Page 4

“What would you like, Jillybear?” My stomach flips at my old nickname. I hated it coming from anyone except him. Liam’s childhood intention was to bother me, but it became a term of affection as we grew up.

Bev answers first, “Pinot Grigio, please.”

I swim in his slate blue gaze, hoping he sees my desire to be with him clearly. “Bourbon.” I uncross and recross my legs to see if he’ll watch. He does, as though I did a magic trick. My stomach flutters. I need to calm my ass down and just go with all of this.

He smiles crookedly as if I’ve said the secret password. “How do you take it?”

“However you want to serve it to me.” Ahh! I can’t believe I said that.

He nods and adjusts himself discreetly, and I laugh. Yes. I didn’t imagine any of it. There’s a soul spark going down. This is deeper than lust, but it’s all I can think to call it. He’s like a defibrillator to my libido. I mean it. I don’t care what he wants to do with me tonight. He’s incredibly handsome and virile and I think I get to have him tonight. I want to rip his overly domesticated PTA-dad-looking outfit off him. I might be developing a respectable plaid fetish.

His corduroys should be a turnoff, but they seem to be hiding nothing in that area. He’s either semihard or freaking huge. Damn, Fletch, whatcha packing? I’d seen him with a hard-on in our youth, at the pool, but I guess it never registered. I was horrified at first, then it just became a thing that happened to Liam when we all went swimming. Holy shit. There’s a trickle of thrill dusting my skin. I think I might have been the cause of his ill-timed erections. I never thought of that before.

I flip my hair off my shoulders and straighten up a little with a secret smirk. I’ll take it. I was boner bait. I grin and decide to be bold.

3

LIAM

Shit. Am I nostalgic? I need to be a current thought. I need to be present tense, not past. Fuck, that’s a good dress. A delicate little gold chain hangs between Jillien’s perfect mouthful-sized breasts and a slight reveal of her black bra. The lace is teasing me. My mind is reeling with thoughts and memories. The ultimate star of my gentleman’s handbook just kissed me. This woman is every-fucking-thing right now. I cannot wrap my head around her being here, let alone wanting me in any capacity.

I pretended she was my girlfriend in high school. I was in Society Hill, and she was on the city’s edge in Bala Cynwyd. She was the proverbial You don’t know her; she lives in Canada girlfriend. Our parents partied, socialized, and played tennis and golf together when we were young. I wonder if she ever knew I pretended we were a couple.

I’m proud of her mussed hair. I run my hands through my hair as I turn to the rest of the party. How do I do that again? Does she want to do that again? We haven’t even spoken. I know she works in the Chicago Mayor’s Office with youth programs, and she knows I’m still an attorney. The internet has dispensed with small talk.

The bourbon I’m pouring matches her eyes. Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved whiskey—her eyes. I glance at her, and she licks her lips. Fuck. I want her. I can’t stop watching her in my peripheral vision.

She walks across the living room, passing me in the study where I’m pouring drinks. Her shiny black heels clicking on my old hardwood are sexy as hell. She turns into the kitchen, glancing backward with a twisted little smile. She knows I’m watching.

I excuse myself with a random droning of getting more ice and scurry after her. The pantry door is cracked open, and she’s perched on the washing machine, grinning at me.

“I remembered there was a pantry bigger than my first studio apartment. Glad to see it’s still here.”

I walk into the tiny room, close the door, and step to her. She reaches up and twirls my beard between her delicate fingers. I want to swallow her whole. This delicious-looking thing. Her touch is personal, not a random hookup. It’s an insanely intimate gesture. I’m relishing it. I grew my beard after my dad died. He had one and it connects me to him in some fucked-up way. I usually hate people touching my beard. It’s a thing I have, but she can have it all. I stare back at her. I want it covered in her. I exhale as she’s still moving her sexy crimson-painted fingernails through my beard.

She clicks her tongue and tsks. Then her voice is throaty and flirtatious. “This is going to be my undoing.”

“Explain.”

I move my arms around her waist. Her legs cage me to her. Not entirely wrapping around me but suggesting that’s a possibility. Then she does a porn star kind of pout. I hold my breath.

“I like it quite a bit, but it’s going to leave me with an awful beard burn.”

4

JILLIEN

He lunges at my lips, and the kiss moves in an out of control way. Our tongues do not retreat or wait for an invite. He’s sweeping into my mouth and pulling my head to his with just enough force.

“Wrap your legs around me. I need you closer.”

I grin mischievously and say, “Yes, sir.”

He groans. “I adore an agreeable woman.” I hook my ankles behind him like it’s totally something I do all the time.

I want his lips, and for him to keep telling me what to do. I like it. The urgency of our kissing is hot as hell because it’s secret. This substantial man is more than I had anticipated or remembered. Fletch moves so nimbly for someone so tall and broad. He’s not gangly, skinny tall, but mouthwateringly manly tall. Thick, but not portly at all. I take his large hands and weave my fingers into his long ones. I pull back from his lips as we both try to catch our breath.

“Why are you here?” he asks suspiciously. “Not here at my house, in my arms, we’ll get to all that later. Because that makes no kind of sense.” I laugh. “Why Philly?”