“Hey angel, you ready for that free drink I’m gonna buy you?”
I give him an answering grin and take the arm he’s offering. “You’re a big spender, aren’t you?”
His rich laugh warms me and the air between us. “What can I say, I know how to spoil a girl.”
“What if I don’t want to be spoiled,” I say, the sensuous decor and my pep talk from Willow making me bold. “What if I want to be ruined?”
Sawyer falters ever so slightly but recovers quickly, the only indication he’s affected by what I said being the subtle tightening of his hold on my arm. “Then I’d say we need to make the rounds I’m here to make, and then…” His voice trails off, but the meaning is clear in the silence left behind.
“Then…” I echo softly, that one word hopefully acting as my clear consent to whatever he has in mind.
The next hour spins around me like a dizzying spell of anticipation. Sawyer is the perfect gentleman, dazzling me on the dance floor, escorting me around the room, introducing me to so many people I can barely keep names and faces straight. When his hand grazes across my lower back, I feel the trail of heat through the thin fabric, making it hard to focus on anything else.
By the fifth round of introductions, I stop trying and simply smile as he humbly accepts praise and recognition from everyone, from the mayor of Vancouver to the provincial minister of public safety, who he whispered is some sort of head honcho for all firefighters, I guess.
“Are you some sort of firefighting celebrity?” I murmur to him as we turn from the latest group of admirers. “Am I actually hanging out with the Chris Hemsworth of firemen?”
His low chuckle is full of amusement, but also something else. Not quite embarrassment, but perhaps humility, as if he isn’t as comfortable with the showering of praise as he seems.
“If you’re saying I look like the God of Thunder, I’ll take it.”
My lips quirk up, but I don’t respond to the bait.
“I, ah, well…” His hand reaches up as if to run through his hair, but then he pauses, probably remembering how perfectly styled it is. The hand gets stuffed in his pocket instead as he shifts to face me. “I’ve been a firefighter for a while. Fought some crazy blazes at home, and a lot of wildfires. There was one…” His voice trails off as a flash of pain and regret mar his perfect features. “Anyway. I also got roped into doing some international competitions and um, yeah.”
“You won, didn’t you?” I say, filling in the gaps. “You really are a firefighting celebrity.”
His eyes are alight with humour as he tries to look humble but fails. “I guess so.”
I thread my arm through his again and tuck myself against his side, my forward behaviour shocking me even as I find myself melting into the solid warmth of his body. “Well, I feel honoured to be by your side.”
He’s silent for a moment, those eyes searing into mine. “The honour is mine, angel.”
It’s the second time he’s called me that. It’s cheesy as heck, but I like it, even if there is a distinct possibility he’s called every woman before me that. This is never going beyond tonight, what does it matter if I’m nothing more than a notch in a bedpost. The first man to truly interest me in yearswantsme, too.And that alone has me rising up slightly, wrapping my hand around his neck, and pulling his head down for my lips to brush against his.
I can’t honestly say what my intentions are in kissing him, but Sawyer’s are abundantly clear the second he takes over the kiss. He skillfully turns us so that his back is to the crowd and mine is against the wall behind us. Keeping his touch on my hip light, he slides his other hand up to my shoulder, drifting it around to my front to rest lightly at the base of my throat. I should feel cornered. Pinned down. Trapped.
I don’t.
His tongue strokes my lips, and they open easily to welcome him. He kisses with confidence, the same way he’s moved through the entire evening. As if he has every right to be here, and this was his plan all along. Maybe it was? I don’t really care, because the fingers on my hip are tightening, gripping me with a protective and ever so slightly possessive touch that sends thrills down my spine and heat building inside me.
“Tori,” he growls against my lips as his forehead comes to rest on mine. “Tell me this is what you want.”
It’s a command, not a question, yet I don’t sense anything in him that makes me worry he’d push if I saidno.
“I want this. I want you.”
His hand falls away from my throat and my sharp intake of air cuts between us. Those deep brown eyes penetrate me, desire glittering back at me. “Why do I feel like you’re going to be the one to ruin me?” he murmurs so softly, I almost think I misheard. But then he’s taking my hand, threading our fingers together, and leading me through the crowd I had all but forgotten about when he was kissing me.
Oh God. Anyone could have seen us. Probablydidsee us. I’m a mom. A respected writer. I don’t make a habit of making out with some random guy in a room full of strangers.
But the feel of Sawyer’s hand in mine, intimate in its innocence, brings me back to the here and now. In this moment, I’m not a mom or a writer, I’m just a woman who really,reallywants this particular man to ease the throbbing ache between my legs.
We reach the elevators and step into the first empty one. The doors slide shut silently, and I turn to Sawyer as nerves war with need inside of me. “What’s your last name?”
“Donnelly.” He doesn’t ask why I need to know, just as he doesn’t say a word as I pull out my phone and type a message to Willow.
TORI: I’m going to Sawyer’s room. His last name is Donnelly and he’s some kind of big deal celebrity when it comes to firefighting competitions. If you don’t hear from me by tomorrow, he’s where to start the investigation.
