Yeah . . . Leo would never underestimate her ability to lay him flat if she wanted to.
“What are the stacks?” he asked, picking apart her dream.
She sighed. “The bookshelves in the library. We called them the stacks.” Olivia held her breath, looked at him. “Oh my God, Leo. I remember the library at school. There was a boy. It was late . . . everyone was asleep. We went there to make out.”
“Was this a dream or a memory?” he asked.
She blinked several times, something he’d started to notice more and more as she was searching her thoughts. Almost like a blinking cursor on a computer letting you know it was ready for its next command.
“Both . . . I think.”
“You called the library the stacks. Why?”
“The shelves were massive, floor to ceiling. The library was huge. Not Harry Potter huge, but vast. Old. The smell of old books and oiled wood. And fire.”
“That sounds more like a bad dream.”
She nodded. “The fire, yes. That dream is the same every time, but the stacks and the boy . . . that felt familiar.”
“Do you remember his name?”
She shook her head.
He held his breath. “What about the school?”
She placed her fingertips on her head. “It’s right there. So damn close.”
He released a breath. Frustrated for her, but thankful at the same time. If she doesn’t remember, she won’t leave when no one was looking.
Her hand fell on top of his.
She smiled and climbed back over on him, her legs straddling his. “I do remember my first kiss.” She wore a T-shirt and panties . . . and nothing else.
His body was uninterested in her words and much more excited about the weight of her resting on top of him.
“Is that so?” he asked.
“It was wet and sloppy.”
Leo relaxed his grip and rested his hands on her hips. “Did you give him a second chance?” he asked.
She blinked a few times. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
For whatever reason, that made him smile. “Do it right or move along?”
Both her hands came up to his neck, gently this time. “I am sorry.” She leaned forward and kissed where she’d placed her hands.
“Did you mean to try and hurt me?” he asked, knowing the answer.
“No.”
“Then your apology isn’t necessary.”
She stopped kissing his neck long enough to look him in the eye. “Stealing my lines?”
“Maybe.”
She inched over, kissed the other side.
The soft slide of her tongue brought the spark in his belly he’d grown to expect any time they’d touched before.
His fingers dug into her hips when she grazed her teeth on the edge of his ear.
“Your kiss isn’t wet or sloppy,” she whispered.
“I guess that means I get another chance.” He turned his head, and she was right there, leaning into him.
Her lips were hot, open, and she pressed into him as if she could absorb him with a kiss.
His hands fanned inside her T-shirt and up her bare back, careful not to touch the scar she’d recently obtained. Did she even notice it anymore? Would he ever be able to hold her and not think about her lying on the dirty streets of Las Vegas? He wanted to take all that pain away. Give her something in return. Maybe this was it. This moment together. He had no power to resist her, not like this with her squeezing her thighs into his hips as they kissed, his erection painfully pressing against the zipper of his jeans.
He wanted to touch more . . . feel more.
And sitting on the hard floor was not going to work for what he wanted to do for her.
He dropped his hands to her hips and started to lift her off.
“We’re not stopping,” she demanded, her breath hot on his cheek.
“Not unless you tell me to.”
She smiled and moved to her feet.
The very core of her was eye level, her panties outlining her sex.
He heard her chuckle. “What are you looking at, Mr. FBI?”
He leaned forward, placed his mouth on her through the thin material between her legs.
Olivia stopped laughing, her hand falling on top of his head.
He reached for the soft globes of her butt and pulled her closer. The scent of her, the heat . . . he wanted more of this.
Her knees buckled just enough.
Leo pulled away, kissed his way up her body as he stood. He stopped at her navel and let her shirt fall back down.