“I normally charge for that kind of touching,” a warm, low voice said from the open garage.
I shielded a hand over my eyes to block out the setting sun, watching the figure approaching me. He was tall and, to my surprise, the light gray sweater he wore wasn't tucked into his pants. My eyes climbed higher, up to his face. The panty-dropping smile made my stomach do a little somersault, but it was the killer baby blue eyes that did me in. “Whatever you charge, I'll pay.”
He raised one eyebrow—Jesus, why was even that so fucking hot? It was just a stupid eyebrow. But coupled with the raise of his eyebrow and the hand he ran through his lush dark hair, I was a goner. I wondered, could an eyebrow be fuckable?
"Really?" he asked, stepping closer still. "Whatever I charge, you'll pay?"
"Yes," I said, and leaned up against the baby blue car of my dreams. "Anything."
My anything probably meant I could badly microwave some nachos for him, while his anything very likely meant something sexy and out of my element. But elements and inhibitions be damned—this guy was something else.
“Ben?” I asked, grazing my hand lovingly over the shiny rearview mirror.
“The one and only. Amelia?”
I couldn’t help the gut reaction to scowl at the name my mother had given me. “Millie.”
“Millie,” he repeated, the double L sounding absolutely delectable rolling off his tongue. Could a word sound delicious, I wondered? Maybe only words that came from those full lips, coupled with that ridiculously gorgeous eye-fuck he was giving me.
Listen. I was no prude. Maybe I was just … deprived. My sex life was in desperate need of ending its unintentional year-long sabbatical. After a string of one long term relationship after another, I could use a good romp to dust off the cobwebs, maybe get me back out there in the dating world—so I could enjoy real nachos and not the crusty shit I’d been subjecting my mouth too.
As Ben and I exchanged looks hot enough to melt the paint off his car, Elizabeth trilled, “Who’s ready for a margarita?”
“I am. Don’t be stingy with the booze on mine,” I called out, never taking my eyes off Ben and his fuckable eyebrow and his cocksure grin. On any other man, that kind of arrogant, self-assurance would be a huge turnoff. But on him? It was like tossing gasoline onto an already well-lit fire. It just set his appeal ablaze in a way that made me want to rub my palms all over his chest.
An itch I hadn’t felt in a long, long time crawled up my spine. It was that sex itch, the one that I hadn’t given into for so long that I was mildly concerned I couldn’t remember how to do it. I mean, I knew the mechanics of basic straight sex: one peen plus one vageen. But the rest of it? Did I even have sexy moves in my arsenal still?
Or even more pressing: why was I even worried about it when all he’d done was look at me? There wasn’t an offer of sex on the table or anything.
But maybe I could get one.
“So, you love mustangs, huh?” he asked, coming closer to me when Finn and Elizabeth had made themselves scarce.
“Who doesn’t? But this one.” I let out a low whistle, moving to the front of the car and practically laying my whole body on the warm hood. “1966 High Country Special Mustang, right? In Columbine Blue?” What were the odds that this guy would have the car of my dreams? And what were the odds further still, that he’d be this attractive? It was as rare as an alignment of all the planets in our solar system.
Unlike the start-up obsessed Finn Friend of the last dinner party, this was one I couldn’t slip through my fingers.
He raised that eyebrow again. Damn, he really had to stop doing that. “You know your cars.”
“Correction: I know this car. This beautiful, shiny, rare little gem.” When I turned my head, he was close. So close that our breath mixed, and his eyes held mine. For just a moment, my toes curled and my stomach flipped. With his dark eyebrows, bright blue eyes, and that wide, beautiful smile, he looked like the actor from the Star Trek reboot, but with his own kind of intense masculinity.
Why was I thinking about planetary alignment and Star Trek when a beautiful man was looking at me like he wanted to spread my legs and explore me?
I wasn’t the kind of girl who fell face first into deep lust. Maybe the car was affecting my inhibitions. Maybe my starved sex drive was driving my movements.
Or maybe it was him, and the way his tongue snaked out of his mouth to lick his lower lip for just a second before his lips spread in that grin—like he knew exactly what I was thinking about. He leaned in closer still, and smelled like sandalwood and cinnamon, spicy and earthy and I had the thought to just kiss him—to get the tension over with once and for all.
“Want to go for a ride?” he asked, breaking my focus on his mouth. When I looked up at him, I was so dazed by those blue eyes that I wasn’t sure if he meant the car or himself.
I toyed with saying no—to both, even if only one option was on the table. But I thought of my sad microwaved chips and holey poultry pajama pants and realized that I’d probably never see Ben again anyway, so what was the big problem with planting one on this guy, right in the middle of this driveway?
“What are you thinking?” he asked me.
“I don’t think you want to know.” I sounded wanton and tried not to let the embarrassment of it flood over me.
“Do you remember what I first said to you?”
When he looked at me like that, like he wanted to peel my leggings off with his teeth, it was hard to remember a damned thing he’d said. “Uh…”
“Well, you see,” he said, leaning in and effectively pinning me to the car. I held my breath as he leaned over me. “You’re all over my car right now.”
I swallowed the lump of lust that clogged my throat. “I’m guessing I owe you?” I asked, breathy and eager. I didn’t want to question it anymore. Not when the tension was drowning us both, not when my body was coming to life in a way it hadn’t since … well, I couldn’t remember how long.
“I won’t take unless you give.” His breath was hot, washing over my ear and doing the most delicious thing to my chest. I knew, if he pulled back, he’d see my nipples standing at attention. But I didn’t want him to pull away, so I did the only thing I could think of.
I grabbed the front of his sweater and yanked him down, sealing his mouth to mine as I laid on his car. And even though I’d been the one to initiate, he quickly took over.
One hand came around my neck while the other dove in my hair. He sucked my lower lip into his mouth and bit, gently enough that a moan escaped my throat before I could stop it.
The itch had turned into a full-blown forest fire and my lips were starving for oxygen, starving for him. I pulled him closer still, even as he bruised my mouth with his sucking and biting, so close that the only thing that separated us was our clothing.
His fist in my hair tugged and another moan came from my throat. I’d never been so wanton, so desperate for more. And, when we pulled away a second later, I’d never been more brazen than when I told him, “You’re coming home with me after dinner.” I tapped the hood. “And you’re bringing this car.” But almost as soon as it left my lips, I regretted it. Not because I didn’t mean it, but because I worried if we walked away from this moment, the sexual tension would fade, or we’d—meaning me—would be too shy to continue it.
“Or,” he said, “we can skip dinner and,” he pushed my hair over my ear, his voice like an alarm clock that just woke up my libido, “move right to dessert.”
He read my fucking mind. Shiiiiiit. Was I really about to do this? Bail on my best friend for some guy I’d just met at her dinner party? Before we’d even had dinner?
That fuckable eyebrow lifted and the riot of butterflies in my belly did a dip and I forgot the question I’d just asked myself. “Say yes, Millie.”