Something About You (Just Me & You) Read Online Free PDF Page A

was
talking.
    “Glad you oblige,” he murmured, stabilizing his glass
between the St. Augustine’s thick roots. Then, leaning in slowly, he ran the
tip of his forefinger down the side of her face, tracing the curve of her
cheek. The mischievous look in his eyes was gone. He was studying her somberly
as though he were an artist contemplating which brushstroke to make. She didn’t
know if it was genuine or just a part of the act.
    Wait.
    Surely he wasn’t going to kiss her.
    They were complete strangers.
    Well, almost strangers , she reasoned. He moved in
closer. His lips were a scant distance from hers, not touching, but close
enough for her to feel their heat. Her throat went dry at the first
feather-light contact. His lower lip barely grazed hers, then again and again
before he paused. From an alcohol-stupefied distance, she heard her breath
coming out in shuddering gasps.
    Every second seemed to stretch into five. His lips slowly
descended on hers as though acclimating her palate to their taste and texture
before the kiss truly began. He kissed her slowly, leisurely and deeply,
twining her tongue around his with a skill and grace she never thought
possible. It was a sweet kiss, a fresh kiss. Like biting into a sun-warmed plum
plucked straight from the tree.
    A warm, melting sensation coursed down Sabrina’s spine.
    His chest moved flush against hers, and he massaged the back
of her neck with the ball of his hand as he lowered her down until the back of
her head landed against the cool earth. It was, she realized, the perfect first
kiss she’d always dreamed of from the time she was a teen, when her hopes had
been dashed by a dry-lipped, Skoal-dipping prom date.
    No man had ever kissed her like this before — none .
    Gage wrapped things up the same way he’d started. Instead of
abruptly severing their connection, the kiss gradually became less intense,
shallower, until he was once again brushing her lips with his own, touching the
tender vermilion of her cupid’s bow with the tip of his tongue before nudging
her nose lightly with his own.
    She lifted her heavy eyelids. She was still on sensory
overload. He lay directly over her, the weight of his torso propped up by two
strong arms. A stray lock of hair tumbled over one of his eyes. In the
twilight, his face was sculpted and still.
    “What exactly did I just learn?” Her voice was low and
husky. 
    “That there are people you want to keep kissing and people
you don’t.” She felt his breath, hot against her mouth.
    “So you think it’s that simple.”
    “I do,” he breathed.
    He was so close she could detect the unique smell of his
skin — wood, salt and white soap — and feel the contour of lean
muscle pressed against her. The situation could easily go rogue. He may have
been one of the world’s best kissers; however, all over the planet, at
countless wedding receptions, possibly at this very moment in time, single,
opportunistic men were likely in no short supply, prowling around punch bowls
and cake tables, lying in wait for women just like herself.
    “So, what d’you think?” he asked.
    “More, please.” She sighed in supplication.
    Gage’s throat rumbled with low laughter, and then he dipped
his head to hers again. One kiss bled into another as the sky turned to indigo
and a full moon bloomed on the horizon. Each kiss had a different mood and
color, sensual cherry-red; languid blue; and hot, passionate white, the last of
which made her instinctively bury her hands in his hair.
    When his lips traveled to her collarbone, she became keenly
aware of the nagging void between her legs. How much of her attraction was
fueled by the alcohol and how much was pure animal desire was a matter of
conjecture. But it was only one night. They were only kissing. After tonight,
she’d never see the groomsman from Iowa again.
    “Lilies and incense,” he muttered against the pulse point in
her neck. “God, you smell incredible.”
    “It’s my perfume,”