In the back of my mind, I also wanted to prove to myself that I still had what it took to beguile a man. Soft Hands had called me a saggy-ass bitch with such disdain. Months earlier, Ken had said I was getting too old to play the honeypot, but ... what did he know? I was almost forty—not dead.
Slowly, I moved in for the kiss, gratified by Malone’s quick breaths. At the moment he surrendered and leaned in to kiss me, I turned my head so his lips grazed the corner of my mouth. He graced me with a gratifying groan. I kissed along his jawline until I whispered in his ear, “In all seriousness, I will stop if you want me to. Despite the fact you were the one to first mention benefits, I’m going to need some enthusiastic consent to continue.”
“Oh, I’m on board with the kissing,” he said, his voice rumbling through me. “But you’re not getting any answers out of me.”
I sat back to gaze into his eyes. “Either way, I’ll have fun trying.”
“You were wrong,” he said. “Thisistorture.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and began to move in for the kiss. “For you, maybe.”
His lips parted ever so slightly.
The minute my lips met his, electricity shot through my each and every nerve. We sat like that for seconds that felt like hours, long enough for me to breathe in his distinctive scent beneath the vanilla bourbon and spice cologne. I groaned in spite of myself, and he deepened the kiss, his hands leaving the cushions to pull me closer.
I should’ve been asking him questions, but I wasn’t done tasting him, feeling him, reveling in his reaction to me. His beard rasped against my face, but I didn’t care. His thumb twitched respectfully on my rib cage just under my bra band, and an impatience for more burbled through me.
Sabbatical, Stella!
I broke up our kiss. “What’s your job?”
He kissed a spot behind my ear. “I can’t tell you.”
“I don’t believe it’sthatclassified.”
“No, it’s so unsexy, you’ll kick me out immediately.”
“Try me.”
“Forensic accountant.”
I rewarded him—and myself—with another kiss. When I finally came up for air this time, I asked, “Why are you pretending to be Blake Malone?”
Gently placing me on the sofa beside him, he sighed. “And here I was hoping you were kissing me for me.”
“I am, but I also want information. It’s called multitasking, Malone.”
He studied me. “I’ll tell you everything I can if you’ll accept the benefit package.”
My turn to hesitate. Oh, I had no problem kissing him, but I couldn’t date him.
It wouldn’t bedating, now would it?
“You drive a hard bargain, Malone.”
“Not really,” he said. “Seems to me it’s win-win. You get your answers ... I get you ... Fun will be had by all ...”
“Malone—”
“Going once!”
“Seriously—”
“Going twice . . .”
“Okay, okay. Friends with benefits.” I extended my hand.
“Stark, don’t you think that this sort of arrangement should be sealed with a kiss?”
