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The kind of car you rode in commando, so when you got the urge, all you’d have to do is hike up your skirt.
I tried to wrangle my common sense, almost glad the bartender was so crappy at his job because clearly, the alcohol I had gotten down my throat had gone right to my head. The last thing I needed right now was some drop dead gorgeous guy who would toss me aside when he was done with me. And that ‘hit it and quit it’ attitude was my best friend’s M.O., not mine.
This stranger was definitely making me wish it was.
Like he wasn’t tempting enough, he leaned in close, giving me no choice but to inhale him. He smelled of mint, cedar; masculine and powerful. He hadn’t even touched them yet and my nipples were at full attention, already skipping to the part in the book with the sex.
“I’m Jason,” he breathed, and his name echoed over my body.
I already knew that tonight, when I was home and sure my roommate was out cold, me and my vibrator would have a name to groan while we took care of some business.
“And you are?” he asked, like he was actually interested in the answer.
I was sober enough to end this thing while we were still ahead. “Me? Not interested.”
It was a lie.
A bad one, considering my voice wouldn’t stop shaking. And even though there was room for me to scoot away a bit and demonstrate how uninterested I was, I didn’t move a muscle.
“Ah, I see,” he mused, raking thick, powerful fingers through his hair. A smile danced in his pale eyes as the waves rolled back in place. “My mistake then. Because I was hoping that if I said hello, I’d be the lucky guy to kiss you at midnight.”
I peered at him, my face scrunched in equal parts surprise and skepticism. “You want to kiss me?”
He didn’t repeat himself, but the look in his eye, as hungry and rife with want as the look I was trying to suppress, did the repeating for him.
As badly as my body wanted to say, ‘let’s do it!’, I couldn’t quiet the much louder voice that whispered doubts. Why me? He could have any woman in this room. Any woman in this city. So I tried to rebuff him again, pretending that kissing him at midnight wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do.
“Clearly you’ve been told you’re the shit one too many times,” I huffed, wishing I had an actual drink to sip nonchalantly. I settled for stroking the stem of my glass. “Not sure why you think I’d let some strange man kiss me on the mouth. Do I look that desperate?”
If he’d seen me a few hours ago, with tangled and limp hair, in velvet leggings and an oversized CSU t-shirt, bingeing on The Vampire Diaries and reminiscing about a happier, simpler time, the answer would have probably been yes. But he didn’t know my history. He didn’t know that Tamara had to ply me with alcohol to get me here or that I was still nursing a broken heart.
I was just a stranger to him, too. And strangers, technically, could do strange things.
Like kiss sexy ass men they didn’t even know on New Year’s Eve.
“Desperate?” He was so smooth that I didn’t stop him when he swept my hair behind my ear, fingertips lingering on that tender spot, between my ear and the nape of my neck.
God, he didn’t even know my name and he’d already found my spot.
“I think you look horny, which is why you’re flushed and giving your glass quite the handjob.”
I went rigid, my eyes bulging from my skull. When I got nervous, I kinda fixated. I realized that I was definitely stroking the stem of my glass like a woman in heat.
I was in heat. The room had become unbearably hot, like I had to take off all my clothes ASAP and...
He was smiling again, like he had backdoor access to the naughty thoughts that were racing through my head. Like how good it would feel to have his lips trace that spot he’d triggered earlier.
I wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but I’d only had a couple of drinks since I was stuck with a bartender who barely tended the bar at all. I couldn’t chalk this up to liquid courage. That rash of stupidity and invincibility that follows a couple of shots.
This was real.
And I wanted Jason so bad it hurt.
I tried to catch my breath, putting all the reasons this was a bad idea on the back burner. “So if I said yes-”
“When you say yes,” he corrected with a smirk that made me debate whether I wanted to smack or kiss him. “Then I’ll take care of the rest.”
I held his gaze just long enough to give him time to laugh and say this was a joke. Or to change gears and get nauseatingly pushy and just throw me over his shoulder like a caveman.
