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Thanks to that red blend, I have the courage to boldly ask, “Why?”
“Because my reaction to hearing your ex-boyfriend call you beautiful was enough to make me want to bash his face in. And I say that as a man who’s never actually gotten into a real physical fight outside of what happened with David.”
His self-deprecating smile could melt my panties on the spot.
“Never? Not even during a game?”
He looks alarmed by the mere suggestion. “Definitely not during a game.”
“Okay…so—”
“So it didn’t seem right to call you back until I’d sorted some things out.”
“What things?”
He shakes his head and makes to turn like he’s going to pick up his Sharpie again and continue on just like we have been. No. Me and my two glasses of wine want answers.
I grab his forearm, or at least as much of it as my hand can hold (which is only like halfway around), and I tug so he’ll stay facing me. No turning away now. No shying away from the truth.
“What…things?”
His nostrils flare as our gazes clash. I’m pushing, and he doesn’t like that. Or maybe he likes it too much.
“Oh okay, for starters, I’m so attracted to you I can barely restrain myself when you’re in my presence. I’m a fool for you, constantly, wanting you every damn minute of the day.”
I swallow past that confession then reach up to feel my pulse. Yeah, I’m still kicking.
If only I’d had the forethought to press record on my phone before this conversation. I’d have him repeat that again right into the mic. Yes, again…‘barely restrain myself when you’re in my presence’…mhmm, good.
He watches my fingers slip away from my neck and shakes his head like he doesn’t know what to do with me.
“I’m dead serious.”
“Okay.” I draw the word out like I’m a bit slow on the uptake.
“But if I’m going to pursue something with you, I’m not hiding this from Harper. I’m not sneaking around, stealing you into shadowed corners and taking advantage of the situation.”
“Yes, we wouldn’t want that,” I say lamely.
I feel woozy.
He notices.
But instead of pushing me back to sit down in a chair, he turns me so I’m angled back against the table.
“You good?”
“Not in the least.”
A brief smile and then his hands wrap around my waist. He hoists me up until I’m sitting on the edge of the table, feet dangling in midair. There’s an obvious change in him. In this moment, he’s in command. His hold on me is firm.
“So we do things by the book,” he continues.
His hand reaches up, and he strokes my neck with the back of his finger, up just over where my rapid pulse pushes back against him. He turns his hand and grips me there, holding me steady. I’ve never had a man look at me like this, full of barely restrained need.
“By the book…” I reply just as his attention falls on my mouth.
Blood rushes through me as he lowers his lips to mine and claims me with the sweetest, most tender kiss.
All those promises of his fly out the window. He might not be stealing me away into a shadowed corner, but he’s spreading my legs on his kitchen table, pressing himself between them, and taking full advantage of how compliant my desire has made me. I’m goop in his hands.
You want to kiss?
Let’s kiss.
Suddenly, a change moves through him, like he’s gained ground and refuses to retreat now. His firm hold on me elicits a shiver of delight as one of his hands slides up into my hair to cradle the back of my head. He invites me to open my mouth, and he takes charge, dipping his tongue in to stroke against mine in a way that makes my bones disappear from my body altogether.
My hands reach up to cup his face, answering his urgency in equal measure. He scoots me to the edge of the table, and our bodies align so well. I feel him through the layers of clothes—that hard ridge rubbing up against the center of me makes my breath come in shallow, clipped bursts. He’s as turned on as I am, as rabid as me.
All common sense has left the building. Should we be in a safer spot? Behind a locked door? Yes, but we don’t always get what we want. I’ve got a baseball hat digging into my left butt cheek, but you don’t hear me complaining about it.
He tries with my blouse, gathering the fabric and pushing it up, but it’s too tight and he’s too impatient. To hell with it. He presses his hand up underneath it instead, roaming over my quivering stomach to my lace-covered bra. He peels one side away like it was never meant to be there at all, and then he’s cupping my breast, kneading and toying with it until I’m a shivering achy mess.
