The kiss starts soft and tentative, more a question than a statement. Her lips brush against mine, gentle and searching, giving me time to pull back if I want to.
I don’t want to.
I angle my head and deepen the kiss. She makes a sound—a small, breathy thing that goes straight to my groin. Her fingers curl into my jacket, pulling me closer, while my hand slides into her hair, cradling the back of her head.
She tastes like champagne and desire, like everything I’ve been denying myself for years.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Not a fluke,” she whispers.
“No. Definitely not.”
We stare at each other. The cab of my truck suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. I need to leave. I need to get out of here, go home, take a cold shower, and forget any of this happened.
“Do you want to come up?”
The wordshit me like a physical blow.
“Win…”
“Just—I don’t know. I don’t want tonight to end yet.” She bites her lip, and I track the movement like a man hypnotized. “We could just talk. Or not talk. I have wine. Or water. Or—”
“Yes.”
She blinks. “Yes?”
“Yes. I want to come up.”
Her apartment is small but warm and lived-in. There’s a couch with too many throw pillows, a bookshelf overflowing with paperbacks, and plants on every available surface. It smells like her—citrus and something floral—and I breathe it in like a man starved for oxygen.
“Sorry about the mess,” she says, kicking off her heels with a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“It’s not messy.”
“You’re being polite.”
“I’m being honest.” I look around, taking it all in. This is where she lives, sleeps, and exists when she’s not at work or with me. “I like it.”
She smiles—soft and pleased—and something in my chest loosens.
“Wine?” she offers.
“Sure.”
She disappears into the kitchen, and I take the opportunity to undo my tie. The damn thing has been strangling me all night. I shrug off my jackettoo, draping it over the arm of her couch, and roll up my sleeves.
When she returns with two glasses of red wine, she stops in the doorway.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just…” She shakes her head. “You look good like that. Rumpled. Less… intimidating.”
“I’m not intimidating.”
“Banks, you’re the most intimidating person I’ve ever met.” She says this with a laugh like I’m being ridiculous.
“And yet you invited me into your apartment.”
