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The kiss didn’t end. It went on and on, pouring over them like honey out of the jar. Warm and delicious, desire rising in him with a slow simmer. It wasn’t urgent or desperate, but deep and persistent.
When he finally pulled back, but staying firmly in her space, she let out an exhalation of air.
“You’ve been practicing that, haven’t you?” she asked, teeth sinking into her bottom lip in a way that made his cock throb.
He gave her a smile. “Yes. Hours and hours of dedication.”
Sloane pushed on his chest just slightly, so he shifted backward. “It paid off.”
Basically, that was better than winning the lottery. But he was entertained by her reluctance to say she enjoyed it. “You’re not going to admit you liked making out with me in the bathroom, are you?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not. Save your breath.”
“For what?”
Sloane didn’t answer. She just dug in her purse for her keys, then turned and opened the exterior door. It was a small building, just four units total. She didn’t say goodnight but she didn’t invite him in either.
He got a fabulous view of her ass climbing the stairs in front of him as he stood in the open doorway, still at street level.
“What are you doing?” she asked him, glancing back at him over her shoulder.
“Waiting for you to tell me what you want from me. Send me home or invite me in, Sloane.” He wasn’t the guy who was going to push what he wanted. Not with any woman but definitely not with Sloane. She was his best friend’s sister. He also wanted to delay the moment when she realized he lived directly across the hall from her.
Sloane looked flustered. “Oh. Wow, I suck at flirting, don’t I? I’m out of practice.”
“Are you flirting with me?”
She nodded, slowly. “Yes. I want you to come in, R
ick.”
He took one step then he said, “Tell me this before I come up there. On a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you?” He did not want her to wake up with a pounding head and a shitload of regret.
“What is one and what is ten?” She clutched her keys and stared down at him, her hair tumbling forward, expression amused.
“One is you could walk a tightrope suspended between two skyscrapers. Ten is there is a high probability you’ll end the night over the toilet and won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”
She cocked her head and smiled. “I think I’m a four. I couldn’t walk a tightrope but I could walk a straight line. And actually even stone cold sober I couldn’t walk a tightrope. Will I remember this? Yes. I can one hundred percent guarantee that.”
That was very good news. He took another step up. She didn’t look or sound particularly drunk so he was reassured she was in control.
“What are you on your one to ten scale?” she asked.
“A two.” He hadn’t drank that much and what he had, he had danced off.
“So no whiskey dick?”
That made him pause, caught off-guard. He laughed. “No whiskey dick.”
“Is that really a thing?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
Damn, she was so sexy. Rick took two more steps. “I wouldn’t know. It’s never been an issue for me. And with you? I can give you a one hundred percent guarantee I will be hard as a fucking rock.”
Her eyes widened. “You sound very confident.”
“Oh, I am.” He took another step. There were eight steps in total and he was halfway to her. Halfway to the woman who had plagued his teenage dreams and had made him hard with just one kiss at the door. He felt like he was stalking her, and maybe he was. But he wanted Sloane like he’d never wanted another woman.
“Can you promise me something?” she asked.
