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“You’ll find out soon.” Those words are spoken so nonchalantly, and yet there’s a gleam in his eyes, a teasing glint that makes me feel like there’s more to that comment—words laced like they have so much promise. So much desire.
Will must sense the flush I’m feeling beneath my skin because his eyes narrow. He’s already leaning forward, but a small motion makes it feel like he’s closed the space exponentially.
He places his hand near mine. Our fingers brush, and it’s like this heated force field being shot from the smallest part of his body into mine. I don’t move my hand. If I do, I might do something rash, like run my fingers over his lips—those soft lips, which are so pouty and lush. I want to kiss him. I always want to kiss him.
“What’s the best thing that’s happened to you this month?” I ask him out of turn.
“You.” His answer is quick, and I nearly forget to swallow my drink. My heart speeds up, and I nearly don’t hear his next question. “Why won’t you dance with me?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Is being with me such a bad thing?” he asks with his hazel eyes smoldering. It’s the gaze of an incredibly sexy villain of a man.
“For me, yeah,” I state honestly. “Besides, I’m not your type, remember?”
“You’re not.”
Will moves his hand closer to mine. I’m startled by it and look up. His eyes are like a wildfire in the western forests, tearing down everything in its path as it scorches earth.
“No. You’re not my type. Unpredictable is an understatement,” he says. “You’re loud, a wild card. You overthink and pace … a lot. Your sarcasm is your only defense, and you only let your guard down when you’re with your friends or your kids. There’s a good chance you’re already stringing together every word I’m saying and getting ready to question me, as if I have an ulterior motive. And you’ll never trust another man again.”
“Well, you’re not incorrect …”
“You’re insecure, which is crazy because you’re this successful, talented, amazing mother who is quite possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my entire life. You’re also the funniest woman I’ve ever met. You have this quirkiness I’m drawn to, but not as much as I am to your mouth. I want to kiss you like a dying man in the desert needs a drink.”
His eyes are scorched with an anger I’ve never seen from him before. It’s a determined anger. A lustful anger.
I bite my lip and let him continue.
“When you kissed me in the parking lot, I did kiss you back. I’d have been a fool not to. That kiss was … fuck, I stay up at night, thinking about what it would be like to put my mouth on yours again. To put my mouth …” His voice trails off, as do my thoughts.
I have no doubt this man’s mouth all over my body would be the ultimate undoing.
“I won’t try to kiss you though,” he says. “That’s your call. While I know what I so desperately want, I also know what I need. Right now, I’m content with having you in my life just as we are.”
I fight the urge to kiss him and punch him in the face. “Goddamn it, Bronson. You’re not supposed to say things like that.”
“This is my truth. I won’t ever lie to you.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Not from me.”
My breath is shaky as it escapes my lips. It’s his conviction. The fact that he says what he feels and with this earnest quality that makes you believe he’d die before breaking your trust.
I turn back to the dance floor. Kent and Tara are making out like teenagers at a rave. The sexual explosion happening on the dance floor matches the tension being felt at the back corner table.
I let out a small laugh. “I think our friends are safely headed to the bedroom.”
“Mission accomplished then.”
My sarcastic laugh is followed by my quick finish of my drink. It was hard to swallow earlier, but now, it goes down like water. This is what happens when you adapt. You numb yourself to bitterness.
“Melissa.” His voice is mellow and somewhat melancholy, calling my attention.
I shake my head and look down at the whiskey glass in front of me. It’s nearly empty because, despite my initial protests, I keep coming back for a sip of the drink I never thought I’d like.
He twists the cap back onto the bottle. “If you plan on driving Tara’s car home, we should slow down.”
