Maybe I should have lied. It felt like my heart was about to give out.
But, as we’d already more than established, I had a problem with being honest to a fault.
“It would seem so, yes,” I confirmed on a choked whisper.
Another intense beat. We hadn’t touched the food, but it felt like his gaze was eating me up for dinner.
“I want to kiss you.” He brought a callused thumb up to my chin and stroked it under my bottom lip. “Can I kiss you?”
I hesitated. The timid payroll administrator inside of me warning of checks I might not be able to cash.
“Don’t say no, Kayla.” His hungry gaze dropped to my lips. “I’m fuckin’ desperate for your mouth.”
Don’t say no, Kayla.There were those magic words again. Destroying my reason. Making me nod when I probably should have been running.
One nod was all he needed.
Mick’s mouth crashed down onto mine, devouring me underneath his kiss.
A new fire licked through me, heating up everything below my waist. His lips were soft, but his kiss was rough. It knocked my head back, consuming me with desire.
That kiss was everything I never knew I wanted.
But eventually, it was no longer enough.
More. My fingers scrabbled at his leather bomber jacket. “I want more.”
I didn't realize I'd said that out loud until he roughly groaned my name and started removing clothes from my body.
His lips barely left mine, but before I knew it, both our jackets were gone. My top was pulled off over my head, and my broom skirt somehow ended up in a puddle on the floor.
This was moving so fast.Too fast.
But I could barely bring myself to care. The kiss had gone straight to my head. Even faster than the champagne.
But then, he abruptly ended it. Pulling back from me.
“Fuckin’ hell. Look at you....”
He let out a harsh breath as his eyes roamed over my cotton kelly-green boy shorts and matching bra like they were the finest lingerie.
A wave of self-consciousness began to cool off the heat from our kiss. Yes, I'd wanted to feel him on my skin. But it was excruciating to watch him watch me like that.
I nervously raised my arms to cover my chest.
“No, Kayla, let me have my look.” He gently knocked my arms back to my sides. And when I tried to raise them again, he wrapped his large, callused hands around my much smaller wrists. Pinning them there with what didn’t appear to be much effort at all. As he continued to stare his fill.
For several moments on end, we just stood there—a still-life character study, like one of the paintings on the wall behind us. His large hands on my wrists. His dark eyes on my body.
“Window or floor?” he eventually asked.
My brow furrowed in confusion. “Um… Excuse me?”
A knowing and completely wicked grin spread across his face as he informed me, “We’re not going to make it to the bedroom.”
Then he asked again, his voice coarse with heat.“Window or floor?”
I swallowed nervously. This was not the kind of question I was used to getting asked—much less answering.
