Make Me Bad (Page 29)

She stands up there gazing down at me. I shouldn’t be thinking she’s beautiful, but Madison has a way of looking incredible in the least convenient moments.

Her nightgown cuts off at mid-thigh. From where I stand, I have a dangerously tempting view. I force myself to be a gentleman as I tell her what I want her to do.

“Lower yourself down slowly and by the time you’re hanging, I should be able to reach you. Got it?”

“Okay. I trust you, but I’m just wondering if I should go back in for some ice packs before we continue.”

“Madison,” I admonish. “C’mon, I’ve got you. I swear.”

She does exactly as I say and soon enough, her calf is within reach. I lock my hand around it and like the good guy I’m pretending to be, I don’t notice how silky smooth it is.

“Keep going. I can almost reach your thigh.”

“Don’t look up my dress!” she hisses.

“I’m not,” I insist, sounding deeply affronted.

But just to be clear, she’s wearing panties with a flower print on them—pink, if I’m not mistaken.

“Okay, lower yourself down a little more.”

My other hand skims up her thigh. This is the most I’ve touched her. Sure, there’ve been a few fleeting moments like at the tattoo shop and diner, but normally we’re on a strictly need-to-touch basis. Incidents include a game of leapfrog during story time (Her hands were on my shoulders. Her butt grazed my forehead as she jumped over me. Incidentally, I love that game now), and last week, I dragged her away from the library for lunch in the middle of the week. After our meals arrived, we both reached for the ketchup bottle at the same time. Our fingers accidentally brushed and you would have thought I’d just slid my hand into her panties. She stumbled over her words. I jerked the bottle away and then thrust it toward her.

“Here, you go,” I said.

“No. Go. You,” she responded.

Neither of us could form whole sentences for a solid five minutes.

Now, my hand is sliding up her nightgown. I’m lost to the feel of her thighs. They’re so smooth. I want them wrapped around my face.

“Ben! I’m going to let go now!”

Shit.

Reality slaps me across the face. Madison is dangling precariously from her roof. I’m the only thing between her and certain death, or at least a seriously rolled ankle.

“Not yet!” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. “I need to get a better grip on you. Can you lower down a little more so I can get your waist?”

She tries and fails. “Ah! My hands are slipping!” she cries.

Everything happens at once. She lets go. I reach for her and…she lands daintily in my arms. It’s so unexpected that we both blink at each other in silence, trying to discern if there are any serious injuries we’ve yet to realize. Does she still have all her limbs?

“Are you hurt?” I ask hesitantly.

“I’m fine,” she says, wetting her bottom lip.

I’m not the only one here with their mind in the gutter.

“You weren’t a very soft thing to land on, though. Your chest feels like a rock,” she whispers, gaze on my mouth. “Am I heavy?”

I shake my head. Her eyes are two Jumbotrons blaring the kiss cam. She wants me to lean in and put my mouth on hers so bad, it’s a wonder she doesn’t scream.

But, we’re on a mission, so I set her down and lead her to my car.

We’re halfway across the lawn when she remembers something and doubles back. Oh, right, her phone. Except the thing she picks up and dusts off isn’t a phone. It’s a half-full bottle of whiskey.

She holds it up proudly as I open the door for her. “I have no idea where you’re taking me, but I figure this can’t hurt.”

Our destination is very close by and just as deserted as I hoped it would be.

Not many people want to be on the beach at night in early April. There’s still a chill in the air. A full moon hangs heavy in the sky, and a few waves lap lazily against the shore.

“Swimming at night? That’s dangerous,” she says, cradling the bottle of alcohol against her chest.

I didn’t take her for much of a drinker, much less hard liquor.

“Sure you need that?” I ask, watching her uncork the bottle and brace herself for a shot.

“Oh yes. Positive. I have a feeling I know what you’re going to suggest we do.”

We lean against my car as she takes short, shallow sips followed by howls of disgust. She wipes aggressively at her mouth and emits a passionate blergh sound any time the alcohol passes across her tongue.

“Think you’ve had enough?” I ask, tempted to reach out and take the bottle from her. She’s small. A little of that stuff can go a long way.

“Hold on. One more sip,” she says, bracing her shoulders and steeling her spine. I watch as she uses her right hand to run through the sign of the cross and then she tips that bottle back for a nice long swig.

When she’s done, she shudders. I cork the whiskey, set it in my car, and close the door.

“Okay. I’m ready,” she says, shaking out her hands. “I feel like there’s a fire burning in my belly now. Say the dare.”

“Skinny dipping.”

The two words make her mouth form a perfect O.

“Wait, I thought we were just going to go swimming.”

I arch a brow tauntingly. “Not bad enough, Hart.”

She narrows her eyes, trying to find an escape route. “Did I say I wanted to be bad? No, no. I just want to be less good. There’s a difference. I want to return my library books late, play hooky at work, sneak into a double feature at the movie theater.”

I reach down for her hand as she lists off all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

“I’ll catch a cold. I’ll get stung by a jellyfish. I could swallow a whole bunch of salt water.”

I tug her toward the stairs that lead down to the sand. We’re a few yards from the water when I stop and turn to face her, starting to gather the material of her nightgown in my fist.

“I distinctly remember you saying you wanted to be bad. Skull and crossbones. Motorcycle rallies. Criminal on the run.”

“Oh wow.” She laughs prettily and pats my chest. “This is a giant misunderstanding. We better just go back to the car and crank that heater.”

I’m tugging her along by her nightie, dragging her forward. When we’re nearly at the water’s edge, I stop.

She shakes her head and grips my hand with all her might as if I’m going to let go and push her in.

“I think you should go first,” she says, eyes focused on the waves.

“Oh, I’m not going at all. This is your thing, remember? The whole ‘live life to the fullest’ mantra is something you want to do. I’m fine right where I am.”

She sidles a bit closer. I wonder if she’s meaning to tempt me or if it’s just the way things are between us. “Oh c’mon, you can’t do this to me! It’s winter. Freezing.”

“It’s Texas,” I say, deadpan. “At worst, it’s 60 degrees.”

“The water’s probably colder…”

“You’re right. No worries. We came—that counts for something. Let’s just get you home and tucked right back in that bed you’ve slept in since you were five years old. Who needs—”

“Okay! Jeez, just hold on. Let me take off my shoes.”

“And the nightgown.”

She arches her brow. “This is just a big ploy to see me naked.”

I don’t deny it.

“Do you even have a towel for me to use when I’m done?”

“I have a jacket. You can wrap it around yourself.”

She grumbles under her breath, just loudly enough for me to make out every single word. “Arrogant jerk” is said with the utmost clarity.

She leans down to yank off her shoes and then places them neatly in the sand away from the water. When it’s time to remove her nightgown, she pointedly arches a brow in my direction.

I turn slightly to the side as she starts to lift it overhead. I can still see her in my periphery. Her bare skin glows in the moonlight and she has three seconds to get in that water before I turn and push her down into the sand.

“I’m leaving my panties on,” she announces as she starts to tiptoe forward. I peek. Her arms are wrapped around her breasts, but the rest of her body is perfectly exposed. I spot her new ink on the side of her ribs. Her smooth, pale shoulders. Her toned legs and narrow waist. Her panties are cut high, revealing the bottom of her rounded butt cheeks.

She is…unimaginably beautiful.

“It’s really not so bad,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder.

There’s a vision if I’ve ever seen one: Madison with her long brown hair hanging untamed down her back, her legs disappearing into the water. Her eyes are on me as she rests her chin on her shoulder. She’s watching me with a hint of amusement. That mouth proves it, her soft pink lips curled up in a knowing smile.

“You should have had some of that whiskey.”

“Why?” I ask, embarrassed by how strained the word sounds.

“Because I feel great and you feel…”

Out of control.