“Stop talking dirty to me.” I say it steadier than I feel.
We’re inches apart, and I don’t remember moving. His breath is warm on my face, and his eyes are dark, the blue swallowed by green.
“You should walk away,” he warns.
“No.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
“Patterson, I?—”
His hands are on my face, and his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss is a weapon, one that destroys me.
I should shove him away, but instead, I grab fistfuls of his shirt and pull him closer. He tastes like whiskey and bad decisions and six years of wanting something I can’t have. I bite his bottom lip because I need to hurt him, need him to feel this.
A rough sound escapes him, and he presses me against the wall. One of his hands fists in my hair and tugs my head back while the other grips my hip hard enough to bruise.
My nails dig into his shoulders, and I arch into him. His thigh presses between mine, and a sound that I’ll hate myself for later releases from my throat. I’m coming unglued for him. And I want to.
As if he can read my mind, he tears his mouth away from mine. The loss is immediate. We stay there, breathless, his forehead nearly touching mine before he steps away.
“Fuck.” He drags a hand through his hair. There’s a red mark on his bottom lip where I bit him.
I shove off the wall and straighten my dress, trying to rebuild every wall he tore down. My legs are wobbly beneath me, and my mind is spinning.
“That canneverhappen again,” I say, pressing my fingers against my swollen lips.
We stare at each other, both wrecked and unable to admit it. I can still taste him, and I hate how much I want to cross the distance and do it again.
“You’re damn right about that. Stay away from me,” he demands.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Leave me the fuck alone, Kendall.” He shakes his head, then walks away.
I stumble into the bathroom and lock myself in a stall, pressing my back against the door. The room tilts, and I close my eyes until it settles. My lips are still tingling from his mouth on mine.
What the hell is wrong with me?
After a few deep breaths, I step out and face the mirror. My lipstick is smeared, and my hair is a mess. I clean myself up as best I can, running my fingers through the tangles and wiping the color from beneath my bottom lip.
When I walk back to the bar, Addison is chatting with Callan. He looks at me, and his brow creases.
“There you are,” Addison says. “Long line?”
“Yeah,” I say with a nervous laugh.
Callan sips his whiskey and says nothing.
“It’s getting late. I think I’m ready to call it a night,” I tell her. “I’m exhausted.”
“Good idea.” She grabs her clutch and slides off the stool. “Night, Cap.”
“Ladies.”
I make it three steps before I glance back at the VIP section.
