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“I’m afraid I am.”
Her lips formed a soundless ‘O’ that sent a shiver of dread through him. She raised her hand to her forehead. He agreed wholeheartedly. It was a real face-palm moment, for sure.
“But, I thought—” She looked like she’d just found out Santa Claus didn’t exist. Her fingertips stroked feverishly across her collarbone, as though the action might work to spirit her away from here. “Am I not good enough? Am I not… hot enough?”
At the tremor in her voice, he felt an answering lurch in his chest. “Sweetheart, that’s not it. Maybe we could—”
“Don’t sweetheart me.” All the earlier promise of the evening lay closed and shuttered in her tightly-held stance. She palmed a light pressure to his shoulder to push him aside. He went easy.
“Lili, you’re a very beautiful woman. This is just moving a little fast.”
“Forget it.” She rubbed a hint of moisture from her kiss-swollen bottom lip, wiping the taste of him from her. It was going to take much more than that to get the sweet memory of her out of his mouth.
Angling around him, she strode back into the bar and not even her harried gait could disguise that sexy tilt to her hips or the pride with which she carried herself. He could go after her, tell her she’d had a lucky escape and wouldn’t become part of the three-ring circus that was his life. He could tell her the truth, that he was tired of using and being used and he would like to get to know her better. Not that she’d believe him.
He didn’t quite believe it himself.
Ten
Lili was still shaking.
Fifteen minutes ago, she’d experienced both the hottest and most humiliating moments of her life. One right after the other. She jammed the toothbrush in her mouth with such vehemence that she grunted at the abrasive pain.
What in the name of all things good and holy had just happened with Jack Kilroy?
So she wasn't the brightest spark when it came to men. Witness Exhibit A, Marco Rossi, the man she had mooned over for six pathetic months. She had known it was a lost cause, but at one time the slightest glance from him had been enough to send her into a tizzy of anticipation, which usually fizzled quicker than a damp squib. Thankfully, she was cured of Marco.
Next up, Exhibit B, Jack Kilroy, with his epic chest and his hot mouth. No vaccine available against that. He had walked out of that fridge and into her flat-lining life, dazzling her with that easy smile and stupid accent. Cara and Tad had egged her on and like an idiot, she had bought into their rom-com script.
How could she have mistaken the nuclear heat rolling off the man in waves? The looks that promised he was picturing her naked. The appraisal of her body, first with his eyes, then with his hands. That mouth—that mouth that could do anything and have her begging for more. Begging for him to feast on her neck, her breasts, her belly, her—
The harsh blast of the intercom slashed through her pathetic fantasy. She rinsed the mouth that had just been kissed stupid. No, she could still taste him. Essence de Kilroy.
She had played a little, teased a lot, added in the empty threat of Laurent, and it had worked. He had followed the sure thing and then proceeded to blindside her. Even if he had been affected by their clinch—and she had definitely felt the affection when he ground his body into her like she was the mortar to his pestle—he clearly had a different agenda.
She hated guys with agendas.
The buzzer sounded again. Living in a neighborhood filled with bars usually guaranteed a few late-night visitors. No one she knew, just idiots who liked to press buzzers on a drunken dare and stumble onto the next target.
A few seconds ticked by. Another honk. She knew who it was before she’d even pushed the ‘talk’ button.
“Yeah?”
“Lili, I need to see you.” Jack’s voice filled the room, crisp, British, and not in the least bit apologetic. Following a moment of silence on her end, he buzzed again. She pressed the button and listened to the ominous crackle.
“Lili, let me in so I can explain.”
She bit down on her lip, praying that might work to stop her screaming at him. Her finger depressed the ‘talk’ button again and caught him mid-sentence.
“—Down and shut up,” he said, followed by incomprehensible muttering.
“Did you just tell me to shut up?” she asked, incensed.
“No, not you.” He sounded distant, like he was underwater then his voice came in again so clearly she started.
“Sweetheart, I can hear you breathing.” She stopped. Breathing was overrated anyway. “Why don't you let me come up and we can talk about this like adults?”
Adults? She had wanted to do some very adult things with him and now he wanted to talk. Like adults. That suppressed scream yearned to break free of her throat. She caught muddled snatches of what he said next. Something about Laurent, then a torrent of French gibberish.
