3 Seconds (Time for Love Book 6) (2 page)

I listened to
them shower me with praise, each trying to nudge the other out of
the way to get closer and get the coveted slot on my arm. I kept
the smile on my face, but tuned them out when I zeroed in on
Freckles. She was standing at a tall table, still with her friends,
but her eyes were on me. It was like a jolt to the system.

I had to have
her. Now.

Without a word
to the girls around me, I started walking toward her. She stood
taller, tipping her chin up, as if to show me she was in no way
intimidated.

Thank
Christ
, I thought. The last thing I wanted was some cowering
girl who was too meek to tell me what she wanted.

Everything
about this woman was turning me on. I was hard as steel and hadn’t
even spoken to her yet.

I walked right
up to her, dipped my head so my lips would be close enough for her,
and only her, to hear me. “Want to get out of here, Freckles?” I
caught the scent of something fruity, maybe from her shampoo, and
inhaled deeply to capture the sweet smell.

Her nose
wrinkled at the nickname, but she tilted her head to look me right
in the eye and answered, “Absolutely.”

Chapter Two ~
Bronagh

I barely
registered my surroundings as I followed the lead singer of Whiskey
Heat up the stairs and into his open-air loft. I caught glimpses of
a record collection, a bicycle hanging from the ceiling and walls
covered in drawings, but quickly lost focus when his lips found the
base of my neck and began to kiss their way up.

“What’s your
name, Freckles?” he asked huskily when he reached my ear.

We’d rushed out
of the bar and onto the back of his motorcycle before we’d had the
chance to exchange pleasantries.

“Bronagh,” I
replied, unashamed that it came out breathless.

“Gorgeous,” he
stated, and I wasn’t sure if he was talking about me or my name.
“I’m Brendan.”

I honestly
didn’t care if his name was Fred. I’d watched him walk on stage,
and I swear, not three seconds later his eyes met mine with an
electric shock. My body’d reacted like we were already lovers, and
I’d known I’d go home with him if given the chance. I’d never felt
such an instant attraction for a man before, and it had been soooo
long that my body was beginning for release. I was
positive
,
he was the guy to give it to me.

“Mmmm,” I
moaned as his hands found their way up my shirt, branding my skin
as they memorized the contours of my body.
God
, how long had
it been since I’d been touched like this? Oh yeah, two years, three
months, and twenty-one days … three days before I found my lying,
cheating, bastard of a husband bare assed and fucking one of the
waitresses.

I shook my
head, willing myself to forget my jackass of an ex-husband, and
lose myself completely in the moment.

I deserved
this…

I deserved a
one-night stand with a hot-as-hell rock star.

Okay, maybe
rock star
was a stretch, but he was young, hotter than hell,
and had more than his fair share of talent.

I’d never had a
wild streak when I was younger, and had married pretty young, so I
figured it was time to live in the moment, and what better time
than the present?

Kissing and
groping with each step, we maneuvered up the stairs to what I
assumed was the bed. I found myself growing impatient, the years of
abstinence from anything other than my hand or a vibrator making me
bold. I gripped my fingers into the already slightly torn neckline
of his shirt and ripped it apart.

I broke away,
careful not to stumble back down the stairs, to see what surprise
lay underneath the wrapping. I gasped in delight as my eyes drank
in his lean and toned body. Defined chest, check … rock-hard abs,
check … happy trail, check… Hallelujah!

I was so
overcome by seeing a body like his for the first time in real life,
and not just in the pages of a magazine, that I literally clapped
my hands together with glee before laying them on his heated skin
and exploring the anomaly for myself.

He chuckled
lightly as I explored, but when I leaned forward to replace my
hands with my mouth he said, “Just a few more feet, Freckles,” and
tugged me the rest of the way up the stairs.

His mattress
was on the floor, like obvious young, bachelor that he was, but I
didn’t care. Not about the lack of bed frame, or that I figured he
clocked in at least ten years younger than me.

I had no sense
of embarrassment or shame when I tossed my tank on the floor and
shimmied out of my cut-offs, revealing a cute, but practical black
cotton bra and panty set.

“Party Time?”
Brendan asked with a chuckle as he read the words that were written
across my panties.

“Seemed
appropriate,” I murmured in response.

Brendan didn’t
seem to notice, or care, that my thighs were thick, or that my
belly was soft and round. He was fixated on where my breasts were
spilling over my C-cup. The expression on his face told me he was
more than happy with what I had to offer.

Good, because I
was fucking him either way.

This was going
to happen. I was going to break my slump, have sex with someone who
not only wasn’t my ex, but who was by far the sexiest man I’d ever
met.

This was going
to be a story to be told over Bellini’s with the girls.

He pushed his
hair back from his face, the action sexier than I’d ever imagined
it would be, and crooked his finger, drawing me closer as if by
magic, then pushed me lightly so I fell back onto the mattress. He
joined me swiftly, covering my nearly naked body with his jean-clad
one.

What started
out slow and searching, quickly turned frenzied, and before long I
was bucking underneath his skillful touch. He cupped me lightly,
teasingly at first, while his lips feathered kisses against my
exposed cleavage. The anticipation was almost too much; I needed
things to go faster before I lost hold of the last thread of
control I had.

I bowed off of
the bed, unhooking my bra and pushing the straps down hurriedly.
Brendan lifted his head to allow me to peel the strap of material
from my body, and I took that opportunity to surge up and flip him
onto his back so I was straddling him. Topless, I allowed my eyes
to roam greedily over his exposed skin as I rocked against the
denim concealing his hard cock, eager to ease the ache that burned
at my core.

Brendan’s grin
was cocky as he pushed his hips up off of the bed to meet mine, but
I didn’t care. He had the right to be cocky.

I bent over and
finally,
finally
, touched my lips to his chest and began to
pepper him with kisses. Adding a few bites and licks, I trailed my
soft lips over the firm expanse of his chest and stomach. He
groaned beneath me, and I felt the vibration rumble through his
chest. Unable to keep the pace any longer, I reached down and
searched out his zipper, needing to free him and touch him
everywhere. Kiss him everywhere.

My brain was
foggy with need, causing my hands to fumble. He pushed me up so I
was kneeling again, and scooted out from under me. With hungry
eyes, I watched as he unbuttoned his jeans and took them off,
revealing black boxer briefs and an impressive erection underneath.
I reached for it like a woman possessed, but he grasped my wrists
to stop me.

“I can’t wait,”
he said gruffly, and I practically whimpered with relief. “Get on
your knees,” he demanded next, surprising me even as his words
caused my heart to gallop in my chest.

I’d never
experienced anything other than the missionary position, so I was a
little nervous, but I turned over excitedly and waited for further
instructions.

“Bend over and
lift that sweet ass in the air,” he said from behind me, causing a
shiver to run through me as I did what he said.

I jolted, then
moaned loudly as Brendan ran his hand over my ass, then farther
down, slipping first one finger, then another, inside of me,
causing me to instinctively push back against his hand.

“God, you feel
amazing.” His voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel, my
brain was so focused on the pleasure that my body was receiving.
Brendan lightly stroked my ass with one hand, as his other pumped
in and out of me, and when he flicked his thumb repeatedly over my
clit, I felt my orgasm start to build.

“God, yes,” I
whispered, half out of my mind. “Don’t stop or I’ll fucking kill
you.”

I knew I
sounded like a psycho, but was beyond caring. The build was already
unlike anything I’d ever felt before, so I just knew I was about to
come hard. I didn’t care if he knew it, I just needed him to get me
there. Now!

“Hold on,
Freckles,” he said, his breath hot against my neck. I heard a
rustle and tear, and barely had time to register the fact that he
was protecting us both, before I lost his fingers. I was about to
scream out at the loss … Yes, seriously …
scream
, when they
were replaced with something a helluva lot better.

He braced my
hips with his hands as he thrust inside, and I pushed back to meet
him, grinding as I met his rhythm. I felt a dangerous thrill when
he grasped the bulk of my hair in his hand and tugged it and he
moved. Once our pace was set, I nearly wept with relief when he
bent over me and began circling my clit once more.

With the smell
of sex in the air, and the sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, I
lost myself in the feel of his thighs slapping against mine, and
let myself go. Completely.

I don’t know
how long I came, or how long it took for him to join me, I was too
lost in the moment, but when I finally came to, we were sprawled
out on the bed, slick with sweat and breathing heavily. I felt my
lips curve up in satisfaction, as I drifted off into a sleep
induced by good drinks and fantastic sex.

I awoke with a
start sometime later. The room was dark, and the light from the
alarm clock said it was four a.m. I got up slowly, and gathered my
things as quietly as I could, giving Brendan one last long look
before I tiptoed down the stairs, shoving my cell phone in my
purse, my shoes dangling from my fingertips.

I didn’t leave
a number, or anyway for him to get ahold of me. I figured this was
probably his MO, and didn’t want to seem like a clinger by leaving
anything behind … or worse, like a groupie who didn’t know when to
let a one-night stand
be
a one-night stand.

I gave him a
mental high-five for a fantastic time as I slipped out of his loft,
assuming I’d never see him again. At least I’d always have a great
story, and the memory of the hot singer with a sexy smile and
smokin’ young body.

Chapter Three ~
Brendan

As I pulled my
bike into the parking garage near my culinary school, I felt a rush
of anticipation at getting back in the kitchen. The time I’d spent
abroad had been a priceless learning experience, but I was ready to
finish what I’d started, and there was only one semester standing
in my way. After graduation, I was sure I would land the job of my
dreams, working with Chef Agard in one of his restaurants.

I’d had the
pleasure of meeting and working with him during my time in France,
and was eager to learn more from the master of French cuisine.

I shrugged on
my chef’s coat as I entered the building, and stopped with a grin
when I saw a couple of my buddies talking as they set up their
stations.

“Bren,” my
friend and fellow student, Hector, called in greeting when he
looked up and saw me approaching. “Long time no see, brother, how’s
it been?”

We slapped
hands, then I turned to do the same with Jerrod, our other
buddy.

“Yeah, man, how
was Europe?” he asked.

“Great,” I
answered as I found my way to an open station, the students at the
others already laying out their equipment. “We’ll have to grab a
drink and I’ll tell you all about it.” I nodded toward the front,
where the instructor usually perched, and asked, “Gordon still
crazy as ever?” Referring to the teacher who’d busted our balls for
two years.

“Nah,” Jerrod
said, shaking his head. “Didn’t you hear? Gordon got sick and had
to take some time off. They got some hot shot to take his spot. I
guess she trained under Chef Agard, and owns that Irish Pub
downtown.”

At the sound of
my mentor’s name I perked up.

I was about to
ask more when movement at the front of the room indicated the
instructor had arrived, and I looked up to see … Bronagh.

I had a sudden
flash of creamy skin smattered with freckles, and the sultry moans
I’d coaxed from the gorgeous woman standing at the head of the
class. She had her hair pulled back in a bun, and was wearing a
standard chef coat, complete with the culinary school’s crest, and
Chef Bronagh Callaghan
written over her left breast.

My first
thought was,
Hell, yes, there she is
… I’d woken up to find
my bed empty, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but I’d been
surprised to find my mind wandering back to that night occasionally
over the last few days. There was something about her … that hair,
those tits, that ass … and the sexy-as-fuck way she’d responded to
my hands on her body.

It didn’t suck
to see her standing before me now, but when her gaze flitted over
me, then came back and her eyes widened in shock, I realized that
the feeling might not be mutual.

I bit back
disappointment. She obviously wasn’t stoked about finding me
sitting in her class, and assured myself that I hadn’t been alone
in my loft that night. The sex had been amazing. Powerful, potent,
and downright animalistic. I knew she’d felt it too; her pleasure
had been pretty obvious. I’d been with enough women to spot a fake,
and there was no way Bronagh had been faking when we were
together.