Holding her down with ease, he reached for the fallen vibrator, lifting it up. The obnoxious thing still glowed neon-pink. “Never say never.” Then he grinned at her in the firelight, looking just like the devil must look in the dead of winter with no one to torture. “This thing keeps showing up. Maybe you should claim it.”

“It’s not mine!”

“I don’t know…earlier you were gripping it like it was your long-lost best friend.” With a flick of his wrist, he turned it on.

The low hum filled the air, and with it came a buzzing in Breanne’s ear—the sound of her brain coming to boiling point.

“Ready for use,” Cooper said, suggestively waggling it in her face.

“Good.” She struggled to get free, trying not to think about the picture she was presenting him with. “You can shove it up your—”

“Oh, no,” he said. “Ladies first.” He dropped the thing to the couch next to her, where it rumbled against the soft, buttery leather while he slid his hands down her legs to the jeans pooled between her knees.

“Don’t even think about it,” she choked out.

But he wasn’t only thinking about it, he was doing it, fisting his fingers into the wet denim and yanking them past her knees to her ankles, where they caught on her boots.

His gaze met hers, intense and raw, and along with it a heart-stopping heat.

Did he have to pack such a sexual energy? She felt her entire body clench with a punch of shocking yearning.

“High-heeled boots,” he murmured. “Ever so practical out here.”

She stared down at the top of his head as he worked on stripping her. Her little triangle of white satin had not only slipped sideways, it was now riding up into parts unknown. She’d had a bikini wax two days ago—again for the rat bastard Dean—and judging from the very soft, very rough sound that escaped Cooper at her movements, he’d caught an eyeful up close and personal. “If I wasn’t so tired,” she murmured, sagging back, suddenly exhausted, “I’d kick your ass.”

“Next time,” he said, trying to untie her boots. The laces were iced. “I guess you were all prettied up for the honeymoon.”

No. She’d prettied up for herself, to feel sexy, but she was not going to argue with a man when her pants were around her ankles; when she had a vibrator bouncing on the couch next to her, taunting her; when she had bigger worries, such as her panties, and what they still weren’t covering. Shoving the sweatshirt down as far as she could, which was to the tops of her thighs, she leaned forward to hurry the process along.

And don’t miss
FANGS FOR THE MEMORIES
by Kathy Love,
available now from Brava…