“What do you think?” he muttered.
And then he cupped the back of her head and brought her mouth down to his.
Bree gasped, but he swallowed the breathy sound with his lips, tangling one hand through her hair to angle her head for better access. She tasted like red wine and the lemon chicken she’d had for dinner, and underneath, a subtle, sweet flavor that was uniquely Bree. He’d always loved kissing her. He’d done it often all those years ago. They’d made out everywhere—his house, behind the school, the alley between the diner and the barbershop, the woods, the meadow, the lake…everywhere. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, just like he couldn’t now.
Thrusting his tongue in her mouth, he kissed her senseless, while his hands roamed her body. He stroked her bare shoulders, her collarbone, her arms. Glided his palms over her breasts, gripped her hips. He would’ve liked to cup her ass, but she was sitting down, so he dragged his hands north again and fondled her breasts, squeezing the firm mounds and eliciting a moan from her throat.
To his delight, Bree’s hands weren’t idle either. As their tongues danced and swirled, she stroked his stubble-covered jaw, then bunched the collar of his shirt between her fingers and brought him even closer.
“Goddamn,” he muttered, wrenching his mouth away. “See, sweetheart, the spark’s still there, burning as strong and hot as ever.”
“Jake—”
He heard the note of protest and cut her off with another kiss.
Bree could barely breathe. She was so turned on she couldn’t even remember her own name, and as Jake’s talented tongue explored her mouth, she couldn’t voice a single argument. God, he knew how to kiss. Knew how to touch, how to tease, how to do everything.
The feel of his stubble scraping against her chin sent her back to the first time they’d made out, when she’d found him in the back of his pickup after the football game, drinking a beer and staring up at the stars. She didn’t know what had compelled her to climb up beside him, why she’d accepted that first beer he’d offered, and then the second, and the third. For a girl who got tipsy off a sip of champagne, three beers had done a number on her, and when she and Jake started kissing, every inhibition she’d ever possessed had dissolved like sugar in hot water.
She’d lost her virginity that night, and embarked on a sexual journey that she still fantasized about to this day.
And now here he was, her old flame, her former fantasy, kissing her again, and she was helpless to stop him.
“Bree,” he rasped, pulling back slightly. “I want you. Fuck, how I want you.”
I want you too.
She bit back the words, shocked by how tempted she was to voice them. How was this happening? They hadn’t seen each other in years, yet it was like no time had passed. The fire burned just as hot, the attraction so visceral she felt it crackling in the air between them.
Jake Bishop had been her biggest weakness, and evidently still was.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s see this through.” He nuzzled the crook of her neck and nipped at her flesh, his warm breath tickling her sensitized skin. “We both need it so bad.”
As he kissed her neck, he continued to squeeze and fondle her breasts through the bodice of her dress. Her nipples puckered, strained against her bra, and that spot between her legs ached, clit swollen, panties so damp she squirmed in the chair.
How did he still have the power to get her this hot, this fast?
When she still didn’t utter a word, he lifted his head and fixed her with a hot, needy look that made her shiver. His gray eyes burned with such passion, such intensity, that she squeezed her legs together, fighting off a spontaneous orgasm.
“Say yes,” he said roughly.
Bree’s heart hammered against her ribs. God, this was insane. She should say no. They’d spent three months together twelve years ago. She and Jake were essentially strangers now, and she didn’t have sex with strangers. She didn’t even put out on the first date, damn it.
But apparently she was destined to never refuse Jake Bishop, because when she opened her mouth, the word no didn’t leave her lips.
“Yes,” she whispered.
With a growl, Jake yanked her off the chair and into his lap. They rolled onto the floor, while the candles on the table flickered above them. The owner of Carlotta’s had taken great pains to create a romantic ambience in the private dining room, and Bree doubted the man would appreciate his patrons screwing like bunnies on the floor of his establishment.