He broke away long enough to breathe.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about how you taste.”
“Then don’t stop.”
He kissed her again. Deeper. His teeth caught her bottom lip, and she gasped into his mouth, and he pressed his hips into hers, and she felt every inch of how much he wanted her against the silk of her dress.
She rolled her hips against his, and he made a low broken sound and tightened his grip on her waist.
“Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m trying to be a gentleman, and you’re making that impossible.”
He rested his forehead against hers, breathing fast, his mouth an inch from hers.
“Next Thursday,” he said. “Dinner. I’ll pick you up.”
“That’s a week away.”
“I know.”
“That’s too long.”
“I know.”
His palm left her waist, slid up her ribs, stopped just below her breast. His thumb brushed the underside of her dress. Once. She gasped.
“You’re killing me in this dress.”
“Take it off me.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I’m trying to.”
He laughed, low and dark.
“Why next Thursday?” she asked.
“Because I don’t want this rushed. I want it at my place where I can take my time. I’ve been waiting too long to do this right. I can wait a week.”
Her heart was beating in her throat. She nodded because speaking would have cracked her open.
Her phone buzzed in her bag. Then again. She pulled it out.
Jessica: Boss. Kosher lamb for the Berkowitz bar mitzvah. Whole batch. Walk-in failed. Need you NOW.
She looked up at Gabriel. “I have to go.”
“What happened?”
“Walk-in failure. Tomorrow’s bar mitzvah is short forty pounds of lamb.”
“I’ll take you.”
“Gabriel. You don’t?—“
