One Hot Mess Read Online Free PDF Page B

somehow managed to coax it out of its container and rain kisses near the nipple.
    I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt.
    “You've kept your nose clean,” he said.
    “While the rest of me is dirty as hell,” I rasped.
    “Jesus, McMullen!” He paused, staring at me with lightning-bright intensity. “I'm trying to logically justify why we deserve to have sex.”
    “Oh.” Jesus God. Sex! “Yes.” Why wasn't there more oxygen in the room? What had happened to the damn oxygen? “Of course. Carry on.”
    “I've been gentlemanly.”
    I made some kind of unidentifiable noise in my throat. It might have been a snort or a moan or a gasp. God knows.
    “For a cop,” he said. He was holding both breasts now. I didn't look down, but I knew the nipples were perched on the top of my bra. He licked one.
    I shrieked something inarticulate and bucked against him.
    “While you've been”—he was breathing hard—”so damn sexy I can hardly—”
    I grabbed a handful of hair at the back of his head and smashed in for a kiss.
    After that, all hell broke loose. He was on my nipple, suckling. I think I screamed. He moaned and tore my shirt over my head. My shorts were simply gone, probably disintegrated like wet toilet paper. And suddenly I was perched on the counter, legs spread, bra AWOL. His shirt looked like it had lost a battle with a wolverine. His belt defied me for one frantic second, but finally I mastered it. And then his cock burst free.
    I think I might have taken the Lord's name in vain at that point, but it might have been him.
    And then someone knocked on my door.
    I gasped, wondering wildly if outsiders could see us. I slammed my gaze to the window above the sink, but my blinds were closed fast.
    “Screw that!” I breathed, and kissed him, searing his lips with my own.
    He was as hot as sin against my core. His hands crushed my butt, drawing me nearer, pulling me onto him.
    “Christina,” called a voice from the far side of the door. “I am sorry to bother you.”
    I froze. Rivera froze. We stared at each other. Inches apart. Hearts hammering. Stuff throbbing.
    “McMullen,” Rivera murmured.
    “Yes?”
    “Why is my father on your stoop?”

3
    You're just lucky blood's so hard to get out of the carpet.
    —
Connie McMullen
,
mother of Chrissy and her

three primeval brothers
—
enough said
    Y GAZE WAS WELDED to Riveras face. “Your father?” My voice sounded as if my throat had been exfoliated with sea salt.
    His cock throbbed between us. I throbbed right back. Nobody ever called me a piker. I was absolutely stark naked and happy to be so.
    But he drew back, pulled up his jeans, buttoned them in place.
    I'd like to say on my behalf that I didn't shed a single tear. Though, in truth, I might have whimpered a little.
    “The senator,” he said, and stared at me.
    “Senator?” I cleared my throat and straightened. I felt cold suddenly. I wouldn't say that Rivera hates his father,but… well, he
hates
his father. “What makes you think it is he?”
    He stared at me askance. Maybe it was my phraseology. Sometimes people are uncomfortable with proper sentence structure.
    “Him,”
I amended.
    “Christina,” called the senator again.
    “Were you expecting him?”
    “No.” My voice squeaked. I disciplined my expression and vocal cords. “No. Why would I be?”
    His brows lowered, he backed up a pace, putting distance between us, canting his head slightly, eyes narrowed. “When you mentioned a hot date I didn't think you meant my old man.”
    My jaw dropped. “I
didn't
mean him.”
    He was still watching me, eyes dead steady. “No?”
    I grabbed my shirt from the counter beside me. “What the hell's wrong with you?”
    “Then why is he here?”
    Yanking my shirt over my head, I jumped off the counter, pulled my shorts out from under his foot, and actually considered biting his ankle on the way up. “How would I know?”
    “He didn't—”
    But suddenly the back