Except he figured there was no way he would end up there.
So maybe Abby really was kissing him. Groaning, he reached for her and hauled her closer, pulling her to stand between his legs. With one arm wrapped around her waist, he slid his free hand up her back and tangled it in the crazy, soft curls of her hair. Soft as silk, just like he remembered.
And her mouth was sweet, every bit as sweet as he remembered, but there was no director, no crew, no brilliant stage lights shining down and this kiss wasn’t choreographed or scripted.
Abby wasn’t kissing him because she had to, wasn’t kissing him because it was in some fucking script, and she wasn’t going to pull away and make some stupid joke to break the tension.
Abby was kissing him, damn it.
It was real.
Real, and he was going to make the most of it.
Using his grip on her hair to tug her head back, he tasted and teased the curve of her lower lip and dipped inside her mouth to stroke her tongue with his own.
She whimpered and arched closer.
Closer, so that through the thin silk of the tank she’d pulled on, he could feel the soft weight of her breasts, the lush curves of her body and it wasn’t enough. He wanted, no, he needed more, but . . .
Tearing his mouth away, he buried his face against her neck.
Her body vibrated against his.
“Abby . . .” he whispered, all too aware of how ragged his voice sounded. All too aware of the fact that his hands were probably shaking and the muscles in his body were bunched, tensed, ready to take.
But what in the hell was going on?
Her hands stroked up his arms, one curving around his neck while the other slid into his hair.
Her lips brushed against his cheek as she turned her head. “I could tell you one of the other steps, Zach, but you’d either think I was crazy or you’d worry about me.”
Lifting his head, he stared at her with a narrow gaze. Her face was flushed and her eyes were a little glassy. But she didn’t look away. Long seconds ticked by and then she tried to ease back from him.
No, damn it. She wasn’t pulling back now.
Glancing around, he studied their surroundings and then he grabbed his stool with one hand, keeping his right arm banded around her waist. He managed to drag the damn thing a foot or two down the length of the breakfast nook to the bar and then he sat down.
Abby yelped as he lifted her up onto his lap and the skin on his burned hand screamed at him. He ignored both. Her skirt tangled around her legs and that was a bit of a hindrance, but he tugged and pulled until she was sitting astride him with the skirt tucked up around the sweet swell of her hips.
Rushing it, man. Pushing too far, a calm, rational voice said. But how the hell could he be rushing it? He’d loved her for most of his life and his problem was that he’d never made a move. Now she had and damn it, he wasn’t letting her walk away just like that.
“The only thing that worries me about your life is the fact that you never really live it,” he said, hooking his arm around her shoulders and staring at her.
Her face was flushed and her eyes were overbright. Her gaze bounced around like she couldn’t look at him and she kept squirming around—considering her position, that made things very interesting. “Abby . . . be still, damn it.”
She wiggled even more. “Put me down, Zach.”
“Why?”
“Because . . .” She stopped and then lifted her eyes to stare at him. Her tongue came out to wet her lips and because he just couldn’t stop himself, he pushed his hand into her hair, tangled it around his fingers, and took her mouth.
The way he’d always dreamed about.
It was a moment made for dreams, it seemed.
Every time he’d thought about doing this, he’d been certain he’d get any reaction other than this. Anything but her hunger. Anything but her meeting him ragged breath for ragged breath, hungry touch for hungry touch. Desperate kiss for desperate kiss.
A soft, startled gasp escaped her and he swallowed it down. Yet another dream came true as he felt her wiggle closer and wrap her legs around his hips and arch closer. Abby .