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Without thinking about what she was doing, she slid her tongue over her lips. Something pinged. Or was it a buzz? Whatever it was made her girl parts zing. Zag. Awaken. "You're nice to everyone."
"You need someone to be nice to you, Abi."
His words slithered over her, making her lean in slightly. What would it be like to taste him? To take just a little piece of Leif for those cold nights. But what then? How would she ever be able to attend his art class or see him in the halls at Birdie’s school knowing she'd been so desperate as to rise up on her toes and-
"I have plenty of niceness in my life," she said, moving back, latching onto common sense as a drowning sailor might a flotation device. She felt overcome with desire, as if she'd drunk a love potion rather than water during the meeting.
''Then maybe it's not nice that you need," he said, stepping forward. He wasn't letting her retreat. "Maybe you need something else."
Desire beat down common sense. Common sense was so overrated anyway. Hadn't she done the common sense thing for a long time? And what had it gotten her?
Lonely nights, an empty bed, no fulfillment. So maybe. . .
Abigail darted a glance to her left and then to her right. No one was around.
"What do you think I need?" she asked, lifting her gaze to his.
Those eyes. She could dive into the blue depths. They were full of teasing, warmth, and crazy sexiness. Those eyes made her want to forget about propriety. To forget he was too cool, too young, too different from her. Those eyes made her want to sin.
“Personally, I think you need a little naughty in your life, Abi."
She gave a short laugh. "So a guy who just last month got cake in the face from a woman wearing a Vera Wang wedding dress is giving me advice about being irresponsible? Okay."
"I didn't say irresponsible," he said, his hand grasping her hip and tugging her toward him. "I said naughty."
At his touch her body lit like a match on sand paper. Full-on blaze. She put her hand on his chest, noting the firmness. This guy worked out. Had muscles. Even had one of those six-packs that models sported. Yeah, she'd noticed that when she saw him doing his crazy sword dance outside.
"Maybe you should show me the difference."
"I should," he said, his gaze on her lips as his head lowered.
Yes. He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him. Because deep down underneath all her reservations was a wild need to have him touch her.
And why should she not kiss him? No good reason. She grabbed the front of Leif's shirt, slid a hand around his neck, tugged his head down and kissed him hard. Like she meant it. Like she had control of her own damn life.
But the moment her lips touched his, everything changed.
The world widened, then narrowed.
Abigail softened, hyperaware of her fingers pulling his hair out of the leather strap. Aware of his scent, a clean yet sultry smell. And his lips so warm. He tasted like whiskey.
Leif Lively tasted like pleasure.
Abigail pulled back, breaking the kiss.
"Well, then,” Leif said, giving her a little smile. She blinked, scrabbling with the fact she'd kissed Leif. She hadn't waited on him. She'd taken what she wanted and it was good.
A horn blew.
Abigail jumped as headlight beams swept over where she and Leif stood, her hand still on his chest, his hand still on her hip. She stepped away. "Good Lord, we're in the middle of town.”
Leif ignored the headlights moving toward them. "You weren't thinking and maybe that's something you need to do more often."
"You sure like to hand out advice, don’t you?" She stepped out of the headlights realizing she didn't know what on God's green earth she needed.
A psychiatrist, probably.
Leif merely lifted an eyebrow. A very sexy eyebrow.
