She lifts open her purse, and I laugh when I see at least ten snack-sized bags of different flavors of M&M’s. “So…you have a little bit of an obsession is what you’re saying?”
She smiles, grabbing a couple more candies from the open bag. “Something like that. My mom was the one with theoriginal obsession, so I grew up with M&M’s everywhere.” She shrugs, tossing a few pieces into her mouth. “The habit kind of stuck, and now I can’t live without them.”
Before I can answer, a server comes over and sets down a margarita and a bottle of the beer I was drinking earlier. “From your friend,” she says with a smile before sliding a couple of napkins onto the table and walking away.
“Jesus Christ, Maya,” she mutters.
“Everything okay?” I ask, studying her, lifting the beer and taking a sip.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. It’s just my friend Maya being…Maya. We’ve been best friends since we were kids, but we are opposites in literally every way. Like, I told her I wanted to have one drink and go home since I have kind of a big day tomorrow and she…”
“Left you alone at a bar, asked a strange man to take care of you, and sent you more drinks just in case the ones you already had weren’t enough?”
She laughs and bypasses her own drink, lifting my beer and taking a sip. My eyes are glued to the smooth column of her throat as she swallows, and the whole thing is so devastatingly sexy that my cock twitches in my pants. “Basically that. And by the way, when she told you to take care of me, she didn’t mean, like, make sure I get to my car safely. She meant more like fuck me into your mattress. Or potentially against the bar bathroom door. You know, if that’s the kind of thing you want.”
I choke out a laugh, my cock going rock hard at the visual she painted. Sliding my chair over just enough that our thighs press together, I lean in so I can speak into her ear. She smells like vanilla and lavender, and I have to hold myself back from pressing a kiss to the bare skin of her neck. “And what do you want?” I ask quietly, my lips just brushing her skin.
She turns her head so our faces are inches apart. All I would have to do is lean in one single inch to feel her full, pink lipsagainst mine. To taste our shared beer and the chocolate we’ve been eating, and I want it so badly I practically hold my breath waiting for her response. I watch her eyes bounce between mine, shades of uncertainty in the deep green that tell me this isn’t something she does often. Maybe ever.
Me either. Ever. But I want this.
I hope she does too.
I wait, our breaths mingling between us as her eyes change from uncertainty to heat. To determination.
“I want you to kiss me,” she says, her voice practically a whisper.
Fuck yes.
I inch closer. Her chin tips up, and I press my lips to hers.
The first touch of her mouth to mine is electric, stealing the breath from my lungs as I wrap a hand around her neck, tangling my fingers in her fiery strands. My heart races as I pull her closer to me, my legs bracketing hers as I cup her face with my free hand and coax her mouth open, sweeping my tongue inside to tangle with hers. She lets out a sexy little moan and presses her hands to my chest, curling her fingers into my shirt, tugging me closer until there’s no space between us at all.
I drop the hand around her waist lower, my fingers gliding along the curve of her ass as I take the kiss even deeper, wondering idly how it’s possible that kissing a woman whose name I don’t even know feels more right than anything else has in a decade.
Easing back, I lock eyes with her. Our chests rise and fall in tandem, and her pupils are blown wide, her lips a little swollen from my kisses, her cheeks flushed under the freckles scattered over her face. Unable to help myself, I lean back in, taking her lips with mine in a kiss that’s softer, sweeter, but no less potent before dragging my lips over her freckles, tasting every single one.
“Come home with me,” I murmur.
“Where is home?” she asks quietly.
I think of my actual home, the entry way littered with my younger son Ethan’s hockey equipment and my thirteen-year-old daughter Riley’s flair for the dramatic that often manifests in her throwing herself across whatever piece of furniture is closest and wailing about someone or something that has wronged her, and send up a little prayer of thanks to my mom for her insistence on this once-monthly night of solitude.
“I’m staying at the Fairmont down the street. Be with me tonight, Wildcat, and for a while we can both forget about tomorrow.”
“Wildcat?” she asks, quirking a brow, her eyes narrowing.
I trail my thumb along the inside of her wrist, over the tiny image of a wildcat standing on a hockey puck tattooed on the delicate skin. I recognize the wildcat as the logo of Michigan’s big state school and wonder if she played hockey or just loves the sport or whether the tattoo means something else. I want to know everything there is to know about this beautiful stranger.
“Your tattoo. And also, wild is the way this feels. The way I’m drawn to you.” I lean in and finally taste the skin of her neck. “The way it feels so good to kiss you.” I kiss one cheek, then the other. “So right.” I take her mouth again, long and slow. “It’s wild and crazy, and right now, it’s all I want.”
“I want it too,” she gasps, gripping my upper arms as I trail my lips down her jaw.
Her words activate me and I stand immediately, tossing a couple bills on the table and grabbing her purse, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her up from her chair.
She laughs, leaning into me. “You seem eager.”
I spin her around, covering her mouth with mine. “To get my hands on you behind my hotel room door?” I murmur against her lips. “You better fucking believe it.”
