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His eyes were blacker than she’d ever seen them before. Holy fuck, he looked pissed.
“What the hell possessed you to go in there alone?”
Kelly sputtered, her mouth now as incapable of working as her weakened knees. Had he already forgotten the moment they’d just shared against the wall? “Where did she go?”
“Who?”
“Your girlfriend.”
“Christ, Nina’s not my girlfriend. Didn’t we already have this conversation in my office?”
“But where did she go? I mean, she was in the steam room with you before you, uh, came out to see me.”
He rolled his neck as if he were gearing up for a workout. Or a fight. “We just met up here. And she probably left with the guy she was fucking. I don’t know. I had other priorities.”
Kelly blinked. Did that mean she was his priority? Since when?
“I asked you a question. Why did you go in there alone? Are you nuts?”
“I didn’t— My friend—”
“Get in your car and head home.”
“I didn’t drive here. My friend could still be in there.” Even as she said the words, she glanced across the parking lot to where Alana’s car had been parked.
The slot was empty.
Her throat convulsed as her phone again went off in her purse. She dug it out, saw the caller was Alana and shoved it back in her bag. She wasn’t interested in speaking to the person who’d ditched her right now. Some friend. “I’ll get a cab.”
“Great idea. Stand here and wait for the cops to pick you up. Put on your damn shoes.” He’d taken them out of her hands without her realizing it and shoved them back at her. “My car’s over there.”
“I
know.” She slipped on her sandals and hurried after him, feeling like a wobbly toddler. People still weaved around them and cars peeled out of the lot with loud squeals of rubber.
“Oh do you?”
His tone rankled even more than the perspiration beading her face and sliding down the valley between her breasts. Unrelenting desire did tend to up the heat. The orgasm she’d had a few minutes ago had only made her eager for more.
“I make it my business to know things about people I work with,” she said, trying not to study the faint patch of sweat blossoming on the back of his T-shirt.
Wait a second. T-shirt? Since when did Spencer Galvin wear T-shirts, khakis and sneakers?
Probably since he started hanging out at illicit sex clubs.
“Yeah? Me too.” He stopped under the beam of a streetlamp beside the Acura and unlocked the passenger door, turning just enough for her to see the pinprick droplets above his upper lip. She wanted to lap them up, savor the salt explosion on her tongue.
She fought back a shiver and clasped her thighs tighter. God, she couldn’t get in his car. She’d ruin his seats.
“Get in already.”
Then again, she couldn’t not get in his car. Up-against-the-wall orgasm aside, she was so freaking horny she’d die if she didn’t get her hands on him. His leather interior wasn’t her problem.
“Since you asked so nicely.” She slid inside and sucked in a breath as he rounded the hood. The car reeked of pineapple. Her stomach burbled a weak protest at the possibility of food.
“What’s that smell?” she demanded once he opened his door.
“Leftover pineapple chicken.” He folded his long body behind the wheel with remarkable grace and jerked a thumb at the backseat. “You can have it if you want, since your tongue’s about to fall out of your mouth.”
