Page 27 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

His hand slides up the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair as he pulls me closer, deepening the kiss with confidence. The console digs painfully into my hip as I stretch across the space between us, but Michael reaches down without looking and flips the console up with one quick movement.

The next thing I know his arm is wrapped firmly around my waist and I’m being lifted clean off my seat. He pulls me across the car and settles me in his lap, my back bumping lightly against the driver’s door as the kiss never really breaks. One of his hands stays at my neck while the other tightens around my waist, holding me there as if this is exactly where I was meant to be.

My pulse is in my ears now, and somewhere in the back of my mind a very rational part of me is trying to point out that this man is strong enough to pick me up with one arm.

Unfortunately, that observation does absolutely nothing to make me stop kissing him back.

I shift in his lap without thinking. The reaction is immediate. Michael exhales against my mouth, and his hand settles on my thigh. He breaks the kiss.

His forehead rests against mine, his breathing a little heavier now.

“Careful, Katie.”

My pulse is hammering.

“With what?” I murmur.

His thumb drags along my jaw.

“With starting something we probably shouldn’t finish in your driveway.”

The words sit there for half a second. Then my mind finally translates them.

Finish.

Oh.

Oh no. He means sex. He absolutely means sex.

My stomach drops. Because this grown man currently holding me in his lap clearly knows exactly what he’s doing, while I’m a twenty-four-year-old virgin who was just picked up and deposited in his lap like a piece of luggage. And I kissed him back.

Enthusiastically.

This is going great.

Truly flawless decision-making tonight, Katie.

I slide off his lap in a hurry.

“Right,” I say, briskly. “Good call.”

Michael watches me, clearly amused.

“Whatever you say, Doll.”

He brushes his hair back off his forehead, and his arm flexes when he does it.

My brain immediately suggests that I bite his bicep. Not kiss him. Not say something normal. No. Bite him.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Well, Katie,” he says, glancing toward the house before looking back at me. “Should I walk you to your door?”

“Yes,” I say too quickly.

The corner of his mouth lifts.

He nods once and reaches for the handle. “Don’t open that door.”