I almost smiled.
She tugged at my shirt buttons. “And I want this off.”
I let her open it. Her fingers weren’t steady now, but she didn’t hide that. She pushed the linen off my shoulders, and her palms found my chest, warm and certain.
“You’re still wearing too much jewelry,” she said.
“You keep touching it.”
“I’m allowed. I won the night.”
I bent and kissed her throat, above the place I’d marked before, not touching it yet. Her breath hitched. Her thighs tightened at my hips.
“You did,” I said against her skin.
Her fingers slid into my hair. “Say it again.”
“You won.”
Nella went still.
I lifted my head.
Her eyes were wet enough to make my chest hurt and sharp enough to warn me not to mention it.
“I had help,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I still won.”
“Yes.”
She kissed me again.
In the second kiss, she slowed at the end. My grip eased at her waist. The heat was still there. It had been there since the first day she insulted my shirt and handed me a margarita like a dare. But under it, she stayed soft against me for one full breath, and I wanted to slow down for once in my life.
I ran my hands over her sides, feeling the tie of her wrap top, the damp smear of sugar and blue curaçao, the warmth of her skin under thin fabric. She arched into me when I found the knot.
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
I untied it slowly.
Nella made an impatient sound. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Men who tease women on counters should be taxed.”
“I’ll pay.”
“With interest.”
I opened the wrap top and pushed it off her shoulders. Her bra was turquoise lace, because apparently Nella planned for both financial war and visual homicide.
I stopped breathing for half a second.
