“You know everybody here.”
“You’re the only guy I haven’t slept with. Small town, you know.”
“So you’re not The Girl. You’re The Girl With a History.”
“Okay. Maybe not everybody,” she conceded.
“Definitely not everybody.”
“How would you know?”
“You haven’t slept with me.”
She’d never been so glad to hear heavy metal. For Ari, it conjured images of old men in leather pants eating bats on stage before they destroyed their own guitars, but this guy could dance to anything. What a workout! She was suddenly glad Paulie didn’t allow anything touchy-feely on his jukebox because this guy might suddenly announce he could freaking waltz.
He was reaching for his tie now, too. A bad sign. It should have meant something red with exclamation points like Wrong Way! Or Stop! Instead, it was just turning yellow and flashing, saying Trouble Up Ahead. And who didn’t know that already? “You are formal for Paulie’s,” she yelled as those maddening, fluid hands tugged off the tie in a seamless gesture, looped it around her neck and used the ends to pull her to him.
Suddenly, she wished they’d met in work mode when she looked more respectable. Then she kicked herself for wanting to impress him. That was this guy’s appeal, right? He seemed too at ease with himself and living for the moment.
“I don’t usually party like this,” she suddenly screamed, but the words were lost. “I’m trying to be good!” There it was again, her approval seeking. It meant something deep inside her, something over which she had no control, was responding to this guy, and she wanted him to...like her.
“You aren’t going to be good in that outfit, sweetheart.”
Sweat beaded and slid down her cleavage, and when he used an end of the tie to dab at it, she wound up yelling more nonsense about the holidays, her nutso family, the new place in Raleigh and her workload, and of course, next month’s Unwelcome Incident. The Final Incident.
Frowning, he yelled, “You like your work?”
“Love it!”
He looked a little appalled, which was strange. Most men saw dollar signs when she said she liked work, but he only waved a hand as if to say, to each his own. The tie he was using to clean up her neck was pure silk, and suddenly she gasped. The fingers tracing her neck, skin on skin, felt even more silken than the tie.
Bending, he yelled, “I don’t know if I’m staying here.”
Relief flooded her. He wanted her to know he wasn’t up for LTR. Good. But why was he here? Because Ari hadn’t had time to get her hair done, she hadn’t talked to Mrs. Eli who owned the salon, and who would have filled her in on the town’s latest gossip.
“In town for the night?” She couldn’t hear the response, and by the end of the next song, he’d danced her into the darkest, most isolated corner, between the bar and jukebox. The next conversation started with a super long leg pushing between hers, guiding them apart, bringing a sweeping sensation of warmth. Glancing around, she leaned against the jukebox. No one was watching. He was whispering something, but she didn’t know what, just something every bit as dark as it was promising. And it was only a promise. The Big Lie. Already, she was imagining the morning after when she would admit he wasn’t going to be The One. Already, she was telling herself it was the twenty-first century and nobody was looking for The One.
Teeth caught her earlobe in a bite that was a little painful, yes, but oh so pleasurable. A playful tug, then a quick, hot, flicker all the way down her neck, turning into teasing kisses just inside the collar of her blouse. Suddenly, her nipples tightened, aching as her blood raced, and she was imagining kisses in places more intimate. Her breasts, yes. But mostly right where the hard ridge of thigh was creating such steady pressure. Her chest rose, her breasts swelling, as if for his touch, and she gasped as he responded, his arms tightening, wrapping around her chest, stealing her breath. Shuddering, she had no doubt he could unbutton complicated garments with his teeth, and in her mind, she was imagining him doing it. Her blouse was falling to the floor, her bra opening, those hands stroking...
Then he kissed her on the lips. The firm hard pressure felt heavenly. It was just the kind of kiss she craved. The kind that said, I’m the boss, I’m the man, and I’m going to make you come whether you want to or not. He was all tongue now. All creamy, hot, wet flutters pushing her toward the edge of a cliff, making her teeter on a precipice. She fought not to respond, but she had to, just a little, to relieve herself on that blessed ridge of thigh. It was just one stupid kiss not some vista over a canyon! Not some precipice! She was just imagining the stupid, freaking canyon! It was The Big Lie again! She didn’t even know him!
The ministrations of his tongue inside her mouth were pushing her into a smoky space, where everything was like the music, thumping and pulsing. She was tumbling into nothingness, until suddenly, everything came to a halt, and she thought, Don’t stop! Not now!
He left her hanging, wanting it so bad...until she was wondering what else he could do if he could make her feel this way with only one kiss. With a next liquid dart of his tongue came the explosion of butterflies in her belly, and the jitters shook her until she was achy all over, the pang at the apex of her thighs clamoring. Feeling strangely helpless, she curled her hands around his shoulders and squeezed, then she moved her hips again, gasping at the sweet friction.
She knew he could feel the burst of liquid heat through his slacks, her tights and panties the only other barrier. Nobody was spying on this dark, back corner, but it wasn’t the right place to melt onto the warmth of some stranger’s thigh, or to be swept into his embrace.
Some jerk turned on the lights.
It was sort of a relief. But also just as she’d predicted. The Big Lie. The broken promise. The coitus interruptus. This new man, this stranger, this prince had been so promising. Ready to take her by storm and make her believe in fairy tales again. No matter what heights she attained in other areas of life, maybe she’d never stop craving the fantasy of being swept away by sensual pleasure.
“The harsh light of reality,” she whispered hoarsely. Dammit, her short-lived attractions to men were legendary, but this had been the most promising first kiss coupled with the fastest letdown. She realized she’d probably ruined her voice tonight, too. She couldn’t afford to do that, she really couldn’t.
He whispered, “Shut your eyes. It will help you reenter the fantasy.”
So, he was a mind reader, too. Possessed by her usual demons, she followed the recommendation. Picking right up where he left off, his mouth claimed hers, his tongue plunging, her mind catapulting over high bars and landing in a hazy state of brownout bliss. She opened her eyes and realized he was probably the only person left in Boondocks who looked even better in harsh light.
He said, “I don’t think you should drive.”
She wasn’t proud of it, but she wanted to stay here forever. Exhaling on a shudder, she brushed the dark hairs near the throat of the shirt. Not too silky, not too wiry, but just right. Exactly how a man’s chest hairs ought to feel.
“I’m going to give you a ride.”
Her riding him. That’s what she was thinking about it. Uh-oh. But she couldn’t drive herself home. Eli Jones had been sworn in last year as sheriff, and while he’d never jail Ari for a minor infraction like being tipsy inside Boondocks, driving under the influence was another matter. Glancing at the stranger’s open shirt, she added indecent exposure to her list of crimes. Since Eli’s Unwelcome Incident, he hadn’t so much as sniffed at her—not in a boyfriend way—but he’d happily see her safely home in his cop car if she called him. Especially since she was on such good terms with the Mrs. Eli, who did hair for all the Madden women.
She could call Urgent Care, for that matter. Doc Dickerson would send the ambulance. He always credited his attraction to medicine to Ari, saying he’d found his true calling the day they’d played doctor in the sandbox when they were five, and their mothers were trading casserole recipes.
“I don’t even know you.”
“You can get to know me on the way.”
He made it sound so reasonable.
Paulie yelled, “Pack it in, homeboys.”
Not-a-homeboy started kissing down her neck again. The wet pad of his tongue conjured everything a female was supposed to feel when her sex drive took over, and nothing existed except the hot, handsome man making her climb to an explosive release. He wasn’t saying any dirty words, and he didn’t have to. The slow pressure of his mouth said it all. Obviously, he’d clocked as many practice hours as she when it came to first base.
“Let’s go home.”
He looked so persuasive. “Are you a lawyer or something?”
“I deal with electricity.”
Despite how he’d made her body tingle all over, or maybe because of it, she giggled. “I could have told you that.”
He smiled. “I work with currents, surges, hubs, switches.”
No power failure here. He was hard enough that she could feel his shape and size and heat. He was a big man all over, every inch.
“I get it,” she whispered, her voice raspy. He’d found the switch labeled common sense and flipped it off ages ago.
His voice was as husky as hers. “The lights in here are too bright.”
“Too bright for what?”
“You know. And don’t start analyzing. Those shrinks left an hour ago.”
“Okay, Mr. Electricity,” she said. “But the last thing I need right now is another boyfriend, so you’d better man-up and take me straight home.”