CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
*Lace*
Zane holds eye contact for a couple seconds before taking an easy out by hiding behind his drink and mumbling a nervous, “Thanks,” over the rim while narrowing his gaze to watch the liquid disappear as he throws back the rest in one go.
“If we were at the saloon, I would blow your mind with a pole dance,” I tell him, because it really tickles me how adorably awkward he gets when it comes to anything related to the sex industry. Even something so simple as me getting close and using a seductive voice to wish him a happy birthday.
Zane puts the empty glass down, creates a little distance between us by leaning back in his stool, and states, “You already did.”
It takes me a minute to realize the reference is about my dance on stage last night while he was trying to be sneaky. Those types of moves are definitely reserved for when the saloon is empty; customers tend not to care much about the talent of pole. Instead, heel clacks, body rolls, and leg spreads seem to get the most appreciation, never mind the amount of pain and dedication it takes to perform the advanced stuff.
“I have never seen anything like what you did up there. It was really impressive.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “I have a sneaky suspicion you have little to nothing to compare it to. Have you ever even been inside a strip club before this week?”
Head shaking, Zane covers up a grin by rubbing his palm across his mouth. When his hand drops, his smile does too, but only just. He clenches his teeth slightly as he tries to bite down on the lingering, shy amusement. Only after clearing his throat does he try broaching the topic again. “I have a sneaky suspicion that, even if I did have more experience with strip clubs, what you did would still be considered really impressive.”
Exotic dancers get their fair share of… compliments… but they only ever count when genuine. And those are a dime a dozen.
Zane, however, seems about as genuine as they come, and these honeyed words he is throwing out are awfully sexy. He better be careful or the good ol’ Chaplain just might get more experience tonight than any number of Hail Marys could negate.
Just like that, before we know it, the bartop is no longer between us because I have padded around to the other side and now find myself standing between his casually open legs.
Well how ‘bout that.
If the deer in the headlights look in his fawny eyes is any indicator, he was just as dependent on the refuge that bartop provided as I was. Now face to face with danger, though, will the baby deer spook and run from the oncoming collision, or will he freeze and let the Universe decide what happens next?
Fuck?
Or flight?
My gaze starts at his bulging zipper and travels over his blond happy trail, defined abs, and pecs bigger than my hands. Aside from the increase in how fast his broad chest rises and falls with each breath, Zane stays perfectly still under my thirsty scrutiny.
When my gaze finally reaches his face, his teeth have a gentle hold on his bottom lip, and his taupe eyes are on mine, eyelids heavy.
Damn, what a hottie. “Any birthday requests?” I inquire, doing that slow bottom lip taste, gentle nip, and side smile that almost always gets a desirable reaction.
“A kiss?” he asks, as though he had been waiting all twenty-one years of his existence to be asked by me.
I lean in closer and nudge my nose along his chin and over his plump lips until our mouths are parallel. Blowing the words against him, I whisper, “You have a willing woman between your legs, offering herself, no one else around, and you only want a kiss?”
He shrugs and wipes his palms down his jeans. “I really like kissing you.”
How is it that the most simple, sweet comments are the best? That particular one goes straight to my uterus.
“Tell me I am the best kiss you have ever had, and maybe I will give you another.”
Zane scrunches forward slightly and surprises me by making the connection first — a gentle, airy peck. “You are definitely my best kiss.”
I reel back slightly, my palms going to his bare chest. “Wait a minute. No way was I your first kiss, too!”
He adjusts again, and his hands loop around his thighs to tuck beneath them. “I was a pretty devout kid. Then on a mission for almost two years. Definitely no kissing during that.”
I have no idea how to respond or what to do. What is it all the nice guys say when dating a delicate flower child? We can go slow — move at your speed? Is that actually real life?
Husky laughter yanks me from the faraway thought. “I have never seen you make that face.”
My expression goes stoic. “What face?”