Sex On The Seats (Love After Midnight Book 4) by Elise Faber (most inspirational books .txt) 📗

he said, “I’m trying to be romantic.”

More laughter, but this time it was mixed with the type of incandescent joy that only this man wrought.

“Where was I?” He tapped his lips this time. “Intensely, irrevocably . . . foreverly—”

“That’s not a word.”

“Shh,” he said.

“Archer,” I warned. “So help me, God, but do I need to threaten your murder via kitchen tools again?”

“You love me,” he countered.

“I’m already regretting it.”

“I’m not,” he said, tugging me close and resting his forehead to mine. “It’s the greatest gift you could have ever given me.”

I rose on tiptoe. He bent.

And our mouths, like every other part of us—our bodies, our hearts, our souls—lined up perfectly.

“Um,” Brooke began. “I don’t mean to break up the romantic moment,” she said, concern creeping into her voice and at the same time, the smell hit my nose. “But Kace burned the sauce.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” he exclaimed, wincing as he glanced down into the pot.

“I don’t trust any of you when it comes to burning things,” Iris said.

Anabelle glanced from the pot, her wince rivaling Kace’s. “Got caught up in the romance, did you?”

“Shut it,” he grumbled. “This isn’t my fault. I should have never been trusted with something as important as Bolognese duty.”

Archer’s chest vibrated with laughter.

Hayden held up his phone. “I’m ordering dinner from the bar,” he said. “Who wants what?”

Orders were called across the room. The ruined sauce—and pasta, since Archer had managed to miss the colander altogether—went into the trash. More wine was poured (and tacked onto the order from the bar).

But teasing abounded, along with love and even more laughter.

Still in Archer’s arms, I smiled up at him, at the man I loved, so blissfully happy I could barely breathe.

This moment wasn’t perfect.

I wasn’t perfect.

Our relationship, our love wouldn’t be perfect either.

But it was perfectly imperfect for us.

And that was enough.

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Love After Midnight

Rum And Notes

Virgin Daiquiri

On The Rocks

Sex On The Seats

Love After Midnight

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Rum And Notes

Book 1

www.books2read.com/RumAndNotes

Brooke

“Want a fresh one?”

My eyes flew up from the glass to meet Kace’s.

“Um,” I murmured. “Sure. But can you add a little rum?”

A flash of white teeth. “All done, then?” He leaned toward me, resting his forearms on the bar, the long sleeves of his shirt riding up to reveal just the edge of a tattoo. I’d seen the whole tat before. On Day 36. He’d worn short sleeves for a change, a bone thrown to the unseasonably hot weather that day, and suddenly my hero had gotten tattoos, beautiful swirling lines crawling along his skin, sweeping around and up his forearms, twisting together and disappearing under the cotton of his short sleeves, tempting a woman to trace them with her tongue.

No.

My heroine’s tongue.

Fantasy was fine, so long as I kept it between the pages.

I bit my bottom lip until the mental image faded, kept my tongue firmly in my mouth, and nodded at Kace.

He rapped his knuckles against the counter once, reciprocated my nod, then snagged my glass and turned away, dumping the contents, adding ice, rum, then soda before coming back over to me. He plunked the drink on the bar, but when I went to reach for it, he rested his hand on mine. “What are you working on so diligently?” he asked, and the contact, paired with his eyes locked on mine, stole my breath.

“Wh-what?”

His response was to release my hand, and while I was mourning the loss of his touch, he grabbed my computer, spun it to face him, and opened it.

“No—”

But it was too late.

It was open, the screen lighting up, illuminating his sharp but beautiful features, and he was reading.

Oh fuck, he was reading!

I made a mad grab for the laptop, but he swept it off the bar, lifting it in the air and continuing to read. My computer obscured most of his face, but not his eyebrows. Those brows kept rising until they were tight sideways C’s on his forehead, well above the edge of my screen.

Then he lowered the laptop and stared at me.

“This is what you’ve been writing?”

In fairness, he’d caught me in the middle of a hot scene, made hotter because he’d been my inspiration for it.

A fact he seemed to understand when his eyes met mine. “Jace?”

I coughed. “It’s a common name.”

“Blue eyes?” He glanced back at the screen. “Tats? Brown hair?”

“Not an uncommon combination.” I picked up my glass, drained it, eyes watering against the burn.

“A scar on the right side of his bottom lip?” he asked, putting my laptop down.

Okay, now was the time for running.

Something I normally abhorred, but in this case, it was critical. I snatched up my computer, reached into my wallet and pulled out some cash, and tossed it on the bar.

Then I jumped off the stool and ran.

—Rum And Notes (books2read.com/RumAndNotes)

Virgin Daiquiri

Book 2

www.books2read.com/VirginDaiquiri

Brent

Fuck. Someone needed to save this woman from herself.

That someone couldn’t be me.

But that still didn’t stop me from snagging her arm and rotating her to face me. “You live near the city now. You have to be smart.” Her lips parted again, probably to tell me she was smart, but I kept talking. “Street smart. You can’t tell strange men you live alone or invite them back to your place.”

“Fine,” she said.

“Fine,” I agreed.

But I didn’t let her go.

Her eyes flicked over my shoulder, to the ceiling, and my gaze followed hers, half-expecting to see a giant spider dangling there.

Instead, I saw mistletoe.

I glanced back down. She licked her lips.

And suddenly, I knew she was thinking the same thing as me. Warm bodies pressed together, lips only inches apart, heat filling the space, and a kiss-inducing plant overhead.

“Mistletoe,” she whispered and licked