He licks his lips slowly. “Who knew watching you eat barbecue would give me a hard-on. But it is.”
I blush fiercely. “I’m a slob right now. You’re turned on by this?”
I hold up my sticky fingers, and his expression gets darker. He leans forward in the booth and takes me by the wrist. “Everything about you is authentic. You don’t pretend, and you’re not worried about how you look,” he explains. “And it’s the biggest turn-on in the world.”
He pulls my wrist to his mouth and licks at some of the sauce there. A white-hot flash of desire explodes inside me. He lets go of my wrist, and I almost whimper. “Have you always been so fucking incredible?” he asks softly.
“Do you always make women want to fuck you in public?” I counter, and his eyes get even darker.
“Is that what I’m doing to you?”
“Yes.”
“Would you settle for fucking me in private?”
“Yes.”
He slides out of the booth and pulls me out of it, while dropping a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “This will more than cover it.”
He stalks through the crowded room, grasping my hand so I don’t fall behind. People part easily for him, like they know he is on some kind of mission. He’s got that kind of presence everywhere he goes, whether he chooses to use it or not. He’s commanding. He’s imposing. He’s impossible to ignore. And he’s mine.
We are almost to the door when the band starts up, and it causes me to stutter-step. They’re playing one of my favorite songs, “Heartache Tonight” by the Eagles. My dad used to sing it at the top of his lungs on our long summer drives from Toronto to the cottage in Maine. Hearing it now makes me think it’s some kind of sign. Like I need another sign to tell me Griffin is perfect for me. He feels my step falter and turns around to face me.
“Sorry. It’s just one of my favorite songs,” I tell him.
He smiles. “Then we should stay and dance.”
“We should?” I blink, stunned. “You dance?”
He laughs and pulls me toward the already crowded dance floor. The man has moves and he isn’t afraid to use them, and it’s sexy as hell. I dance with abandon for the first time in a long time, and by the end of the song I can’t keep my hands off him. He definitely doesn’t mind. He grabs me in a searing kiss as the band ends the song and starts another. My body is pressed to his, and he dips me backward a little in the middle of the kiss, and it makes me giggle with delight against his lips.
“More dancing?” he asks softly against the shell of my ear after he breaks the kiss and pulls me upright in his arms.
“Not with our clothes on,” I say and grin.
He pulls me off the dance floor.
Outside, he hands the valet his ticket. I lean against the side of the building, under the flashing neon sign, because I’m so turned on I feel light-headed. He smells like spiced rum, leather, and bergamot. Sweet lord, I need him.
I lift the hem of his shirt and press my hands flat against his rippled stomach. “You’re the sexiest man I have ever met. You do things to me, to my body, that I don’t understand, and I’m a trained professional.”
He grins, a deep, rough laugh rumbling up from him as his abs tighten under my palms. He rests his forearms on the wall on either side of my head and then dips his head, his lips ghosting mine. “You do things to me too,” he whispers against my lips. As he kisses me, my fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans, just brushing against the tip of his very hard cock.
“I want that in my mouth again,” I murmur and then tilt my head and slide my tongue out to touch his bottom lip. He reaches up, cupping the side of my face and curling his fingers into my hair, and he kisses me hard and deep.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…no,” Did he just turn down a blow job? “I want more this time. I want all of you.”
“Sir, your car,” the valet calls out.
Griffin bites my bottom lip one last time and then pulls back. As he opens my door and I get in, his phone buzzes. He looks at the screen, and his whole demeanor tightens—his shoulders, his jaw, the way he clutches his phone. “Give me a second…”
He shuts my door. I watch him through the window as he dials a number and turns his back to me. He walks to the edge of the sidewalk, near the alley a few feet away. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but he’s gesturing a lot. He hangs up less than two minutes later and stalks over to the car like a thundercloud about to rain hellfire.
He drops into the driver’s seat. I can see him force a change in his disposition. It’s literally like watching someone trying to swallow something gross—kind of like how I look trying to swallow Fireball whiskey. But he gets it down and looks at me with a fake but easy smile. “Let’s get going.”
I put my hand on top of his. “Let’s talk about whatever is stressing you out.”
His eyebrows pinch together. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “It’s nothing. Work crap.”
