he stepped between them. Their faces were almost level.
He leaned in and very lightly touched his lips to hers. “Breathe,” he whispered, softly laughing.
She did with a sudden inhalation. What was she supposed to do with her hands? She was beginning to feel nervous and foolish and that she was making a mistake. And then he put his hands on the outside of her thighs and slowly slid them up, past the roundness of her hips to the dip in her waist.
“So delicate,” he murmured huskily, and kissed her again.
Part of her had expected a drunken kiss of triumph, but he took his time, his slightly parted lips taking hers with soft, little strokes. Soon she couldn’t keep herself from touching him, sliding her hands up his arms, feeling each ripple of muscle with an answering ripple of desire deep in her belly. Her thighs tightened around his hips, she slid her hands into his hair, then, as one, they deepened the kiss. He tasted of beer, and it was an aphrodisiac on this lost, lonely night. The rasp of his tongue along hers made her moan, and he pulled her tighter against him. She was lost in the heat of him, the feel of his warm, hard body in her arms. He tugged the band from her hair, and it spilled around her shoulders. She had no idea how long they kissed, only reveled in feeling absolutely wonderful. It had been so long.
He leaned over her, and she fell back, body arched beneath him, moaning again as he began to trail kisses down her jaw, then her neck. His big hands cupped her shoulders as he held her in place, her own hands clasped his head to her as if she would never let him go.
Deep inside, a whisper grew louder, that this was wrong. Another languid voice said no, they both wanted this, just a little while longer . . .
His mouth lightly touched the center V of her sweater; his hands cupped her ribs, his thumbs riding the outer curves of her breasts. The anticipation was unbearable; she wanted to writhe even as his hand slid up and over her breast as if feeling its weight. His thumb flicked across her nipple, and she jerked with pleasure. His hips were hard against hers, her legs spread to encompass him . . .
On a pool table, where anyone could walk into the back room and see them. The thrill of danger and excitement receded as guilt and worry rose up like hot bubbling water.
She was leading him on; he probably thought he could take her home and—
Torn between passion and mortification, she stiffened. “No,” she whispered. Then louder, “No, please stop.”
His hand froze, his head lifted until their eyes met.
She bit her lip, knowing she looked pathetic and remorseful and guilty. “I can’t do this. Our bet was only for a kiss.”
As he let his breath out, he straightened, pulling her up with him. He stayed between her thighs, watching her mouth. “Are you sure?” he whispered.
When she nodded, he stepped back as she jumped off the table. She stood there a moment, feeling shaky and foolish.
“I should go,” she said, turning away and heading back to the bar.
At her table, she couldn’t bear to wait for her bill, knowing that the bartender and the two dart players might have heard her moan. Her face was hot, her hands trembled, and she prayed that the TV had been loud enough. She threw down far more money than was probably necessary, but she just couldn’t face the bartender. Grabbing her raincoat off the hook, she ran out into the rain, jumped into her car, and sat there, feeling so stupid. She’d never done anything like that in her life. That man—Nate, she remembered—must think her the worst tease.
After a minute’s fumbling in the depths of her purse, she found her keys and slid them into the ignition. The car tried to turn over several times, but nothing happened. Emily closed her eyes and silently prayed. Please, not now.
She turned the ignition again, and although the engine strained once or twice, it wouldn’t start. She stared out the rain-streaked windshield at the glowing sign for Tony’s Tavern. She couldn’t go back in there. Her brain was fuzzy from too much alcohol as she tried to remember what she’d driven past when she left the highway. A motel perhaps? She’d been so worried about her car and the pouring rain and