Whatever it stirred in her, she was fine with it. She liked feeling.
She stepped back, leaving her hands where they were for another moment. “There, that didn’t kill you. You’re human, you’re reasonably healthy, you’re—”
It wasn’t instinct, but reaction. She’d flipped the switch so he grabbed on and plunged into the blast of light.
And her.
He yanked her around, trapping her between his body and the kitchen island. And gripping her hair—that mass of wild curls—wrapped it around his hand.
He felt her hands once again press to his face, felt her lips part under his, felt her heart slam against his.
He felt.
The pulsing in the blood, the ache of awakening need, the sheer grinding glory of having a woman caught against him.
Warm, soft, curves and angles.
The smell of her, the sound of surprised pleasure in her throat, the slide of lips and tongues slammed into him like a tsunami. And for now, for this one moment, he wanted to just be swept away.
She slid her hands into his hair, and her own need spiked when he lifted her off her feet. She found herself on the counter, legs spread as he pressed between them, and a white-hot, glorious lust bursting in her center.
She wanted to wrap her legs around his waist so they could both just ride, just ride—hot and hard. But once again instinct took over.
No, not without thought, she warned herself. Not without heart. They’d both be sorry for that in the end.
So she laid her hands on his face, yet again, stroked his cheeks as she drew back.
His eyes, fierce blue heat, stared into hers. In them she saw some of that anger she’d recognized under lust.
“Well. You’re alive, and more than reasonably healthy from where I’m sitting.”
“I’m not sorry for that.”
“Who asked for an apology? I pushed the buttons, didn’t I? I’m not sorry either. Except for the fact I have to go.”
“Go?”
“I have to change into that short skirt and get to work, and I’m already running a little behind. The good news is that gives us both time to consider if we want to take the next natural step. That’s also the bad news.”
She slid off the counter onto her feet, heaved out a breath. “You’re the first man who’s tempted me to break my fast in a long time. The first one I think would make the fast and the breaking of it worthwhile. I just need to know we wouldn’t be mad at each other if I did. Something to consider.”
She picked up her purse, started out. “Come out tonight, Eli. Come into the pub, listen to some music, see some people, have a couple beers. First round’s on me.”
She walked out, made it all the way to her car before she pressed a hand to her fluttering belly, let out a long, unsteady breath.
If he’d touched her again, if he’d asked her not to go . . . she’d have been very late for work.
Ten
ELI ARGUED WITH HIMSELF, WEIGHED THE PROS, THE CONS, his own temperament. In the end he justified going to the damn bar because he hadn’t gotten out of the house for his self-imposed hour that day. This would serve as his hour.
He’d check out what the newish owners had done, have a beer, listen to a little music, then go home.
And maybe Abra would get off his back.
And if under it he proved to himself as much as to her he could walk into the village bar, have a beer, with no problem, so much the better.
He liked bars, he reminded himself. He liked the atmosphere, the characters, the conversations, the companionship of having a cold one in company.
Or he had.
Added to it, he could consider it a kind of research. Writing might be a solitary profession—which he’d discovered suited him down to the ground—but it did require seeing, feeling, observing and the rare interaction. Otherwise he’d end up writing in a vacuum.
So, keeping to his vow of an hour out of the house, and getting some local color that might end up painted into his story somewhere made sense.
He decided to walk. For one, it left his car in the drive and that might, in addition to the lights he’d left on, convince any potential B&E candidate the house was occupied.
And it gave him a good solid walk for the exercise portion of his day.
Situation normal, he told himself.
Then he stepped into the Village Pub, and disorientation.
Gone was the watering hole where he’d bought his first legal