Chapter12
He didn’t kiss me.And I wasn’t about to admit to myself how much that pissed me off.
Instead, he dropped the F-bomb, got out of the car (points for not slamming the door, though it seemed like he wanted to) and made his way to my side, opening the door for me. (Again, not yanking it open, but giving Yvette the deference she deserved.)
I got out of the car and he softly shut the door behind me, then showed me how to set her alarm system. While we waited for his ride to show up, he walked me around Yvette and pointed out different features as if he was a proud father bragging about his kid’s little league scores.
I listened and asked questions, quickly becoming a proud mother.
I stuck my hands in my pockets, and he noticed and motioned me to him. When I reached him, he backed me into the side of the car and pulled my hands out of my pockets. He sandwiched them between his own, like we were doing some kind of group prayer or something. Then, ever so slowly, he moved his up and down over mine, causing the nicest friction. And heat. Heat that could make a girl forget it was early February and she’d forgotten her mittens in her dorm room.
And also forget just who was causing the oh-so-delicious heat that was now spreading beyond my hands.
I would be wise to remember who Stick was. Is.
Yes, I had developed a hard shell and was pretty world-wise. But even though I was brought up in a world of power-hungry vipers, I hadn’t been exposed to the criminal element much.
Well, yeah, I suppose I had…just of the very, very white-collar kind. And the kind that never get caught.
Starting to pull my hands away, knowing I needed to keep my distance—lovely heat or not—I looked up at Stick and met his gaze.
It was like he read my mind—knew the moment when I decided that he was not the type of guy I wanted.
That I thought I was too good for him.
“Fuck you,” he whispered with not much accusation. More, almost, with a bit of hurt in his voice.
Which pissed me off. Yeah, maybe I did think he wasn’t good enough for me, but he was a known car thief, for Christ’s sake—that pretty much defined that he was not the route I wanted to take.
“No. Fuck you,” I whispered back, no heat in my words, though I was pissed at him for his past. Pissed at myself for wishing he didn’t have it. Pissed at life for putting us both in the positions we were in. Pissed at how much I wanted to feel his hands all over my body.
I yanked my hands away again, but he not only held on fast, he pulled my hands, arms and body into his. He took a step closer, then another, backing me up against Yvette.
“You don’t know shit about me,” he said softly.
“And I don’t want to,” I replied, though nothing was further from the truth. But even though I could be wild and outrageous, I did have a streak of self-preservation a mile wide. I’d had to.
He dipped his head slightly, even though I was shaking my head at him. Shaking that I didn’t want him to. But I couldn’t get the word “no” out. He nodded at me, and the corner of his mouth turned up into a grin just as I closed my eyes and he kissed me.
It wasn’t a sweet, tentative kiss of two people just dating. It wasn’t even the fun, exuberant kiss that he’d planted on me on the dance floor at Betsy’s wedding.
It was mean. It was angry.
And it was something I completely understood and responded to.
His mouth demanded from mine, and I pushed back, opening my lips under his, letting his tongue in, tangling, twisting with mine.
He tasted like peppermint, and with the cold air swirling around us, it all felt like a winter wonderland.
But he was not the guy who should be making me think of lame phrases like “winter wonderland” while he kissed the bejeezus out of me.
And that thought should have made me pull away. Instead, I broke my hands free from his and wrapped them in the soft cotton of his hoodie, chest level, and yanked him even closer to me, needing to feel his body against mine.
His hands did the same, grabbing the lapels of my peacoat. He couldn’t pull me closer—that was physically impossible—but he ground himself into me. My legs instinctively opened, giving him room.
“Christ, Jane,” he whispered as we came up for air, “I don’t evenlikeyou.” He was kissing my jaw, which was about the only thing exposed given the high collar of the coat.
I barked out something between a laugh and a sob, hoping it sounded like a laugh. “And I think you’re a complete asshole.”
