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‘You know,’ I tease, leaning closer so he can hear me. Leaning closer so I can breathe him in, then wishing I hadn’t when my stomach squeezes with a desire that is almost fatal. ‘There’s this nifty little invention. About yay big, made of plastic. What’s it called? Oh, a credit card.’
He smiles, a lazy, indolent, beautiful curve of sculpted lips, lips that have driven me wild, lips that have kissed me in parts of my body that have never known touch before.
‘I’ll have to look into that,’ he murmurs, his eyes dropping to my lips.
‘I’m serious.’ I try to smile but desire is too thick in my blood. The air around us seems to hum and everyone else in the bar moves as if in slow motion.
‘I like cash.’
It’s a simple statement, but there’s such magnitude in those three small words that I frown. ‘Why?’
His eyes flick to mine. ‘It’s easier.’
‘Why?’
He reaches out, taking my hand, and my body jolts to life, begging for more than this simple, almost clinical contact. He unfurls my fingers and places the note in my palm. ‘Thanks for the drink.’ His eyes are darker than usual.
He releases my hand, stands and, holding his tumbler, moves away from the bar. I watch him go with a charge of adrenalin.
I want him. He’s here. One way or another, when I leave work tonight, I’m going to have him.
A smile stretches my face as I move to the register, depositing the cash and withdrawing the change. I put it on a silver tray and tuck it behind the bar. I’ll take it to him at the first chance I get. The bar is pumping, though, and, before I realise it, forty minutes have sped by.
I grab his change tray and push out from behind the bar. It’s still busy, but there’s less demand for drinks now. People are well on their way to being hammered, sitting on their
drinks for longer, talking more, some are slurring.
Michael’s around the corner, in the small alcove he was in the first night I approached him. His back is to me now, as it was then. ‘Can I get you anything else, sir?’ I murmur as I come to stand behind him. His glass is still half-full, leading me to wonder if he’s been served by someone else and I haven’t noticed.
I place the change tray on the table. His eyes lift to mine. Passion surges between us. ‘Yes.’ A simple, quiet agreement.
I flick my eyes to the glass. ‘Another?’
When I turn back to him, he’s watching me with a face that gives little away. ‘No.’
‘Something to eat?’
He arches a brow. ‘Not yet.’
‘Then...?’
He stands, his big body covering mine. ‘Follow me.’
I bite down on my lip, hesitating for about three seconds. It’s quiet in this part of the bar, even more so when he turns the corner into a small booth.
As soon as I step into the booth area, he drags my body to his, kissing me as though he is drowning and I am oxygen. He kisses me as though for survival.
And I kiss him back, our bodies meshed, my arms wrapping around his neck, my body completely pinned to his. If I’m his chance of survival, then he is also mine. I kiss him as though he’s my dying breath. I kiss him as though he’s my everything.
And then his hand is between us, pushing at the button of my denim skirt, unclasping it without breaking our kiss.
‘Michael,’ I whisper into his mouth.
His fingers push aside the elastic of my thong, finding my clit and brushing over it. I swear softly, then he’s kissing me, pressing my body back against the wall.
His fingers move over me, hard and fast, finding the parts of me that seem to unthread my sanity. I hear high heels clacking outside and freeze. He doesn’t stop.
‘Michael,’ I whisper. ‘Someone’s going to see.’
