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I was too shocked to even appreciate the feel of her lips on mine for the first time. My mind was too busy trying to figure out what her game was. She went from cold to hot in sixty seconds…
Soon, though, my mind forgot all about her game, and instead, focused on her soft mouth on mine. Real soon. Like, in three seconds.
I cupped her cheek and kissed her more passionately, wanting to see how deep she would let me go. Then, she slipped her arm around my waist and I tensed, even though I appreciated any sign of her interest, for her hand was close to my sidearm.
I pulled back a bit and our kiss broke.
"Oh, sha, you are delicious, but hold that thought until later," I said, wishing we could continue. Hell, wishing I could push her up against the wall and take her then and there. I was definitely ready, my cock already semi-hard. "I won'
t be able to walk back to the bar without a big limp if you keep that up."
"Shut up and kiss me," she said, and pulled me back down to her mouth. I was glad to oblige and kissed her now more passionately, putting my entire mind to it.
Then I felt her grab my gun.
At that point, instinct took over. I turned her around so that her back was facing me and I had her hands confined in one of mine. My other arm was around her waist, pulling her against my body.
Damn, woman…
"Sweetheart," I said, my lips beside her face. "Did you really think you were going to disarm me? I’m a foot taller and at least seventy-five pounds heavier."
She tried to wrestle loose, but she was far smaller and I was able to restrain her easily, enjoying the feel of her soft curves against me.
"I saw your weapon under your jacket,” she said, her voice breathy. “You're armed."
"Yes, I'm armed. Licensed to carry a concealed weapon. I can show you if you want."
She wasn’t placated. "Even if you have a permit, you're not legally able to carry a concealed weapon into this bar,” she said matter of fact. “You saw the permit on the door. You are not legally permitted to drink alcohol while carrying a concealed weapon in this establishment so you're breaking the law."
"I'm DEA,” I said, my face in her hair, smelling it – a mixture of some kind of fruity shampoo and clean sweat. Frankly, I could have stayed in that position all night, her butt pressed against my groin, my arm around her waist, my face variously in her neck or beside her cheek. “We can carry a concealed weapon in a bar and drink if need be."
It was the truth.
Finally, I released her when I felt her relax just a bit. I adjusted myself, straightening my jacket. I hoped she didn’t notice my semi, currently straining against my jeans. Not that I was embarrassed about it. It was a fine specimen. No, I didn’t want to make her embarrassed.
"I thought you’re the CEO of a security firm,” she said, standing in front of me, her arms crossed.
“Can’t I be both?” I asked lightly.
She was quiet for a moment while I ran a hand through my hair.
“You understand that when I'm head bartender, I'm also acting manager. Let me see your badge," she said, holding out her hand.
I complied, reaching into my pocket for my other ID, which I held out for her to see.
"OK," she said and took my ID, looking it over. "That’s the only exemption.” She frowned at me. “Why didn’t you tell me you were DEA? Are you really CEO of a security firm or is that cover?"
"Like I said, why can’t I be both?” I took back my ID. “I’m impressed that you know your gun laws."
"I work at a bar,” she said, sounding irritated. “As much as I’d love to carry on where we left off, I have to get back to work."
She turned and went to the door back into the restaurant. I caught up with her and stood beside the door before she could leave. "I hope this hasn't put a damper on our drink after your shift is finished."
She stopped and narrowed her eyes. "I like a man with a big…gun," she said and smiled.
"Oh, sweetheart," I said, a surge of adrenaline going through me that I hadn’t blown it completely. "Then I'm just your type. Beretta M9A1, 8.5 inches from tip to base."
She laughed out loud at that, then pushed through the door.
