two sides of the room with large windows in the front, and drapes hang tall and long behind a stage. A four-piece band plays up front with someone else on a black grand piano.
The hostess walks us to a table with a placard that says Reserved. As soon as we sit down, a waitress, who smiles at Sebastian in a familiar way, places chocolate martinis in front of us.
“I take it, she knew we were coming then?” I run my finger along the rim of the glass.
“I might or might not have sent her a text, saying we were on our way. She dates a friend of mine.”
We cheers, and I sip the most decadent martini I’ve had in a while.
Unlike at the restaurant, Sebastian and I are seated side by side as we watch the band and listen to the music. His arm wraps around the booth behind us, making it easy for me to slide into his side without seeming forward. Our hips touch, and there’s something about the contact of our bodies, as simple as it is, that ignites a fire in my belly.
He talks to me throughout the set, speaking directly into my ear so I can hear him over the trumpet. His breath tickles my skin, and the citrusy scent of his cologne is invigorating.
I turn my head to respond, and our faces are close. So close that my chest rises with the deep inhale as I look up into his steely gaze and lick my lips, having to bite down so I don’t do something foolish, like attack this man and kiss him senseless.
Because I want to.
From the top of my head to the bottom of my toes, electricity courses through my body, and I’m dying to latch on to this man and taste his lips and touch his body. I could blame it on the martini I’ve drank or the oysters, which are said to be an aphrodisiac. That would all be a lie, of course. No food or drink could make me want this man more than his mere presence does.
Sebastian Blake is a walking, talking aphrodisiac.
“Dance with me,” he croons, and I nod with a swallow.
He rises and takes my hand, walking me over to a small dance floor, where a few people are gliding to the music.
His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush to him. His hard body is like a magnet for my soft one. His other hand skims my hip as I raise my arms around his neck and move with him.
We sway to the beat of the saxophone.
My heart pounds with the bass.
As he lowers his forehead to mine, my entire soul gives in completely. It’s silly really. A man I met barely two weeks ago has barreled his way into my world, and I’m beyond smitten. I should hate men after what Hardin did to me.
I can’t though. Not when this one is holding me close and staring at me from under hooded eyes, like I’m the only woman in the room. No, he’s looking at me like I’m the last living being in the entire world.
I move my hand down to his chest and lay it over the space where his heart beats hard and fast. His hand clenches my side, and I know he’s just as affected as I am.
“I want to kiss you, Amy,” he whispers in the space between us.
“Why don’t you?”
“I’m afraid if I start, I won’t want to stop, and we’re not in the most private of places.”
“Good thing you have restraint,” I say.
His brows curve in concern. “Why’s that?”
“Because I have none.”
My cheeks are flush, my body is aching, and my heels rise as I lean up and kiss him. In a jazz club with the rhythmic beats of a sultry ballad, on a dance floor, in front of people who are probably too consumed by their own lives to notice, I kiss him.
His mouth parts instantly and welcomes me in, sliding his tongue against mine, eliciting a moan from deep in my throat. My hands grip his neck as I pull him closer, savoring his delicious mouth. His hands hold me tighter as my fingers grip at his shirt.
Chests press up against each other, and groins roll. It’s a good thing we’re already dancing because the movement must look lethal. Our kiss is heady and delicious—the kind you can get lost in for days.
Thankfully, Sebastian pulls away before we get too carried away.