Page 86 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

“And there’s nothing wrong with you wanting me to go dancing with you.” I move until I’m back in her space. “I’m sorry I acted like such a dick.”

“Like a complete fucker,” she says, hands sliding up my chest.

My head falls back, laughing. She’s amazing. Fierce, mouthy, and not even a little bit afraid of me, and if she wants me to go to a club, I’ll go to a fucking club.

“Shit,” Katie says when I come out of the bathroom.

“What?” I ask, rolling my sleeve.

“You look hot as fuck.”

“Oh really?” I lift a brow.

I’m wearing black slacks and a fitted black button-down, the sleeves rolled and the collar open.

“Don’t let this go to your head, but you are a walking fantasy,” she says.

She looks hot as fuck too. She’s wearing a black jean jacket over a sheer top that leaves her bra and cleavage completely visible, and ripped jeans low on her hips. It’s enough to make me hard just looking at her.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she says, adjusting her bra. “The way you have those sleeves rolled up and the buttons open on your shirt. I literally want to bite the tattoos on your neck.”

My cock twitches.

“Doll, stop.” I hold her gaze. “Or we’re not leaving.”

She grins.

“Come on. I’m starving. Feed me before we have to be there.”

“You are awfully demanding for someone so much smaller than me,” I tell her.

She shrugs. “Like you’re going to do anything about it.”

I wonder what that mouth would sound like if she knew who I really was.

“What are you staring at, you creeper?”

“Nothing. Come on.”

She grabs her phone and purse from the table. I hold the front door open for her, and she slaps my ass on the way out.

“Oh, that’s it,” I say, shutting the door behind me.

I grab her, and she squeals as I lift her and throw her over my shoulder. She doesn’t fight it. She hands me her keys so I can lock the door, propped up on my shoulder with a grin on her face.

“This is what you wanted,” I say.

“You’re so perceptive, babe,” she answers mockingly.

I haul her down the stairs and to her damn Honda. I drop her to her feet at the passenger door. She waits while I unlock it and open it, smiling at me the entire time.

As I hold it open, her hand comes to my chest. She rises onto her toes and hooks her other hand behind my neck, pulling me down. Her mouth meets mine, and she smiles into it before slipping into the car. I shut the door and stand there.

Fuck. I’m gone for this woman.

The Honda doesn’t belong in front of Dominico’s. Every other car lined up under the lights fits the place—dark, polished, and expected. The valet steps forward out of habit, then checks himself when he sees what he’s walking up to, his eyes moving over the car for a second too long. I cut the engine and step out anyway, closing the door. By the time he reaches me, he’s already fixed it.