Author: Emily Goodwin
Everything about them was wrong, the kind of wrong that felt so right. But none of it mattered. Not the terrible timing. And definitely not the mess it would create if Archer made a move on his best friend’s baby sister.
It was supposed to be one night, but one night is all it takes to make everything more complicated, and they only have nine short months to sort it all out.
No, none of it mattered. Until it did.
Dragons – Whatever It Takes
Dream – Beautiful Mistake
Grande – No Tears Left to Cry
Guetta/Sia – Flames
Gomez – Back To You
Morris/Grey – The Middle
Jovi – Livin’ On A Prayer
I swallow hard. I can’t think like that. Not here. Not now.
“Are you done?” Quinn puts one hand on her hip and for a split second I think she knows what I’m thinking.
“Yeah,” I say, picking up my last piece of bacon. I pop it in my mouth and stand, bringing my plate over to the sink. Quinn takes it from me and bends over to let the dogs lick the remnants of eggs. Her ass is in the air right in front of me, and I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me.
Because she is, and I have to change my stance thanks to my hardening cock.
“Quinn,” I start, not sure what to say, but I have to say something. “We should talk.”
“About what?” She straightens up and rounds on me, crossing her arms. Her eyes meet mine, drilling in with an intensity I’ve never seen from her. She has little flecks of blue in her brilliant green irises that I haven’t noticed before.
I move closer, stepping over Boots. If I say it now, there will be no more wondering. No more waiting. She’ll either take me or leave me, but at least I’ll know. I can kiss her now or move on. Somehow, someway.
It’s not hard. All I have to do is open my mouth and let the words come out, speaking with unwavering vehemence as I tell her how I feel.
Yet, I can’t.
Standing here looking at Quinn, with her messy hair, thick sweater hiding her perfect tits, and dogs circling around her feet in hopes of more food, I feel more nervous that I did the first time I stood in front of a patient on the operating table with a scalpel in my hand.
“Your wrist. How’s your wrist?”
“My wrist?” she questions, nostrils flaring. She lets out a sigh and picks up the plate the dogs licked clean. “Same as yesterday. I ordered a posture brace on Amazon to help with my shoulder pain, not that you care.”
I’d offer to massage her shoulders, but the moment my hands land on her back, all bets are off.
Suddenly, Quinn advances. She’s inches away, arms crossed tightly over her chest and head tipped up to mine.
“That’s not what you wanted to talk about.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and cocks her head. “Is it?”
“Don’t Quinn me, Archer Jones. You know as well as I do you weren’t going to talk to my about my wrist.” She lets out a frustrated breath and lets her arms fall to the sides. Her fingers brush against me, and my skin feels electric just from that small touch.
“But fine. I’ll play that game. Here.” She holds up her hand. “Examine me, doctor.”
Her words are meant to mock, but they do the opposite. I’ll examine every inch of her body. Twice. Three times. Just to be certain nothing was missed.
I take her wrist and tug her forward, knocking her off balance so she falls against me, both her hands flat on my chest. I slip my other hand around her waist, stopping at the small of her back. Quinn’s lips part and she gasps.
Instead of struggling to get away, she relaxes in my arms, and nothing has ever felt more right.
Even though this is wrong.
Quinn is in my arms, back arched and tits against my chest. My cock is hard, pulsing against the confines of my jeans. Thunder booms above and Quinn shivers.
“Do you still want to talk?” My voice is gruffer than I intend, but the harshness does something for Quinn. She slides her hands up my chest and around my shoulders.
“There are other things I’d rather do,” she says, voice breathy. Fuck. She’s killing me. She brushes her hips against mine, feeling my erection through my pants. “And I think you would too.”
I do. I so fucking do and she knows it.
“Archer,” she says softly and hearing her whisper my name is almost enough to make me come right then and there. I slowly bring my face down to hers. I’m going to kiss her. After all this time, it’s finally fucking happening.
Bestselling author of over a dozen of romantic titles. Emily writes the kind of
books she likes to read, and is a sucker for a swoon-worthy bad boys and
happily ever afters.
When she’s not writing, you can find her riding her horses, hiking, reading, or
drinking wine with friends.