“I’m trying to decide how to kiss the woman who just saved her own bar.”
Her fingers curled on the counter. “Correct answer is with enthusiasm.”
I came around the bar.
Nella didn’t wait.
She grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me down.
She kissed me hard, sweet with the blue margarita and salt. I caught her waist, and for one second, the whole night moved through the kiss: the alley, Sal’s car, the receipts, her voice saying my bar, his choice.
Then she softened against me, and that nearly took my knees out.
I slowed.
Nella made a sound against my mouth and tugged harder on my shirt. “Don’t get careful in a boring way.”
I kissed her cheek. “I’m trying not to bend you over the bar you just saved.”
Her breath caught.
My hands tightened once at her waist.
Nella leaned back enough to look at me. “Is that an option?”
My grip tightened again.
“This is your place,” I said.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to take anything from it.”
She slid her hands up my chest and over my shoulders. “Nico, I’m deciding what happens in it.”
My jaw tightened.
Her gaze dipped to my mouth. “Here. With you. Because I want it.”
“Nella.”
“That sounded like a warning.”
“It was.”
“Good. I like your warnings better when they come with follow-through.”
I lifted her onto the clean back counter.
Nella gasped, then laughed once, bright and breathless, and wrapped her legs around my hips. Her sandals hooked behind me. The folder was locked away, and the counter under her was clear. I still checked once, because dying over Nella’s documentation would be humiliating.
I braced one hand on the counter beside her thigh. “If you want upstairs, say it.”
“I want it here.”
“If you want me to slow down, say it.”
“I want you to stop talking like an instruction manual.”
