My eyes pop open. Moment over.
“Holy shit,” I murmur.
Clayton smiles and cups my cheek. “You’re grand, lass.”
Looping my hands around his neck, I hang on tight. My knees feel weak. “Are you sure?”
He licks his lips and stares at my mouth. “I’m very sure.”
He kisses me again and I suck in a breath at the contact. My senses go haywire, my body lighting up at the pleasure of such a simple connection. I barely know this man, but I know one thing: his kiss does something to me. So many somethings.
We do have chemistry.
But is that enough?
6
CHARLIE
Clayton takesme to his house after our first date is over. Surprisingly, it’s a real house and not the bachelor pad apartment that I imagined.
He pulls up to a tiny bungalow not far from the hot-air balloon grounds. It’s slate blue with white trim and has a flagstone walkway leading up to the front door. The place looks exceptionally well cared for. Even the landscaping is tidy and neat. I’d expect this to be the kind of house where an adorable elderly couple live, not a guy who works for the mob. All that’s missing are some tacky plastic yard ornaments and overgrown flower boxes.
I follow him up the walkway and wait as Clayton enters a code into the keypad on the front door—not once, but twice. A lock pops and he opens the door.
“After you,” he says.
I tentatively step inside the small, bright white entryway and turn around to watch as he hangs his car keys on a hook and slips off his shoes. I leave mine next to his, carefully hang my jacket on a hook, and then stand there awkwardly.
“So this is your place?” I say, though it’s more to fill the silence than a real question.
“Home sweet home,” he says with a shrug.
We move from the entry through a doorway that leads into a modest, open-plan living room and kitchen area. There’s a couch that looks brand new, a leather recliner, and a basic, dark wood media center that probably came from a department store. Except he doesn’t have a television or any other kind of electronics on it that I can see. Just some books and magazines, a clock, a fake plant. The place looks totally anonymous. There aren’t even any photos anywhere.
“This is nice,” I say as I wander around, ending up in the small kitchen. The walls in here are bare, too. White cabinets, white subway tile backsplash, steel appliances. Instead of a table and chairs, a few barstools are tucked under the center island. It’s all so bland and basic. Basic, basic, basic. “You have…quite the decorating style.”
I cast him an inquisitive look over my shoulder.
Clayton heads purposefully my way. My teasing mood changes as he stops in front of me, his gaze seeming serious and expectant.
“Do we want to stall the ball discussing my lack of interior design skills, or should we do something more interesting?”
He reaches toward me and I go perfectly still as he grips the base of my ponytail to gently tug my head back. There’s undeniable domination in the motion and I sink right into it, never taking my eyes off of his. I’ll let him have his way, but only because I want to. When he steps closer, I involuntarily shiver. But instead of kissing me right away, he takes his time, slowly dragging his lips from behind my ear to the curve of my neck, down to my collarbone.
“So soft,” he whispers before placing a kiss at the base of my throat.
My nipples tingle in response. Pulling a breath in through my nose, I close my eyes and give myself over to the sensations he’s pulling out of me. He tightens his grip on my hair as his lips cruise my skin—soft but firm, sweet but demanding. I sigh as he moves his free hand under my sweater, under my T-shirt, stroking the length of my spine up and down, and when he finally starts to peel the garments off me, I raise my arms over my head to help him undress me.
His eyes rake over me as I stand there, just leisurely taking me in, and I suddenly wish I’d chosen something fancier than a plain white bra.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.
“You’ve said so before,” I deflect, trying to sound flirty about it. The truth is, I’m not great at accepting compliments.
I grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him back into me for another kiss. Deeper and more frantic than before, letting my lust take over, until he’s walking me backwards into the counter. When I bump against it, I let out a little laugh, but Clayton just keeps exploring my mouth with his as he expertly unfastens my bra clasp with one hand. It’s on the floor in seconds.
Pulling back, breathing hard, I look at him.
