’d wanted to for so long.

His scent curled around her senses, holding her there: the tang of his arousal, of his skin, the musk of his cologne, the citrus of his shampoo, all little sensual treats she’d picked up from being around him all the time.

Laughing, she pushed him back and scrambled atop his body, straddling his hips. He raised a brow at her, and she briefly stopped, fascinated by the jump of his pulse at the hollow of his throat. She leaned down to kiss him there because there was nothing else to do.

He was getting naked, and his hands were all over her. It was like Christmas and her birthday at the same time. Maybe even a bit of Halloween too, it was so good.

“Do you like bad boys, Ella?” he asked in a murmur caught between a purr and a growl. All while thumbing one nipple until she squirmed, breathless.

“I like you. And I like that.” She may have squeaked a bit, though she’d probably deny it if asked.

He grinned again as he raised himself up enough to reach the nipple he wasn’t already tugging. She rolled her hips, unabashedly delighting in the way the seam of her jeans slid against her clit, giving her just enough friction to make her gulp in some air, but not enough to satisfy.

Only the hands on her would satisfy. Only his mouth. Only the c**k she currently ground against, still locked behind his zipper. Stupid denim!

“Ella ...” His voice was tortured, laced with need.

“Please.” She didn’t know what she was begging for, only that he’d be able to give it to her.

“Ella? Hello?”

She blinked several times and nearly died as she focused on the man standing just on the other side of the counter. How very special. She’d just had a f**k fantasy about him in the middle of the café at midday.

Piercing blue eyes met her gaze. A grin, god, that grin, marked his mouth. Andrew Copeland stood two feet away looking amused by her lapse in attention as well as ten kinds of delicious bad boy.

And to answer the question her fantasy Cope had asked? Hell yes, she liked bad boys. But his kind of bad boy. Unfortunately, she’d had a real one, and that had been enough to land her in the hospital and then physical therapy for nearly a year. The mental scars would probably be there forever. Yeah, not so much fun, those bad boys.

She swallowed, feeling the burn of her skin as she blushed furiously, but managed to smile at him, because, well hell, look at him! How could you look at all that and not simply smile in thanks to whoever created such perfection?

“Hey, Cope, sorry about that. I was woolgathering. What can I get you?” The counter had never been cleaner than right then as she rubbed the cloth over it nervously, the taste of his skin still in her mouth.

She could easily get lost in those eyes. Everything about him attracted her. For years she’d thought him the sexiest guy in town. Way out of her league, but still beyond delicious. Besides, it didn’t hurt anyone to objectify him in her head, now did it? Plus he was a total flirt, which made it even easier to crush on him without really taking it seriously. He flirted as easily as he breathed. He’d probably like it if he knew. Not that she’d tell him or anything.

He leaned toward her, his movements slow and easy, but she recognized the strength coiled in those muscles, knew he was a predator. “You have the prettiest blush. Did you know that? Now, see, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were having a very naughty fantasy in your head just now.”

That voice. Holy crap, his voice was like sex in a jar. Or whatever. But it was hot and sexy, and she heard it lots and lots. Usually when her eyes were closed and she was masturbating. Wrong. Bad, bad Ella! Not the place to think about that.

He chuckled then, cocking his head, and whaddya know, he looked even better like that. Man, she was hopeless. Hopeless and sex-deprived. She was even getting interrupted in her fantasies. How pathetic was that?

“You were, weren’t you? You have no idea how much I want you to share.”

“I don’t know you well enough to scar you with my nasty sex fantasies.” She winked and turned, hoping he didn’t see the blush heating her cheeks at that very moment. “I’ll make you an Americano instead.”