Hot Summer Lust Read Online Free Page A

across the short distance as I draw closer.
    Devil-blue.
    I feel each heartbeat. I’m bridging the divide . My body feels heavy and light and the same time. Heavy with ripe femininity, light with anticipation. The glow that began today at the pond is deeper now. A hunger. A heat. Settling into my heart, my thighs, my belly. My mouth.
    I stand next to the bench where he sits and he stops strumming his guitar. His eyes are on my body, searing me with his sapphire-eyed awareness. My nipples get hard and the hollow between my legs feels hot, throbbing lightly. I go wet and my panties cling to sensitive flesh as I sit on the bench’s far end. I don’t want to get too close to him. I’m afraid of what might happen.I’m excited by what could happen. I can feel my pulse everywhere.
    He looks bigger up close. With his dark looks and broad-shouldered brawn, he looks dangerous. He probably weighs double what I weigh. There are veins under the skin of his brown arms and hands that sort of amplify the promise of his raw strength. If he wanted to, he could overpower me in any way he wanted . He could kill me with his bare hands. Or he could hold me down. Pin me under his weight.
    “I saw you drive by my house today,” he says.
    “You did?”
    “I did.” His voice is just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. R asped with notes of dark promise and hot lust.
    His lazy contemplation is making me crazy . I start talking, maybe just to fill the sparked space between us. “I … yeah , I put one of my flyers in your mailbox. I didn’t think anyone was even living there, but I had a few left over. I’m looking for cleaning jobs, to save up some money so I can move to Nashville in the fall.”
    “Nashville.”
    “Yeah, Nashville.”
    “What’s in Nashville?” he says, and there’s a little thread of curiosity in his voice, like he’s dying to know.
    “Music.”
    “You play?”
    “ I sing.” I play the guitar and piano too, but I don’t bother telling him this. And I know what it sounds like. The endless procession of wannabes that flock to Nashville, hoping for a miracle, searching for their lucky break. Most of them’ ll never find it. But here’s the thing: I k now I’m good enough. I feel it in my gut. And even though I’m a little self-conscious about what I might look like to him – like one more dreamer in a vast sea of dreamers – I don’t care. So it comes out sounding a little defiant.
    He smiles again. “How ‘bout that,” he says softly. “Sadie sings.”
    I glare at him.
    “Sing me somethin’.”
    His accent has deepened, and so has mine. “No, I’m not gonna sing you somethin’.”
    “Go on.” He starts strumming again and looks over at me from under the lush fall of his dark hair. It’s pretty interesting, when you think about it, that a million lessons about temptation never taught me a thing. Now, I finally understand it. “Sing for me.”
    There he goes again with that self-assured, masculine delivery, the one that makes me want to give him anything he asks for. “All right. Just one verse.” I do it. I sing softly along with his tune. I know the words. I’ve sung this song a thousand times and I sing it again . The music’s in me. This song, like they all do, inhabits me in a way that sort of takes over and makes me feel better than I do when I’m not singing. The notes weave themselves around the thick night air like smoke.
    When I’ve finished the verse, I stop.
    Elias i s quiet for a few seconds. He’s watching me intently. Then he sits back and lets his muscled arms cradle his guitar. I feel a weird sense of jealousy, or something like it. I want to know what those arms feel like, warm and strong and carefully possessive. Slung casually with all their powerful promise, around me .
    “Well, how about that ,” he finally says. “Sadie sings .”
    “I’m leaving as soon as I’ve earned enough to get myself a place in the city . Something small, it doesn’t