Shelby's eyes went wide and she took a step back as her hand flew up to her mouth. Had she really just said that? Surely she hadn't really said that.
Except she had. She could tell by the heat that had flared in his eyes in response to her words--an ember that had flashed into flame as quickly and dramatically as if she'd thrown a match into a pool of gasoline.
Never again. She was never, ever, ever drinking again.
"I don't..." she began, then trailed off uncertainly. Maybe she didn't, but she damn sure wanted to.
"Don't you?" There were small lines at the corners of his eyes and she knew he was laughing at her. And, strangely, instead of irritating her, his reaction relaxed her. "And too bad if you don't," he continued. "Because I bet you do it very well."
"Kissing?" she asked, so hyperaware of him that every tiny hair on her body seemed to dance with electricity. And her lips--oh, dear God, her lips tingled with unanswered promises, delicious and shiny and forbidden.
He leaned close, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered, "Everything."
"Oh." She swallowed, wondering how one simple word had the power to melt her. And not even a word that made sense. Because somehow they'd entirely lost the thread of the conversation.
Or had they?
She didn't know. Her mind was all muddled, and she was never muddled. Shelby prided herself on being a very unmuddled person.
It had to be the alcohol. She should be embarrassed, not intrigued. Nervous, not turned on. But there was something about him. Something about the way he looked at her. The way she felt simply standing beside him.
With supreme effort, she tried again to wrap her head around the conversation. "I meant that I don't usually flirt."
"Really? I'm surprised. Especially since you're doing such a great job." His gray eyes danced as she cocked her head, staring him down.
He laughed, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. "Maybe it's the Pinot Punch. That stuff packs quite a kick."
She nodded seriously, grateful he understood. "Yes."
He took a step closer, and she breathed in his cologne. Something woodsy with just a hint of spice. "Or maybe it's me," he said, and though his voice was low, she caught every word.
"That's kind of what I'm afraid of," she admitted.
He pulled himself upright. "Me?"
She shook her head." No. Me." She licked her lips and then jumped onboard the honesty train. "My reaction to you."
"Well, that doesn't sound so bad. But if it's truly scary, give me your hand and I'll help you through it."
She actually giggled--God, it was definitely the alcohol--and almost reached for him. Then she remembered that they were flirting in public, right there for the whole world to see. Her cheeks flamed, and she looked around the room, certain that everyone would be gawking. Or, worse, snapping pictures of the lusting couple and making fun of them all over the Internet.
Except that everyone was pretty much minding their own business. Even her friends had stopped gaping--all except for Hannah, who wasn't exactly gawking, but instead looked like she had Shelby's back. And when Hannah saw that Shel was looking, she grinned and flashed a thumbs-up sign.
So, okay. Apparently Shelby hadn't crossed the line to embarrassing herself or her friends.
"How long is your party going on?" he asked, apparently noticing the shift in her attention.
"Not much longer. It's a work night. We're all supposed to be in the office by nine." She pushed a stray curl behind her ear. "Well, some of us can get away with ten."
"Early, then," he said, with a smile she didn't understand. "My show ends at ten," he said, obviously noting her confusion. "It starts at six. So I'm usually in the studio by four-thirty to prep, though I can sometimes skate in at five and get away with it."
"That's right. You're a radio guy."
"You know my show?"
She shook her head quickly. Mornings with Wood sounded way too silly for her taste. Especially when she was still trying to slide into her day. "Brooke mentioned it."
"Ah."