Her lips were warm and sticky with liquor, her tongue the flavor of caramel and spice. She felt vibrant, tasted divine, and her sigh was like a promise being made.
For a moment, I forgot why kissing her was a bad idea. I forgot why it was wrong.
How could it be wrong when it felt like waking up?
Every question I’d been asking myself, every restless thought, every hollow ache that had followed me home from Toronto, was answered. Not with words. With her mouth on mine, her fingers in my hair, and the way she fit so fucking perfectly against me when I pulled her closer.
Kissing her made everything right.
Except she was drunk. I was supposed to be the good guy, doing the right thing. Not losing my mind over a woman who wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. And I was abso-fucking-lutely not going to be the next man who took from her to fulfill his own needs.
I tore my mouth away, the loss immediate and painful. “Let’s get you home.”
Getting her out of Zane’s was a challenge. She couldn’t walk a straight line, kept listing into me, and twice tried to pull me back in for another kiss.
I wasn’t proud of how much willpower it took to deny her.
Finally, I coaxed her up into my truck and managed to get her seatbelt secured. But she was too drunk to tell me where she lived. Hell, she could barely keep her eyes open, let alone give me an address.
My only option was Chantel’s, where I was crashing for the night. At least there she’d be safe, and I could keep an eye on her until my cousin got back from the hospital.
Zadie was asleep before I hit the main road, slumped sideways over the center console with her cheek pressed against my arm. The windows were down and the warm night air carried her scent straight to me, sweet and dizzying underneath the liquor.
Then her arm snaked around my waist, her hand a tight fist under my ribs, and she hugged me like I was her pillow. Her breathing slowed and deepened, each exhale warm against my bicep, each inhale pulling her closer to me.
Fuck, she felt too damn good.
I would’ve been embarrassed about how hard I was if she’d been sober enough to notice. But she wasn’t sober. She was passed out against me, trusting me in a way that filled my chest with something fierce and unfamiliar while making me want to destroy any man who could’ve been in my place tonight.
If I hadn’t been at that party… If Chantel had left her with someone else… If some other guy had carried her to his truck and driven her into the dark…
My knuckles went white over the steering wheel and didn’t ease off until I was pulling into the driveway.
When I killed the engine, she stirred, lifting her head and cracking her eyes to peer through the windshield. “Where are we?”
“Chantel’s. Come on, let’s get you inside.”
She blinked slowly, then let her head drop back against the seat with a groan. “I don’t want to move.”
“I know.” I got out, went around to her side, and opened the door.
She blinked up at me. “Cal?”
“Yeah.”
She held out her arms, silently begging to be lifted, and I huffed a laugh, scooping her up. Her head rolled against my chest, her arms looping around my neck as I carried her toward the house.
She weighed next to nothing. But fuck, she felt like everything.
I fished Chantel’s spare key from under the mat, because my cousin’s approach to home security was a goddamn joke. Then again, this was Copper Ridge. Half the town probably didn’t bother locking their doors.
Still, she could’ve left a light on. If it weren’t for the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the windows, the place would’ve been pitch black.
I carried Zadie down the hall to the first empty bedroom, with her arms still locked around my neck and her mouth way too fucking close. I found the lamp on the nightstand by feel and clicked it on. Dim, warm light flooded the small room, just enough to see by.
She swayed as I set her on her feet beside the bed. Blinking against the light, her lips tipped into a sly grin. “I’m horny.”
My jaw clenched and I ignored the way her tongue traced under it as I walked her the last few steps to the bed. Tried to pretend her hands weren’t running over my shoulders and down my chest, mapping me through my shirt like she was memorizing every muscle I’d worked my ass off to build.
