“One brother. Three years older than me. Mom raised us alone. Best thing about making some money was that I can take care of her now. She lives in a great big house down in San Diego.”
“Did you grow up in California?”
He shakes his head. “Your turn again. But I’ll give you that one. No, I grew up in Kansas City. Mom hates the cold.” He grins. So awesome of him to bring her to California with him. I’d give anything to be able to help my mom more. He narrows his gaze at me. “What’s your favorite song?”
I can’t help smiling. “Somebody Like You by Adele.”
He pretends I’ve broken his heart but his eyes twinkle at me. I love the color of his eyes. They remind me of a summer storm. “Favorite Memory.” It’s my turn now.
“The first time I laid eyes on my VIP concierge.”
He’s incorrigible! But, oh, wow. That was a good line. He’s looking at my mouth. Every cell in my body is aware of him. If he’s not careful, I just might jump him. There’s this force pulling us together.
And it’s not one sided. He wants me as much as I want him… It’s just that…
“I haven’t had sex in a long time,” I blurt. “And you’re driving me crazy. I need to apologize ahead of time. I don’t know if it’s my hormones or what but–”
His mouth cuts me off.
Oh.
My.
God.
He’s tasting me like I’m his favorite flavor. Nothing soft. Nothing gentle about this kiss. It feels desperate. Like he’s as hungry as I am. He’s all minty, and spicy. A first kiss. God, I love a first kiss. I’m gripping the back of his head, my fingers clawing through his hair. I want more.
So much more.
I’m burning up all over. My breasts feel heavy, achy. I want his hands on me everywhere. His tongue sweeps the inside of my mouth. He’s sucking me in. I nip my teeth at his bottom lip.
It’s as though the dam’s been opened.
Except.
“Ahem.”
We’re in a restaurant.
Colt has no shame. He stokes the roof of my mouth one last time before edging away enough to acknowledge the waiter.
“Are you ready to order?” The gentleman seems annoyed by us. I don’t think he realizes who Colt is. If he does, he obviously doesn’t care.
It’s not like we’re in the middle of the room. This corner is dark, secluded.
Intimate.
Except for the waiter.
“Do we look like we’re ready?” Colt responds.
I’ve waited tables in the past, while I was in massage therapy school, and I never would have interrupted a couple. I’m curious how this is going to pan out.
The waiter wrinkles his nose, as though he smells something distasteful, and Colt tenses. I wince a little inside. “We’re a respectable establishment.” The man eyes me. In an instant I feel his disapproving gaze land on my stomach, my left hand, and then back to Colt. “If you can’t control yourselves, might I suggest dining elsewhere?”
Colt’s hand is on the back of my neck. His fingers are stroking the fine hairs under my braid. At the waiter’s words, they freeze.
I cannot believe this waiter. At the same time, I wonder if my dressistoo tight– too bold– too bright. And I feel this ugly shame for my condition, my circumstances, that I’ve never felt before.
