The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

“Anybody home?”
    He swallowed hard and slowly lowered his gaze to hers. His pale, smoky-gray eyes were the color of thunderheads just before a huge summer storm. He didn’t speak. He made no move to touch her. She just hung off his shoulders like a human cape.
    “You know,” Megan said, never taking her gaze from his, “that was a pretty good kiss you just missed.”
    “Didn’t miss it. Trust me.”
    She tilted her head to one side and tightened her arms around his neck. “Uh-huh. So, why didn’t you join me? Kissing’s always more fun if two people do it.”
    He inhaled sharply, deeply, and through his starched white shirt, Megan felt the hard slam of his heart.
    “The week’s not up,” he pointed out, through clenched teeth.
    “What?” She’d heard him. She just couldn’t believe it.
    “I said, the week’s not up till tomorrow.” Simon’s jaw muscle ticked. “We had a deal.”
    “So you’re not going to do anything until the official end of the week.”
    “That was the deal.”
    He didn’t sound happy about it, but he did sound determined. A part of Megan appreciated that. Nice to know that the man kept his word. However…
    She combed her fingers through his hair, dragging her nails across his scalp and smiled to herself when he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth harder. “The thing is,” she whispered, dropping small, nibbling kisses along his jawline between words, “I—don’t—want—to—wait—”
    He growled.
    Actually growled, and something inside Megan turned over, then sat up and begged. She’d never wanted anyone as much as she did Simon Pearce right at that moment. Tall and strong and sure of himself. He wasn’t the easiest man in the world to know, but she knew what she needed to know. He was honorable. Old-fashioned word, but a good sentiment. He wasn’t afraid of her father. Also a good thing. He treated her like she had a brain—very sexy.
    And he could do things to her body with the touch of a single finger that no other man had ever been able to do.
    “Megan,” he said, his voice just as stiff as the rest of him, “you had a crappy day. You’re upset, you’re vulnerable—”
    “Simon…” She sighed and her breath brushed the base of his throat. The pulse point there jumped in response and she smiled to herself. “Stop being so damn reasonable.”
    She looked up at him.
    He met her gaze and fires flared in the depths of his eyes. Fires that reached out for her and inflamed every square inch of her body.
    Wow.
    “Be sure,” he ground out.
    Megan smiled and shook her head. “If I get any more sure, I will officially be attacking you.”
    “Good point.” He bent his head, took her mouth with his and gave her everything she’d given him only moments before.
    Megan held on for dear life and jumped headfirst into a raging river of passion like she’d never known before. His mouth ravaged hers. His tongue tangled with hers, his arms came around her, pulling her so tightly to him, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to breathe—though a part of her wouldn’t have cared, so long as he kept on kissing her.
    Nothing mattered beyond Simon’s mouth on hers, Simon’s body pressed against her, the hunger stampeding through her system.
    A week ago, she wouldn’t have believed that she’dfeel like this. A week ago, she’d looked at Simon as a virtual stranger—and perhaps the solution to the problem of Willie Jackson.
    Now, tonight, he was so much more.
    He’d stood alongside her, making them a team. He’d comforted her, laughed with her, and annoyed her. He was in her mind all the time and in her dreams every night.
    His hands swept up and down her back, holding, touching, exploring and all Megan could think was, she wanted his hands on her skin. She wanted to feel the heat of him, feel the imprint of each of his fingertips as he stroked her and drove her body higher and higher.
    Simon tore his mouth from hers and dropped his head to the curve of her neck. His mouth, his teeth, his lips worked against her throat and chills raced up and down her spine. “Simon…”
    “No more talking,” he muttered against her neck. “Just feeling.”
    “Right,” she said, agreeing with a sharp nod. “Feel. Want to feel more.”
    “Good. Very good.” His mouth dipped a bit lower, nestling on the pulse point at the base of her throat and she tipped her head to one side, hoping he’d stay there for a minute or two—or forever.
    His mouth was a