pitching.
“Bottom line is . . . you want to stay,” he said, keeping that intensity right in his gaze, seemingly quite at home in her personal space, even though he was well aware of the risks. “And I know a way to help you do that.”
“So . . . this is just about you fixing something you can fix?”
“Partly. If I can, then I want to, yes.”
“Not about me, then. Personally, I mean.”
“Shouldn’t be.”
She looked up into his eyes. “Shouldn’t?”
He reached up and gently pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. His smile reached his eyes, and she was so caught up in it, she didn’t realize he was trailing his finger down the side of her cheek until it was too late to worry about it.
“Shouldn’t,” he said again. “But I can’t deny you’ve worked your way in, Honey Pie.” His voice got softer, deeper, his drawl vibrating along the surface of her skin as he leaned down so his lips were next to her ear. “Reached right in and grabbed hold.” The warmth of his breath feathered across her cheeks as he moved his mouth close to hers, still not touching her. “And I’m not sure why, but I’m not wantin’ you to let go. Not just yet.”
His words made her heart pound so hard she could barely hear her own thoughts, and her knees went from kind of wobbly to downright woozy. “I’m not trying to complicate your life.”
He lifted his head just enough to look into her eyes. And his grin devastated any hope she had of reclaiming control. “Sugar, it was too late for that the minute I saw you sitting on that bench out back, looking across the alley like you wanted the world, if only it would want you back.”
She felt . . . exposed. For the first time, she had an inkling of what others felt like when she tried to tell them what she saw, what she knew. How exposed they must have felt, how vulnerable. It was terrifying to think he could look at her, and know . . . know what was in her heart, what she’d barely admitted to herself. “I-I just wanted my car fixed.”
His grin did that lazy slide into something deeper, more intimate, bringing out a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Yes, well . . . sometimes you get more than you bargain for.”
He took a step forward and she automatically shifted back, bringing her up against the door that led to the storage space.
“I’m giving you fair warning that I’m about to put my hands on you because it seems the right thing to do, but I’ll admit, I’m not givin’ you any time to think on it.” He framed her face with the palms of his hands, so broad and strong, warm, and a little rough. Before she could even begin to process all the delicious signals that sent out, his mouth came down on hers.
She had no time to brace herself, no time to think, and then she was lost in the scents, the tastes, the feelings coursing through her. There was nothing tentative in this kiss; he took, and simply expected to be given to in return.
Give she did. Willingly, helplessly . . . and to her shock, happily. The edges of her consciousness wavered, but with the demands of lust and want and desire. Every part of her was alert, in the moment, and quite wonderfully present.
“You good, sugar?” he queried in a deep murmur against her lips.
“Very,” she answered breathlessly, touched and turned on by the fact that, even in the throes of it, he was still taking care of her.
He chuckled at that. When she brought her hands up to his chest, he took hold of her wrists and pinned them gently, but firmly to the door on either side of her head. “My turn. Next time, we’ll see what happens when you do the touching.”
He slowly slid her hands up the door, bringing their bodies closer, making hers vibrate with the need to feel him pressed up against her. She was past worrying about what might happen. Every thought she had was on one thing, and one thing only . . . feeling him pressed up against her.
He found her mouth again and slowed things down, taking his time, taking her mouth with patient, but devastating thoroughness until she was completely focused on that and only that. Then he eased his body against hers. He