the most natural thing in the world, he moved behind her and started to reach for her hands. Then he paused. “May I show you?”
“Please.”
He cupped his hands over hers on the ball, his arms surrounding her. “You’re almost there. Do this.” He showed her the best motion to get both spin and rotation. “Feel that?”
She didn’t respond, just nodded. With her back pressed against his chest, her body was caged between his arms. He stood, rooted to the spot. He didn’t want to let her go. She smelled clean and bright, like flowers and freshness. Like someone unsullied by everything dark and cold in this city. He longed to breathe her in, just inhale until his lungs were full of her scent, so he’d never forget it.
Then he remembered her mad dash out of the club when he’d pressed his tongue to her skin.
He couldn’t rush her. Or coerce her. Whatever happened between them had to be consensual, with her full participation. Better yet, he preferred if she initiated it.
Easing his grip, he started to step back. “Now you—”
“Wait.” She clutched his arm with her free hand. “Show me one more time.”
Satisfaction shot through him. He pulled his arms tighter, closer, and put his mouth to her ear. “Like this,” he whispered.
Before he could blink, she relinquished the ball to his palms and spun around. Her hands landed on his shoulders, her mouth inches from his. Fire licked through his groin, swift and hot, and he’d never wanted anyone more. This virginal uptown princess—an angel, a perpetual do-gooder—had turned him inside out. He couldn’t tell if he hoped a little of her goodness would rub off on him . . . or if he prayed his wickedness rubbed off on her.
Perhaps both.
He studied her flushed face and the pulse pounding in her neck. “You’re missing the lesson.”
“I’d rather have a different lesson right now.”
“What kind of lesson, cara?”
“The one where you stop talking.”
She didn’t wait. Rising on her toes, she crushed her mouth to his. It was clumsy, but the effect was like being punched in the chest by a fistful of brass knuckles. She robbed him of breath.
Jesus God, she’d kissed him. Was still kissing him.
And it was better than he’d imagined. She was lush and sweet and responsive, her lips soft and determined as they moved over his, learning him. Had he assumed her inexperienced? He’d been a fool, then. Because the way she was kissing right now had him hard and aching in seconds.
He dropped the ball on the ground with a thud. Wood was likely damaged, but who fucking cared? Holding her jaw in his palms, he dipped his head and dove at her like a dying man. He kissed her deep then changed the angle, only to continue kissing her some more. Everything in him focused on this one place, on her. He didn’t ever want to stop.
Somehow their mouths opened and his tongue found hers. Or maybe hers found his. He didn’t know but he was damn grateful. His tongue wound around hers, stroking and rubbing, while her fingernails dug into his shoulders. His chest heaved, lungs screaming for air, but he couldn’t stop. He’d been waiting for this for so long—years, it seemed—and he meant to keep going as long as possible. Because he was a greedy bastard, he wanted everything she had to give.
Perhaps more.
Then she broke away, putting space between them, and his stomach sank. This was when she’d retreat. Run away again, leaving him to contemplate what might have been.
Silent, he merely tried to catch his breath. She glanced behind him. “Is there . . . ? Could we sit somewhere? My legs are feeling a bit weak.”
She wasn’t trying to leave? Blinking, he put the pieces together. She was asking to sit so that she might stay longer. “Of course,” he rushed out.
“I forgot about Rye.” She craned her neck toward the end of the lanes. “Is he still there?”
Rye had been wise enough to depart when Jack had started kissing Justine. “No. He left quite some time ago.” Taking her hand, he led her to an armchair against the back wall. He dropped into the seat and, before she could complain, pulled her onto his lap. “Is this better?”
“Much. Does this mean you’re interested in continuing?”
Chapter Fourteen
Justine held her breath while awaiting his answer. The moment felt huge and important, the beginning of something momentous. All she knew was she desperately needed more of Mulligan’s kisses. Though