“No demotion, just factual. Princesses wear crowns, not tiaras. You are most definitely a runaway duchess if I ever saw one.”
How does he know about the headwear of duchesses?
“Noted.”
His face is still mere inches from mine. He smells like fresh pine needles mixed with something deeply masculine. I inhale the scent of him like a long, slow mantra.
Give yourself this. Just once.
I never hook up with guys at bars. Or anywhere else for that matter. Not with old crushes at weddings, never with old boyfriends, and absolutely not with strangers whose names I don’t even know.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Fitz.”
“Fitz?”
“Are you going to question everything I say?”
“No.” I feel light, unsteady on my feet. I shrug. “Maybe?”
He nods slowly, not removing his arm from over my head. I like my personal space, but I don’t want it right now. I want him closer, so I push myself away from the wall. My breasts graze the fabric of his shirt. I feel the groan deep in his chest, and it ignites a fire between down in my core.
I could kiss him, but I freeze, anchored by an invisible line that makes me feel in control. He’s going to have to walk the last mile to get here.
I’m in control, but also out of my depth.
His face is a breath from mine, but he doesn’t come closer. He’s toying with me. Probably done this a hundred times. A spider reeling an unsuspecting fly into his web. The cocky grin says he has all the patience in the world to wait until I’m exactly where he wants me.
I flinch as more heat floods my veins. If it feels this goodnotto kiss him, doing it would surely blow my mind.
His hooded gaze says he knows my resistance is barely tethered by a filament, ready to shred if he breathes on me. I love it and hate it at the same time.
“And you are?” His voice is a deep rumble. I feel it before I hear it.
My words get caught in my throat, and I shake my head.
He drags a fingertip down my cheek. “Your name?”
“Tessa,” I choke out, trembling from the white-hot burn where he touched me.
“You make that up?” Our faces are still so close that I can almost inhale him.
“Sorry?”
“Is it a nickname? For something else?”
“Nope. Just Tessa. Always has been.”
“It’s pretty,” he says, leaning a half an inch closer. A server moves by him with a tray, and he closes the last bit of space between us, pressing against me so I feel him. Rock hard and unmistakable. My back is plastered against the wall, and my softer curves absorb the harder planes of his abs and chest, but my body screams for him to center himself and press right where I need him.
The bathroom door opens abruptly next to me, and a man shoves out, the smell of lemon air freshener following him. “’Scuse me,” he says, pushing past.
The sudden intrusion breaks the spell. I catch my breath, and my brain goes into overdrive, talking myself down, expecting him to back away. Waiting for us to come to our senses. But he doesn’t. I don’t.
We look at each other, and I awkwardly point at the bathroom door. “After you?”
He laughs. “Yeah, no. C’mere. I know another place.”
