An Accidental Gentleman Read Online Free PDF
Author: M.Q. Barber
counter. She aligned the edges. The leather cover had collected stray scuffs in the sixty-five years since Grandpa Jake had opened the shop. The softness stretched over the unyielding boards beneath, protecting the pages between. “What’s your replacement excuse?”
“No excuse.” One shoe rapping in place on the vinyl, he created sharp tick-tock beats over the air conditioner’s low hum. “Games are for boys.”
“And you’re not a boy.” Sometime between Thursday and Tuesday, he’d gained confidence. All kidding aside, he’d be a hot fuck if he didn’t insist on the dating part. Her skin prickled with the charge of an approaching storm.
“I acted like one for a long time.” Shrugging, he gained another stride. Two feet back from the counter, he spread his hands, palms up. “I’m tired of that life. Something’s changed for me.”
Her heart demanded more amperage to keep up the pace. “What changed?”
“You.” He dropped the word like a stone in an old well, all else quiet as they waited for the splash.
“You don’t even know my name.” Her own fault.
“You want me to?”
No. Maybe.
The no-strings fuck she’d turned down Saturday at the track despite being revved and ready to race she blamed on Brian. His damn soft-looking hands and the challenge in his tone, and the way in her fantasies he hadn’t been afraid to use her real name—
“Katherine.” Sonova-fucking-bitch. “Kit. Everyone calls me Kit.”
The wattage on his smile for sure blew out a fuse box somewhere. He closed the gap to the counter. “So which is it for me?”
“Kit. It’s Kit.” Much safer. He owed her two orgasms—the one interrupted in the shower and the one she’d given up Saturday. Wouldn’t telling him shock his good-guy sensibilities.
“Okay. Kit. For now.” He unsnapped a smartphone from his geeky-as-hell belt holster and held it up. “But I’m putting ‘Katherine’ in my phone.”
“Did you just take my picture?” Jesus, fucking him would be dangerous if he meant to make more out of it, but the danger added to the attraction. The thrill of being a bad girl.
That’s all this was, no different from taking a walk with the traveling grease monkeys and gearhead farm boys at the dirt track. Not about Brian at all, no sirree. Completely about coaxing him to be a bad boy, to open up his collared shirt and give in. Once she had him, he’d be out of her system.
Thumb-punching into his phone, he leaned away from the counter. His damn grin didn’t shrink a bit. “Are you going to come after me if I say yes?”
Shooting him her come-hither stare, she tossed his words back at him. “You want me to?”
* * * *
Holy fuck, those eyes. Bright as a beach bonfire, she stiffened him to attention, ready and able to serve.
“If you come after me, I’m doing something wrong.” Heart whomping, he went for deadpan delivery. She’d said Thursday not to hold back on the filthy thoughts, but—
As her chin dropped, she laughed and smacked the counter. “Fair enough. Wasn’t sure you had it in you to let some bad boy out to play, Brian. But maybe you do.”
Foot in the door. Yes. Now if he kept that fucker wedged open long enough to win a date, he’d be getting somewhere. “You let bad boys take you out?”
“No.” She twisted her lips sideways, plump and teasing. “But I let them fuck me sometimes.”
Christ, she refused to budge. “And that satisfies you?”
“Depends on the bad boy.” Her crossed arms pushed her breasts up and out in challenge. She raised an eyebrow. “How bad are you, Brian?”
With a deep breath, he dove in like greeting 55-degree waves on Lake Michigan in October, the cold shocking on exposed skin. “So bad I’m good. Can you handle that?”
“I’ll give you persistent, that’s for sure.” Anchoring her hip on the counter, she sighed. Standoffish and unimpressed as Mom’s favorite cat. “Okay, let’s pretend you’re a bad boy. Prove it to me. Tattoos?
“No excuse.” One shoe rapping in place on the vinyl, he created sharp tick-tock beats over the air conditioner’s low hum. “Games are for boys.”
“And you’re not a boy.” Sometime between Thursday and Tuesday, he’d gained confidence. All kidding aside, he’d be a hot fuck if he didn’t insist on the dating part. Her skin prickled with the charge of an approaching storm.
“I acted like one for a long time.” Shrugging, he gained another stride. Two feet back from the counter, he spread his hands, palms up. “I’m tired of that life. Something’s changed for me.”
Her heart demanded more amperage to keep up the pace. “What changed?”
“You.” He dropped the word like a stone in an old well, all else quiet as they waited for the splash.
“You don’t even know my name.” Her own fault.
“You want me to?”
No. Maybe.
The no-strings fuck she’d turned down Saturday at the track despite being revved and ready to race she blamed on Brian. His damn soft-looking hands and the challenge in his tone, and the way in her fantasies he hadn’t been afraid to use her real name—
“Katherine.” Sonova-fucking-bitch. “Kit. Everyone calls me Kit.”
The wattage on his smile for sure blew out a fuse box somewhere. He closed the gap to the counter. “So which is it for me?”
“Kit. It’s Kit.” Much safer. He owed her two orgasms—the one interrupted in the shower and the one she’d given up Saturday. Wouldn’t telling him shock his good-guy sensibilities.
“Okay. Kit. For now.” He unsnapped a smartphone from his geeky-as-hell belt holster and held it up. “But I’m putting ‘Katherine’ in my phone.”
“Did you just take my picture?” Jesus, fucking him would be dangerous if he meant to make more out of it, but the danger added to the attraction. The thrill of being a bad girl.
That’s all this was, no different from taking a walk with the traveling grease monkeys and gearhead farm boys at the dirt track. Not about Brian at all, no sirree. Completely about coaxing him to be a bad boy, to open up his collared shirt and give in. Once she had him, he’d be out of her system.
Thumb-punching into his phone, he leaned away from the counter. His damn grin didn’t shrink a bit. “Are you going to come after me if I say yes?”
Shooting him her come-hither stare, she tossed his words back at him. “You want me to?”
* * * *
Holy fuck, those eyes. Bright as a beach bonfire, she stiffened him to attention, ready and able to serve.
“If you come after me, I’m doing something wrong.” Heart whomping, he went for deadpan delivery. She’d said Thursday not to hold back on the filthy thoughts, but—
As her chin dropped, she laughed and smacked the counter. “Fair enough. Wasn’t sure you had it in you to let some bad boy out to play, Brian. But maybe you do.”
Foot in the door. Yes. Now if he kept that fucker wedged open long enough to win a date, he’d be getting somewhere. “You let bad boys take you out?”
“No.” She twisted her lips sideways, plump and teasing. “But I let them fuck me sometimes.”
Christ, she refused to budge. “And that satisfies you?”
“Depends on the bad boy.” Her crossed arms pushed her breasts up and out in challenge. She raised an eyebrow. “How bad are you, Brian?”
With a deep breath, he dove in like greeting 55-degree waves on Lake Michigan in October, the cold shocking on exposed skin. “So bad I’m good. Can you handle that?”
“I’ll give you persistent, that’s for sure.” Anchoring her hip on the counter, she sighed. Standoffish and unimpressed as Mom’s favorite cat. “Okay, let’s pretend you’re a bad boy. Prove it to me. Tattoos?