Fuck, she’s sexy. That mouth. Those lips. That perfect way she parts them.
She pulls the next piece, the prosciutto, off her skewer.
I inhale again. “Your mouth. Watching you eat is better than porn.”
She widens her eyes and meets my gaze.
Her brown eyes are shining.
She’s turning me on…and she knows it.
Which turns me on even more.
My flesh is hot, so hot. Damn. We’re only on antipasti, and I’m ready to fuck her senseless.
She sets the skewer down on a napkin, takes another sip of wine, and winces slightly.
“You don’t like the wine?” I ask.
“No, it’s fine.”
“You made a face.”
She widens her eyes, which have darkened to a milk chocolate. Fuck.
“I did? I didn’t mean to.”
“You winced a little.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah, what were you thinking?”
She hesitates for a few seconds. Then, “Just thinking I’d rather be drinking Wild Turkey.”
I can’t help myself. I laugh. I really, really laugh, and damn, it feels good, and I can’t remember why I was holding back earlier. Wild Turkey? She’s a fan of my favorite bourbon? Perfect. Just perfect.
“Why didn’t you ask for it, then?”
“I don’t know. You offered wine.”
“Ask for what you want here, Skye. Trust me, I plan on asking for what I want and then taking it.”
I pick up her wineglass and leave the kitchen. At my bar, I pour a lowball glass of the distinctive amber liquid and then walk back to Skye.
“I’m a Wild Turkey fan myself,” I say.
“I know. You ordered it last night.”
“But you didn’t. Why?”
“I like a vodka martini with oysters.”
“Good call, but this goes with everything.” I hand her the glass. “I added one ice cube. Hope you like it that way.”
“Yeah, I do. I think watering it down just a touch brings out the flavor.”
“A Wild Turkey connoisseur, huh?”