For Seven Nights Only - Sarah Ballance Page 0,32
gesture irked him until the good boy momentum ended with her fingertips resting lightly on his thigh. That, too, ended when she spotted another man.
“What about him?”
Sawyer took in the plain black suit, the mutton-like haircut, and the frozen expression on the man’s face. “He looks like a funeral director.”
She narrowed her eyes, but they rested on Sawyer for only a second before someone else caught her attention. “And that guy?”
He twisted in his seat for a look. “Do you see how much jewelry he’s wearing?”
She frowned. “You’re supposed to be helping me.”
“You’re not at a livestock auction. Or a police station. You can’t just pick them out of a lineup. They’re people, you know.” Sarcasm—one of the few art forms he actually appreciated.
Her, not so much.
The lights dimmed, saving him the brunt of whatever reply she’d been formulating behind that mask of irritation. But even that reply would have been better than what happened on the stage. From a hushed silence, some woman started caterwauling, arms outstretched and face to the ceiling. All those acoustics the opera house brochures bragged about sent the noise funneling straight to his eardrums and caused pain. Actual pain.
People paid for this shit?
He leaned close to Kelsie. “Bachelor number one,” he whispered, shooting a subtle gesture in the direction of the first man she’d pointed out.
She gave Sawyer another irritated look. “What about him?”
Sawyer leaned close to be heard over that god-awful squawking on the stage. “Look how straight he’s sitting. He’s having the time of his life. Here.”
“So what? You’re sprawled in that seat like you’re riding the subway at midnight. He’s got class.”
“The implication being that I don’t?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s just—”
“Bachelor number two,” Sawyer interrupted, not interested in hearing more. “Funeral Director Guy still has no expression. He’s not frowning. He’s not happy. He’s just sitting there, droll as fuck.”
“So what?”
“You’re a passionate woman. Trust me…you want a man who can handle that. What are you going to do with a man who can listen to this screaming and not blink? He wouldn’t know passion if you filled a hearse with it and ran his ass over.”
They were centimeters apart now—close enough that her glare nearly incinerated him. “And this is where you say you are the only guy who can handle me?”
He pressed his lips together, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re asking a dangerous question,” she said, her fingertips tiptoeing along his thigh, headed north.
“I think you have a little thing for danger,” he replied. He returned the favor by moving his hand under her dress until he separated her thighs and her heat threatened to incinerate him.
Baby, just ask.
Her gaze dropped to his lips. It was all the invitation he needed. Instantly, his mouth was on hers. He’d never been more grateful to be in the dark, and the alcove in which they were seated kept them out of view.
Whatever sound of surprise she made was lost, her hesitation shattering in the split second it took him to put his hands on her. The slinky black dress she wore left plenty of room for him to flatten his palm on her leg, then edge it upward as he slanted his head, searching for a newer, deeper angle. He barely noted the crescendo of ear-splitting noise in the background as Kelsie slid her arms around his neck, her cold palms pressing against his heated skin.
He had every intention of warming her up. Melting her. And the completely inappropriate moans and murmurs escaping their joined lips indicated he was succeeding.
Their only company near the alcove was a white-haired man who had to be eighty if he was a day, and his companion, a woman who appeared to be singing, loudly and off-key, along with the onstage performer. Between the darkness and the rows of seats separating them from the older couple, Sawyer had no qualms about edging his hand higher along Kelsie’s thigh until his fingers were wet and her gentle grip on his neck turned into a demand that she voiced between kisses.
“I want you.”
If she had been anyone else, he probably would have nailed her right there in the opera house, but this was Kelsie. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t take her home and take his time with her. He’d been thinking for days about stripping her down, and a dark corner in a noisy room wouldn’t cut it. He wanted to explore her every curve, and he