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Until it inevitably reached the point where we were arguing about who wasmoresorry, and who wasmorein the wrong.
“Stop. Apologizing,” I demanded at one point, biting his lip with a scowl.
He gripped my straddling hips tighter, pressing me closer. “No. I’ll be apologizing for a long fucking time. Get used to it.”
How was it possible for one person to be this exasperating? He was so damn stubborn.
I kissed him harder, fisting the collar of his shirt as I fought him with my lips, teeth, and tongue.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he murmured when I moved my attention to his jaw, my heart hammering against his heaving chest. “It’s been torture, Sanchez.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Stop it,” he insisted again.
“No,” I mimicked, deepening my voice. “Get used to it.”
He chuckled. “Stubborn little brat.”
I pulled back and gave him my brattiest smile as my hips rocked against his hard length.
He inhaled sharply, head falling back against the leather seat as his fingers dug into my thighs.
“What’s your safeword, Mr. Cloutier?” I teased, pulling a dark chuckle out of him.
“Not here. Not after all that torture and wait.”
“We can go upstairs,” I suggested. “But Jamie’s asleep, so we’ll have to be really quiet.”
His hazy gaze swam across my face, tracing every little line and dip and curve. His expression had sobered by the time he reached my eyes again.
“What?” I asked. Too soon? Was I moving too quickly?
After a long, dense pause, he asked, “Do you still hate me?”
What? He already knew I didn’t. He’d been telling me so since Victoria, even though I kept insisting—oh. I see.
My fingers trailed across his kiss-swollen bottom lip as I shook my head. “No,” I said.
His breath caught, his throat moving with a soft swallow. “Do you have feelings for me, Sanchez?”
Th-thump th-thump th-thump.
“Absolutely yes, Cloutier,” I whispered.
A single dimple. “Do I give you butterflies?”
“Yes.”
Two dimples. And the man was full-on blushing now.
Adorable. Infuriatingly adorable.
“Now can we go upstairs?” I said.
He kissed the corner of my smile. “I don’t put out before the third date,” he muttered, then leaned back again, looking all smug and pleased with himself.
I bit back my laugh. “And which number is this?”
