even had a real date. I said I would take you to dinner.”
His gaze, trained on her mouth, was nearly feverish. She hadn’t been able to tell that, from a distance, when he’d first walked in. He’d been quiet, calm – he’d been restrained. Eyes dilated, pulse visible in his throat, he was about to snap, and such blatant evidence of his want was electrifying.
He said, “But…”
“It’s been a shit day.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She slipped her arms around his neck and met his kiss halfway.
His lips were warm, and chapped, and his tongue flicked hot and wet right away at the seam of her lips. She opened to him, and it was instantly incendiary; slick, and deep, and dizzying.
His hand slid up to cup her jaw, cradling her face, holding her to him.
She could touch too, she realized, belatedly through the haze of desire; she trailed her fingers up the back of his neck, into the short hair at his nape; softer than it looked, almost fluffy, thick and slippery as she burrowed through it, feeling greedy, pulling him down to her more firmly.
His tongue was wicked. She’d never kissed or been kissed like this, and a part of her felt she ought to be ashamed right now of the wanton moan building in her throat, but she couldn’t be. Not when it felt this good. Not when she could feel how much he wanted her – very distinctly, as his hips pressed in close, and she could feel him stirring half-hard behind his fly.
She’d pulled back last night. Too much too fast. But she’d been tailed by a bodyguard all day, and the club was going to war; girls were getting snatched off the street, and nothing was safe, nothing was guaranteed – nothing but the surety that this was going to be good. So fuck it. Fuck restraint.
She didn’t realize he’d been waltzing her steadily across the room until her back hit the kitchen counter.
“Shit,” he muttered, swaying backward, breaking the kiss, putting a bit of distance between them.
That wasn’t acceptable, but it gave her a chance to peel her shirt off over her head.
His eyes popped wide, falling right to her breasts, her purple, floral-stitched bra. “Oh,” he said. “Okay, we’re doing this.”
“Uh, yeah,” she said, an unexpected laugh bubbling.
He grinned, and shucked his cut; it landed on the floor with a heavy sound, and then his hands were on the hem of that tight white t-shirt she’d admired this morning.
She had one fleeting moment of doubt, as his gaze stayed trained on her chest. She wasn’t a busty girl; couldn’t hope to compare to the sorts of women she’d seen around the clubhouse, with their overflowing halter tops struggling to contain D-cups. But his gaze was only heated and ardent, and then he got his shirt off, and it wasn’t her chest she was thinking about anymore.
She’d strolled past the practice fields a time or two in her days at Knoxville High; had shot appreciative glances toward the players during spring and fall training, shirtless, glistening, still contrastingly lean and edged with puppy fat in places, young guys not yet in their prime, but full of promise.
Carter Michaels was in his prime now. Holy hell. Naturally lean, he’d been lifting wights, and he’d put on muscle, stark contours along his pecs and abs.
Without thinking, she reached out and traced his Adonis lines with her thumbs, watching the flickering in his stomach as he sucked in a breath in reaction.
“Damn,” she said, voice lower than she’d ever heard it. It was the only coherent word she could form. He was gorgeous, and her mouth was dry, and his stomach caved in beneath her fingertips as she trailed them up his washboard abs.
When she reached his pecs, she spread her hands over them, felt the heat of his skin, the thud of his heartbeat. Felt his nipples draw up to sharp points. He was affected; she was affecting him. It was a head rush of the best kind.
She lifted her head to meet his gaze, finally – and was shocked by what she found there. Negative tension marked his brow. His mouth was closed, now, set, nostrils flaring as he breathed. He looked apprehensive; she could see him withdrawing from the moment, shutters coming down in his mind.
She lifted a hand to touch his jaw, startled by the tension there, the leap of a muscle beneath her fingertips. “Hey. What’s wrong?”