Page 52 of The Sweetness of Life

A laugh busts out of me, and he smiles in response.

“I like it when you laugh.” His dark eyes fall to my mouth. “I like it a lot,” he whispers.

My smile slips, and my breath catches as he steps closer. My head tilts back to look at him and every muscle freezes. We’re close enough to be touching, but we’re not, and my fingers tighten around my glass. He notices and gently lifts it away.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t blink.

All my back-and-forth indecision falls away, and now my reasons for staying away from him seem so insignificant. I know the difference between right and wrong, what I should and shouldn’t do . . . but right here, right now in this moment under his smoldering gaze, I don’t care.

Everything about this guy screams out to me, from the color of his hair and eyes to the way he confidently carries himself, his mind and how knowledgeable he is about the wine business—his business. The attraction I feel for him is so strong that the only thing I want to do is give in to it, give in to him.

He needs to touch me, and he needs to touch me now.

Reaching a hand out, he lightly runs it down my arm until it lands on my hip. Warm fingertips press against the fabric, squeeze me, and then push so I step backward and bump into the large table in the center of the room. Grabbing my waist, he picks me up and puts me on the table. The strap of my dress falls again, only this time, instead of correcting it, he slips the other one off too and drags his warm fingertips across the skin of my chest.

“You are so beautiful,” he says, stepping between my legs.

A few pieces of his hair fall across his forehead, and slowly, gently, I brush them away and then trace the line of his face and down his jaw.

Dipping his head, his rubs his cheek against mine as my hands slowly travel up his hard chest, such a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips as he places them on my neck.

The warmth of his body, the clean earthy smell of his skin—I’m surrounded and drowning in that feeling that only comes from a man, this man . . . this man who now seems to be fighting the same battle I am.

Do we, or don’t we?

Pressing his hips into mine, he groans at the way we fit together, and I moan at the contact. My legs pull him closer, and I grab him at the waist as his hands slide into my hair and fist so tightly I gasp.

Forcing my head back, he stares down at my lips. “God, you drive me insane with that mouth of yours, from the things you say to the way you drink my wines. Why do I find your lips wrapped around one of my wine glasses so incredibly sexy?”

My lips part and a slow breath leaves me.

He groans again, and I feel it against my chest. “All night . . . no, all week I’ve been infatuated with these.” He leans forward, bites my bottom lip, and sucks it gently before letting it go. “And knowing what you taste like, it’s been driving me crazy.”

“Is this why you brought us down here?” My words are breathless, my desire evident.

His eyes find mine, blue eyes that are even darker than before, and there’s no hesitation. “Yes.” Closing the distance, his lips collide with mine.

Honey, warm honey—that’s what he tastes like as his tongue dances with mine, over and over, around and around.

Shutting off the questions and the confusion of our situation, I give in to all of my senses, which are demanding I allow this to happen. I let go. I throw myself into this kiss, his kiss, the hottest kiss I’ve ever been given.

His teeth clamp down just like the muscles in my stomach as they repeatedly bite and hold on, wanting to mark me. His warm, full lips elicit shivers as they drag across my cheek, under my ear, and down my neck. He wastes no time exploring me with his mouth, and all I can do is hold on for the ride.

Dragging his hands from around my neck and to my chest, he pushes until I’m lying on the table in front of him with my legs wrapped around his hips. His eyes drink me in as want pours off him and he runs a hand between my breasts, over my stomach, and to my waist. I pull him closer with my legs, and he leans over me. He feels so good pressed into me that every pulse point in my body thumps hard with excitement.

The fingers of one of his hands sink back into my hair, and tilting my head, he runs his tongue down my neck and across my chest to the edge of my dress. His blue eyes flash to mine once before his mouth returns to my skin, tasting it, devouring it, while his other hand moves up my thigh and dips under my dress to where I’m most anxious for it.

He pauses, hot air rushing out against my skin as his fingers wrap around and grasp my underwear.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper in his ear, teasing him and pleading at the same time.

I hear him inhale sharply, and the gaze I’m met with as he lifts his head and his eyes find mine steals my next breath. That spark from earlier bursts into flames. The hottest part of the flame is blue, just like his eyes, the place of complete combustion. I gasp at the heat he’s searing me with.

Challenge accepted.

He steps back, forcing me to unhook my ankles as one hand drags down my body, feeling each curve, and the other pulls the small scrap of lace from under my dress and drops it onto the floor. Feeling an urgency to not waste any time, I sit up, unbuckle his belt, and make quick work of undoing his pants. They slide down his legs as my thumbs dip inside his boxer briefs and drag them down his thighs.