the first to admit attraction, had never been the first to make a move—if her awkward, too-fast confession could be counted as such. Her mother had drummed into her that the only way to get a man was to make him chase, make him want by being slightly unavailable. Always a little out of reach.
By playing a game.
So many rules, so many points of etiquette when what she really wanted was to take charge of her own damn life. And if that meant wearing her heart on her sleeve for once, then she would damn well do it.
“Say something,” she said, her hands gripping the edge of her chair like it might keep her tethered to earth.
“Wouldn’t you rather I do something?” His eyes were like twin blue flames, flickering and holding her captive.
He leaned forward, bracing one hand on the back of her chair and closing the distance with a heart-fluttering slowness. She reached up and slid her hand along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the gentle prickles of his five o’clock shadow against her palm. The friction sent a subtle shiver through her, kicking up fantasies like a sandstorm.
“Yes,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
It was like trying to talk underwater, her voice distorted and sluggish. Time had slowed to a trickle so she could take in every single detail—the widening of his pupils, so black and bottomless and beautiful. The parting of his lips as he came closer. The scent of shampoo in his hair and wine on his breath.
When his lips finally connected with hers, it was bliss—warm, sensual, spiraling bliss.
His mouth was confident as he coaxed hers open, knowing she would melt for him. And she did. His hand was in her hair, fist closing around her ponytail so he could tug her head backward. That grip, so sure and possessive, snapped the last vestige of her control, and she invited him in.
Their tongues met, and she arched toward him, wanting more, more, more. Wanting everything. The awkward seated position didn’t allow for much contact, but she didn’t dare move, dare twitch, in case it warned him away. Because she could drown in his kiss forever.
In that moment, she felt wanted. Cherished. It was goodness dragged up from the very bottom of her soul, making every cell in her body vibrate.
She fisted her hands in his T-shirt, trying to bring him closer. But it was no use—her body was twisted to the side and her arm pressed painfully into the table. Growling in frustration, Trent broke free and shoved his chair back.
“Come here.” The demand was like a lit match, and the sight of him—hair mussed, legs spread in that unabashedly male way, T-shirt rumpled by her hands—was possibly the hottest thing she’d ever seen. “I need you closer.”
Cora rose out of her chair, and his strong hands guided her over. She straddled him, her skirt bunched around her waist and her back pinned against the table. If she’d wanted contact, then this was it. This was everything. The hard press of him between her legs, lips eagerly seeking hers. He rolled his hips up to rub against her.
Lord. There would be nothing left of her but cinder and bone.
He kissed her hard. Deep. She felt the stubble scratch against her chin and the deliciously soft cotton yield to her fingertips, barely hiding taut muscle beneath. His hands circled around, sliding under her dress to cup her ass. She writhed, so desperate for more, it filled the air like a perfume.
This wasn’t a sweet kiss. This wasn’t a romantic movie, peck on the doorstep with a foot pop for good measure. Oh no. This kiss was dredged from the darkest of Cora’s fantasies. The kind of full-bodied, impolite, totally penetrating kiss that she’d never let herself indulge in on a first date back home.
You haven’t even gone on a date.
Cora pulled back for a moment, dazed and aroused and fighting the little voice inside her. Her ponytail was hanging a little loose, some curls springing around her face and brushing her skin. Trent was equally disheveled, but the sexy, unabashed smile on his lips summed up everything she felt right now: good.
Not worried. Not stressed. Not regretful. Not running.
Good.
But when had she ever been able to trust that feeling?
…
“God, you’re beautiful,” Trent said, brushing back an errant strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear. Cora glowed—her pale eyes were like stars at twilight and her lips sported a delectable post-kiss