Opting to ride on the backseat of his flamenco-red Jeep, Trella flipped through a fashion magazine in an effort to curtail the urge to scream at him to settle on one station. After their kiss last night, she remained rattled. What had he been thinking? More importantly, what had she been thinking? She couldn’t close her eyes without recalling the taste and feel of his firm lips on hers. Sleep had been a long time coming last night. If she hadn’t taken advantage of the break in their kiss to ask him to sit for her, she had no doubt she’d have been flat on her back or riding his… He’d been so hard, and he felt so good rubbing against her. He unleashed a fire inside her she’d never experienced, unraveling her good intentions and common sense until nothing remained but an elemental urge to have him inside her. Walking in on a naked Carlos was one thing. Kissing him was something entirely different. They could pretend the moment meant nothing, right? To him, it probably didn’t.
