A Secret Vow: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

while Mortar does a slow lap around the room, looking at everything on display. He takes his time. I wonder if he is genuinely appreciating everything or just putting on a show for me. I remember his crack from the night before about finding a woman to raise a family with, and I wonder how serious he was about that, too. I dismiss it—no chance. A man like that is nothing but a lone wolf.
     
    He turns the last corner and switches his gaze to me. I feel naked in front of him. He takes slow, confident steps towards me. That intrigued furrow is still written across his forehead. Two steps, one step, then he stops and leans against the wall right next to me.
     
    “I enjoyed talking to you last night,” he says. His voice is low.
     
    In spite of my better instincts, I tell him the truth. “I liked talking to you, too.”
     
    “You deserve better than Grady.”
     
    I can’t say anything back to that. Years of inertia, of learning to just keep my mouth shut if I want to avoid pain, prevents me from saying any of the million things that could be said in response. I say nothing.
     
    “I mean it,” Mortar replies, moving half a step closer. There are just inches between us now. “You deserve someone who makes the things you love possible.” He sweeps a hand around the studio, pointing out the dozens of unfinished pieces that are crying out for more paint, more supplies, just a little bit of money and love to bring them to life.
     
    My lips are parted slightly. It’s the only way to let out the heat that is rocketing up to insane temperatures now, centered on the molten core of my lower abdomen. I’m nervous and swept away all at once. My head is swimming. His eyes are so close.
     
    I don’t know what’s happening, but before I can react, Mortar’s hands are on my hips, drawing me close to him, while our mouths crash together. His tongue teases at the opening of my lips, then slips past, mingling with mine. I hesitate, but I open to let him in. My hands are wound in the curls at the back of his head. I can feel the muscles in his neck moving as we jostle against each other, spreading warmth from body to body.
     
    His fingers untie the apron and it falls to the floor. He slips a hand under my shirt, beneath my bra, and softly caresses my breast. I feel an involuntary moan escaping my throat as he pinches my nipple with a gentle touch, just enough to send a shiver down my spine.
     
    The only thing I want is more. I lean into him, savoring the heft of his granite body pressed against mine. I grip his buttocks to grind against him while our kiss opens deeper. He keeps my head close to his with a hand on the swan curve of my neck. I can feel the ocean breeze tickling my hips where he has pushed up my blouse.
     
    My body is responding to his like it’s known what to do my entire life. My head is another story. It’s a beehive of angry thoughts. I shouldn’t be doing this; I shouldn’t be here with him; I shouldn’t have my tongue in his mouth. Every cry of protest from my head is shut down by the powerful heat emanating from somewhere deep inside me, the heat that wants this more than anything.
     
    He pulls me closer and I lean farther. Our bodies are aligned head to toe while our hands grapple for purchase against one another. Each brush of his lips against mine coaxes a new chorus of nerves to life. I feel like I’ve broken through a wall, or like I’m water overflowing a dam at long last. The sheer sense of finally is irresistible. 
     
    I push hard into his chest to kiss deeper. The shift of weight knocks Mortar back on his heels. One elbow flies out and knocks a vase down from its perch on a low pedestal at his side. He breaks away and tries to catch it.
     
    “Shit!” he curses as it hits the floor. Shards of clay tap dance across the tile in every direction.
     
    “It’s okay,” I tell him, dropping to my knees and starting to sweep up the pieces into my hand. “It was stupid anyway. Don’t