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“I’ll get these things laundered and returned to you as soon as I can,” I say swallowing. Uncomfortable silences wreck me again. Like in the cafe earlier this morning, while he sat and stared and all I could do was wonder how he was judging me. People are always judging me. Always finding all the ways I fall short. There are so many.
“Tomorrow,” he says firmly. “Noon.”
“Oh, OK. I can do that.” I stammer out. “Should I meet you here at the bar? Are you working tomorrow?”
He nods his head, and I don’t know whether he’s agreeing I should meet him here or that he’s working tomorrow. He uncrosses his arms slowly and then suddenly walks to me in three long steps. His legs are so long. He’s at least a head and shoulders taller than I am. But against, my five-foot-three-inch frame, most men are taller than me.
There’s no warning before he does it. No preamble. No nonverbal cues of what is about to happen. He just reaches out, cups my face in his oversized paws, leans down and kisses me. His lips are intent, hot and aggressive. He dominates my mouth, forcing himself inside to lick and taste me like a starving man lapping at his last meal. And, oh heavens, can this man kiss!
I resist, of course, pressing my hands on his shoulders, but moving Connor is like trying to move a mountain. I feel his muscles flex under my touch and when my hand finally relaxes and snakes around to the back of his neck, he hums contentedly into my mouth, sending happy little vibrations throughout my entire body. With that sound, I allow myself to surrender to him. He’s forceful, but tender. His lips are soft and so hot. He tastes of coffee and spicy man that can be described in no other way than … just Connor. Our tongues tangle and my mind empties, allowing him to stoke long-forgotten flames of passion deep within me. Inner Sex Goddess is on her hands and knees bowing in worship to the Ruler of the Realm of Kissing. He is its master. I am happily his slave.
I don’t know how long he stands there in front of the bar kissing me. A minute? Three? But it feels as if it’s my whole life. As if we’d always stood there kissing and we always would be standing there kissing far into the future. Forever, just locked together like this — our lips and our breath coupling and entwining in a sensual dance.
When he finally breaks our kiss, I’m left with my tongue out. It falls against my lower lip and I lick it to soak up the last tastes of him before he steps back and turns to the door of the bar.
“Noon. Tomorrow, Lainey Bird. Be here.”
He disappears into the darkened pub, and I stand there simply murmuring to myself, “My name is Elaine.”
At least, I think it is.
