Then I face him. “I want you.”
His entire frame goes rock still. My gaze trails over the stiff line of his broad shoulders before snapping back to his face and getting caught in his watchful gaze.
Words pour out of my mouth and into the stone-cold silence. “Sorry to be so forward, but I’ve had a shitty day, a shitty decade, actually, and you’re here, and I find you incredibly attractive. This doesn’t happen to me often.” I tear my gaze from his to stare at my hands, clenching in my lap. “What do you think?” I force myself to look back at him.
He sits motionless, body tense, expression blank.
If he says no, I might run over the hill and throw myself into the frozen pond.
Jesus, he’s going to say no. I need to up my seduction game. Bluntly asking for a night of shameless pleasure when I have no makeup on, haven’t slept a full night in a decade, and just got puked on might not be the best look for me.
But then he speaks. “I think you’re beautiful, but—" The masks slips, and the raw desire on his face sends a flurry of heated anticipation winging through my belly.
It’s that flash of longing, quickly shuttered, that feeds my wavering courage.
I lean over and press my mouth against his.
His tense posture becomes even more rigid.
What the hell am I doing?
Throwing myself at a customer like a desperate loser, that’s what I’m doing.
When you’ve hit rock bottom, I guess there’s nothing more to fear.
I taste the surprise on his lips, but it’s a fleeting flavor, segueing quickly into demand—hungry and urgent. He takes control, and I relinquish it willingly. His hands slide around my waist, and we twist closer together on the seat, the blankets sliding down, pooling around our hips. The pressure of his mouth, his tongue, his taste scrambles my brain, and my hormones take control.
I slide my hands up into his hair, tugging on the silky strands. His tongue is seeking, tender, claiming.
Wait a minute. Reality throws up a hand. No way a man this hot and good at kissing is single.
I pull back, and he gets one million brownie points for immediately releasing me.
We’re both panting. I have to catch my breath before I can speak.
“Are you married?”
“No.” His answer is immediate. If he’s surprised by the abrupt question, the only sign is a couple of blinks.
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
I home in on his expression, trying to discern if he’s telling the truth.
“Are you dating someone casually but it could be construed as possibly serious in the near or not-so-near future?”
He’s chuckling before I even finish the question. “No.”
“Thank the heavens.” I sigh in relief.
His hand finds mine, linking his fingers through mine, a gesture that’s intimate and more tender than I would have expected after that blistering kiss.
“My work doesn’t allow much time for socializing. I travel a lot. I don’t date. Not in a while, anyway.” He winces then opens his mouth and closes it again. His gaze dips down to the seat between us, where his hand still grips mine. “And about that, my work is, I—”
“No.” I place a finger on his lips, and all of my worries and thoughts flee, heat spreading through me. His mouth is pink and full and soft and a total contrast to the hard lines of the rest of him. “I don’t want to know where you are from or what you do. I don’t want to give in to urges to stalk you and show up on your doorstep some lonely night months from now. Honestly, it’s for your own protection.”
He chuckles against my finger, a low, deep, throaty sound that spreads fire up my arm and through my chest, stretching down my limbs.