She does what she’s told. She’s on her tiptoes, but I still lift her up until she’s off the ground, and her legs go around my waist. Our breath is hot and mingling, but we still haven’t touched. It’s like a promise of exactly how good it’s going to be, and fuck, I hope I’m strong enough to stop with one kiss.
“One kiss,” I breathe, and as I speak, my lips peck against hers.
She moans, and it comes deep from within her chest. “Yes.”
She hooks her legs tighter around me, and I pull her in closer as I touch my lips firmly to hers. I meant to take it slow, to cherish the taste of her on my lips, but instead, it’s like a frenzy, and I can’t get close enough. Her hands are squeezing my neck, and her breasts are smashed to my chest. She’s moving in my arms, creating friction between our bodies, and still I can’t stop. I take a few more seconds of the sweetest pleasure I’ve ever known before pulling my mouth from hers. With a sharp groan, I release her and set her back on the floor. My body has reacted like I knew it would. I’m hard, harder than I’ve ever been, and I physically feel ill that I’ve pushed her away, but I know it’s what I need to do.
I turn away because I know that’s the only way I’m going to be able to walk out of here right now. “I’ll see you, Angel.”
“My name is Brooke.”
With the door open, I look at her. “I know your name… but you’re my Angel.”
And with that, I leave. I can’t wait for the elevator. I go to the end of the hall and all but run to the stairway. I need to put some distance between us before I do something stupid… like take from her exactly what I want.
Chapter3
Brooke
Aweek. Almost a whole week goes by, and he still hasn’t talked to me. The night he left, I barely slept at all. All I could think about was that kiss. I wanted more, but it was like he couldn’t wait to get away from me. I just don’t get it. I thought the kiss was good. Heck with that – it was the best. At least for me it was. But obviously he didn’t feel the same.
I’ve done my best to put him out of my head, but everything makes me think of him. I see a man with longer hair, I think of Lane. I see a man with a beard and I remember the way the stubble on his chin scratched my face when he kissed me. I see a man with tattoos and it makes me wonder about the ones I haven’t seen on Lane but I know he has. Everything makes me think of him.
The next day and every day since I’ve seen him. He’s still following me. I saw him at the grocery store, outside my yoga class, and my work. I thought he would come up to me, say hi or something, but he didn’t. As soon as I would notice him, he seemed to disappear in the shadows. Almost to the point where I was beginning to wonder if I imagined seeing him.
By Friday night, I’ve had enough. My friends are going to the club on Saturday, but I didn’t want to wait another day, and I didn’t want any distractions from my plan. So here I am, back at Blaze and alone this time.
I’m watching him and see the first time he notices me. He’s shocked but seems to recover quickly. He stares at me from across the room, and I wait for him to acknowledge me with a nod, a wave, anything. But I get nothing except for a heated look. Even from where I’m sitting I can feel how much he wants me.So why is he acting as if he doesn’t?
“Do you want to dance?”
I drag my gaze from Lane and up at the man standing next to my chair. He’s tall, handsome, and dressed impeccably. “What?” I ask him over the music.
“Do you want to dance?” he asks me.
I stare up at him and admittedly if I had met him a few weeks ago, prior to Lane, I would probably say yes. But now, I can’t even look at him without comparing him to my gruff but gentle stalker. Unable to resist, I look at Lane. He’s staring a hole in me, and the demanding look he’s giving me makes my spine tremble. He wants me. He may not want to admit it for some reason, but he wants me.
“Sorry. I can’t. I’m waiting on someone,” I tell the man apologetically. At least I didn’t lie. I am waiting on a man; however, it’s more like I’m waiting on him to come to his senses than anything else.
The guy shrugs. “Maybe another time.”
I don’t give him a yes or no, just a smile before he turns and walks away. I can physically see Lane relax as the man walks away from me, but he still doesn’t come my way.
I go and dance… and he watches me.
I order a drink and take sips, savoring the flavor as it hits my tongue… and he watches me. His eyes never leave me, and just knowing that has my panties soaked and me squirming in my seat.
I order another drink – a shot for courage. And as soon as the bartender sets down the short glass of tequila, I down in it one shot. The liquid burns going down my throat, and I suck air as if that’s going to cool it. Taking a deep breath, I stand up and march toward Lane. He may not want to talk to me, but I want to talk to him.
I should be nervous. I’m not the type of girl that goes after a man. But this is different. I’ve had a taste of him, and now I want more. I’m fed up with the cat-and-mouse game we seem to be playing, and it seems he wants to follow me around but that’s it.
I stop right in front of him, the toes of my strappy heels almost on top of his black boots. I put my hands to my hips and cock my hip out. I have all the confidence in the world at work and in the courtroom, but here, in the bar with my plus-size curves, I have to fake it to make it.
“Thank you for helping me last week,” I tell him.
He points to his ear, letting me know he can’t hear me. I grip the soft T-shirt material of his black shirt and scrunch it between my fingers, bringing him down closer to me so I can talk into his ear. “I said, thank you for helping me last week.”
He’s nodding as he turns his head to speak into my ear. “How’s your hand?”