Not even trying to be convincing.
I shake my head and turn back to the counter, reaching past him for the dish soap, just as he shifts slightly.
My hand brushes something solid.
And warm.
And unmistakably…his ass.
I freeze.
He smirks without even looking. “So it’s like that?”
My hand jerks back like I touched a stovetop. “No! I—I was reaching for—God, shut up.”
He finally turns, drying his hands with the dish towel, way too casually. “Thought that was a one-night-only special.”
Before I can get a grip on myself, I make the mistake of looking up at him.
He’s close. Closer than he should be. And I still haven’t backed away.
Then his hands slide under the hem of my dress, rough palms on my thighs, and I suck in a sharp breath. He lifts me with one smooth motion and presses me against the wall like I weigh nothing.
His mouth crashes into mine.
Hot, desperate, way too familiar.
I kiss him back.
For a second.
Or a minute.
Maybe a year.
Until my brain catches up with my hormones.
“Stop,” I gasp, turning my face away. “Seriously…stop.”
Immediately, he sets me down like he’s been burned. His hands hover, then drop.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice rough with concern.
I nod, too quickly. “Yeah. No. I mean—I’m fine. It’s just…”
I step back and pull my dress down like that’ll somehow fix the last thirty seconds.
“This is real life now. Okay? Not a vacation. Not some spontaneous hookup with no strings and no future.”
He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me. “Didn’t feel string-free.”
I glare. “I’m serious.”
“I am, too. Serious about how that wasn’t an ‘average night’ for me.”
“We need ground rules.”
“Ground rules?” He raises an eyebrow. “Is this where you break out a whiteboard and a chore chart?”
