Derp.
“I know you saw what happened to me.” His voice deepened. “Earlier.”
Her throat tightened, the walls closing in fast like a booby-trapped cave inIndiana Jones and the Awkward but Necessary Air-Clearing.
“Come in,” she said, gesturing at the door.
“You’re sure?”
“I’d like to keep out cold air and creeps.”
He rocked on his heels. “When you rubbed on me—”
She reached out and pressed her fingers to his lips. They were warm. Of course. He was a living, breathing man. Why would they ever be otherwise?
But still, she hadn’t expected them to be quite this warm. And with an intriguing softness to boot.
“I wasn’t rubbing on you. That was a massage. That was professional.”
“You were. I wasn’t.” When he opened his mouth to speak, his inner lower lips grazed her fingertip, the faintest trace of wet.
She fought against the instinct to flutter her eyes.
“It’s no big deal. I promise. Bodies are bodies. They do all sort of stuff.”
“Do you find me attractive?”
Out of all the possible thing to come out of his mouth, this one made her choke.
He bowed his head. “That a no?”
“No!” she gasped.
“Never mind.” He moved to step away but she grabbed his wrist.
“Wait. I meant no as in yes, and—”
If someone had told her that Patch Donnelly was going to cup her chin, search her face like she had the secrets from the Mayan calendar tattooed between her eyes, mutter “fuck it” and then crush his lips to hers, she’d have said they were likely indulging in Colorado’s recreational marijuana dispensaries.
She didn’t even have time to close her eyes.
Worse, he didn’t either.
They gaped at each other like two Nibbleses in opposing goldfish bowls. His breath hot on her skin.
It wasn’t that he was a bad kisser. There was no tongue-shove down the throat. No slobber. He wasn’t twisting his palms over her boobs as if waxing his car.
The problem was that he wasn’t doing much of anything. His lips were whisper-light and not even fully covering hers. They dipped to the side. He’d frozen as if unable to believe he’d done it.
Well he had. And since he was here...
She had to admit to being a little curious.
She leaned into him, twining one hand up the back of his neck, clutching his hair, and in doing so felt herself tiptoe to the edge of a thing she didn’t understand, gripped by a vague sensation that she was in danger of falling a very long way. The shock was disconcerting, but thrilling in its way. Like standing at a window at the top of a skyscraper watching the world crawl by below and wondering what it would feel like to let go and fall.
She wanted to do this. To kiss him.
An angel popped up on her shoulder giving her a stern wag of the finger. What about her resolve not to mix business and pleasure? What about her long-standing aversion to gingers?
