Crazy (The Gibson Boys, #4)

by Adriana Locke

“Nope. Not a cousin,” I say. That would make a lot of thoughts incestuous.

“No, we aren’t cousins,” Dylan says with a laugh. “That would make things … weird.” “That would make a lot of things really weird,” I agree. Our eyes meet in the space between us. Even though we aren’t touching, we’re close enough to kickstart the buzz I feel when we’re together. I want to reach out and touch her—even if it’s the top of her hand.

“I like Dylan,” I tell Molly. “She’s funny and sweet and …”

The longer I sit here, the more I want to leave. To go home. To see Dylan and make sure she’s not fucked up by this little show Molly’s put on. She’s not used to her antics and might not write them off like everyone else does. “Molly, I need to get going.” “Are you going to see her?” “Well, we live together.”

His lips are twisted into an unapologetic grin. I drop the shirt I’m holding onto the bed in a messy lump.

“I didn’t think you’d get up there with me tonight.” “On the bar?” I raise my brows. “I’m not going to back down from a challenge.” He laughs. “Good to know.”

He reaches out. A finger settles in beneath my chin, and he lifts it higher. I look into his eyes as he peers into mine.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “For what?” “For caring.” He smiles shyly, his finger falling from my face. “Don’t forget that I’m making you dinner tomorrow.”

“Nothing. Just doing a little cooking tonight.” “This have anything to do with that hot little thing Machlan was telling me about last night?” I unlock the driver’s side door and toss my keys in the cup holder. “When did this family turn into a bunch of gossiping assholes?”

But today I know he’s hinting at Dylan. And I kind of like it. I like the idea of my name and her name being roped together like Machlan and Hadley’s. I like the idea of having her be around in discussions like this.

“I like Dylan,” I say carefully, testing it out. “But she’s …”

I put the truck into reverse but don’t take my foot off the brake. Instead, I look at that green paint again. The sun hits it, causing the golden speckles in the finish to shine. Just like Dylan’s eyes. I grin. She’d wanted me to lean in and kiss her, and fuck how I wanted to.

I grip the steering wheel, my palms sweaty. What would happen if I did things the right way? With Dylan? Is something like that possible?

“I wish there wasn’t a Molly spell,” I admit. “If there wasn’t, I’d be all over that. He’s … like sunshine. He makes you feel good.”

“All right. Let’s not fuck this up,” I whisper. The items I bought at the grocery this morning are spread on the table. Packets of steak, giant potatoes that I’ll smash with butter and bacon and cheese and chives, and the requisite salad fixings are all displayed in a neat little line for my dinner with Dylan. I run my hands down the sides of my pants. Sweat from my palms skid down the denim.

My stomach has been clenched since I came in from the barn and heard Dylan in the shower. I stood in the kitchen and listened to the water trickle through the pipes in the wall and imagined her standing under the spout. Wet. And naked.

I’d like to politely stick my— “Hey, Peck.” I wheel around to see her standing in the doorway. A long, brick red dress hangs lazily off her frame, showcasing the delicate curve of her shoulders and dipping sweetly at her waist. Her hair is down, brushing against the middle of her back, and if she has a stitch of makeup on, I’d be shocked. She’s never looked prettier. “Hey,” I say, running my hands down my jeans. Again. “You, um, you look really pretty.”

“Yeah. Having you in the kitchen with me sounds like a terrible time,” I tease. “Oh, does it?” “Just awful.”

“Does this mean you’re going to dance again?” Her face turns the same shade as her dress. The flush steals my breath as I imagine what she would look like on her back, legs spread, coming all over my tongue. Or on her knees as I take her from behind— Fuck. Stop. You’re cooking dinner, Ward.

turn back to the table so she doesn’t see my reddened face. Or my hard-as-nails cock. Because I’m imagining her dancing against me again, feeling every beat, every pulse of her skin against mine. Holy shit. Stop.

she probably has no idea that I’ve been fantasizing about her every minute since. And I’m still not sure what I’m doing. Is this a risk I should be taking?

She snorts. “True. I don’t like my meat salty.” I laugh out loud. “Good to know. Good to know.”

I take in the concern embedded in her eyes. There’s distress in those gorgeous greens because she’s worried about me.

Wrong. Shit does bother me. I just don’t go telling the world about it. Because the world thinks it already knows. It assumes. Dylan assumes too. But the difference is that she cares when she gets it wrong. It bothers her. Huh.

I look at her. And beautiful.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. Dylan’s watching me. I know it. And instead of it making me nervous … I like the feeling of it. I like the idea of it. Of her beside me in the kitchen as we prepare dinner while listening to music and talking about our lives. When have I ever had this? Maybe I’d cook more if this was the case. I grin and shut the lid.

“Good,” I say, trying not to show her how proud I am of myself.

She flips her head so that her hair falls on her far shoulder, exposing the side of her face to me. She chops the vegetables, her hips moving with the beat of the song. The bass is deep, the beat slow and sensual. Her lashes fall closed as she loses herself in the words. I walk toward her, unable to look away. Holding her breath as I get closer, she stills. I stand behind her and peer over her shoulder. Kissing her would be so easy. Touching her would take all of a half of a second. But if I do either, I’m not going to stop. And I have dinner to make. “Looking good,” I say. She blows out a breath. I’m lying. She looks incredible. She smells fucking awesome. She has shown me more empathy in a few days than many of my friends had throughout my life. She is sexy as hell. But she will get to eat her dinner because I’m starting to realize that she deserves someone looking after her.

“For someone who doesn’t ever cook, you sure know your way around the kitchen.” “It’s never been fun to cook for one.” “But it is for two?” He lifts from checking on the potatoes, gazing through the oven window as if he’s admiring newborns in the nursery. When his blue eyes land back on me, my hands press a little harder onto the counter to steady myself. That level of sexy should be outlawed. The corners of his lips shoot up. “It is for you.”

“What are you doing, Dylan?” My eyes shoot up to find his on me. “Just … thinking.” “What are you thinking about?” Your body.

“Really?” He pretends to consider that. “I don’t know that I’d go with soft.” “That’s true. Nobody likes soft meat.” His smirk digs deeper as he sets the knife down. “How do you like your meat, Dylan?”

He sticks his tongue in the side of his cheek. He’s such an insane mix of playful and sexy that I don’t know which to focus on. My cheeks ache from smiling, but my thighs burn from desire. “I’d say … hand-rubbed,” he says. “Well done.” “What? My comeback or that’s how you like your meat too?”

He plants both palms on the counter behind him and gives it a shove. The momentum sends him across the kitchen toward me. I can’t look away as he gets closer. My heart thumps in my chest, sending a flow of blood over my ears that makes me dizzy. He stops in front of me and peers down. The playfulness is still there, but it’s overshadowed by the heat in his eyes.

“You standing this close to me isn’t fair,” I tell him. “Why?” His voice is a dead giveaway to the fact that he wants to see if there’s any fire under all this smoke billowing between us. “Because I want to touch you, and you know that.” It takes a few seconds for that to register. When it does, I know.

“Since when do you not do what you want?” he teases. “I can touch?” I wink, making that smirk of his grow. “You most definitely can touch.”

His arms wrap around me. He holds me tight against him, his chest rising and falling as wildly as mine. His body is hard and steady, and I could stay all day with my cheek pressed against his chest. He leans down, his lips fluttering against my ear. “I could ask you the same question,” he says. “But why bother with small talk when I can show you.”

glance at the oven timer. “We have time. Just saying.” A chuckle vibrates from his chest. “How much?” My breathing goes in and out at a ragged pace. I lean back to see his face. “Twenty-five minutes.” “I only need ten.” I start to laugh as his face wrinkles in disgust. “Calling it like it is,” he says. “You know what I mean. I’m not going to last long with you.”

He rolls his eyes, but then his arms tighten around me, and he lifts me on top of the counter. “Damn straight, it will be.” “Time’s a ticking, Wesley.” He nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck. “I love a challenge, but I’m not sure if I want to win this one or not.”

I moan into his mouth; the contact glorious but not quite fulfilling. I need more. His tongue swipes past my lips. He wraps his arms around me again and draws me even closer.

“That wasn’t ten minutes,” I tell him. “Change of plans.” My dress is lifted, and on a gasp, my panties are removed. Sinking to his knees, he presses his silky lips against my inner thighs. I lean back on the counter, propping myself up on my elbows, and watch him watch me enjoy his touch.

“Is this okay?” he asks. “If it makes you remember where we were, then it’s perfect.” He grins. I turn around. Lifting my hair above my neck, I ask, “Do you mind unzipping me?” He kisses the nape of my neck and plants a few random pecks down the side. My skin tingles with anticipation as the zipper slides down my spine. The right side is taken down my shoulder and then the left before the dress puddles at my feet. I step out of the dress, turning around to face him.

I watch with rapt attention as his Adam’s apple bobs with a heavy swallow. His eyes cast down, and when he looks up, I see a struggle in his eyes. “I did this wrong, Dylan.” “What are you talking about?” “I should have taken the time to kiss you more.”

He grins. “But not like I wanted to.” “Then kiss me now.” Strong hands take hold of my face with such care that I cover his hands with mine, feeling weak in the knees. I close my eyes just as our lips press together for the first time in a caress. Our tongues meet, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, never wanting this moment to end.

“No ma’am, I’m not.” He pulls his boxers down, and every thought I ever had about him below the waist were wrong. He’s better. He catches me staring. “Sorry,” I say. “You know how to build a guy’s ego.”

laughs, I smile with him. Whatever this is between us is nice. Hovering over me, he leans down and kisses me again. “So do you. You’re gorgeous and so fucking sexy.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. I reach up and place my palm on the side of his neck. His heartbeat pounds against my hand, and I feel mine amp up to match.

Our gazes lock, the heat between us sizzling. I try to look away but can’t. He holds me in place with nothing but a look as he moves his hips. Inch by inch, he fills me. “Oh, my gosh,” I pant. “Open for me, baby.” It’s a command, there’s no doubt about it, but it’s said with such a sweetness that I think I might fall apart already. My knees fall farther to the sides. He slides inside me, fulling seating himself inside my body.

His head dips, his mouth covering mine. I press my hands to his chest and then run them up to his shoulders. The muscles flex as he moves, rocking himself into me. The blanket is soft against my back, his arms hard on either side of me. It’s an overwhelming contrast of sensations. I gasp for air but am cut off by his kisses.

“Peck,” I pant, holding his face in my hands. “Yes, beautiful?” I grin, bringing his lips back to mine. “You feel so good,” he whispers, dragging his hands up my arms when I raise them above my head and loop my fingers around the rails of the headboard. “You feel amazing,” I say. He pulls out, taunting my clit, before dipping inside me again. “Do that a couple more times,” I groan, pleasure ripping through my body, “and I’ll come.” “I’m having to think about fishing so I don’t lose it right now,” he says with a chuckle.

“You do that a couple more times, and this is over,” he warns. I lock my legs around him. Digging my heels into the small of his back, I look him right in the eyes and clench again. “Dylan …” He slides in and out, hitting the spot that brings me closer and closer to an orgasm. “Right … there,” I say. It feels so good it almost hurts. “Look at me,” he says. “I want to watch you come.”