I slid my hand down his chest, my fingers traveling south on their way to his jeans, pressing my palm insistently against his— “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you didn’t sign my paper.”
My hand stilled as I broke away from Trip’s mouth. I looked up to find one of our new friends from the dance floor standing there expectantly, holding a pen and a piece of paper.
“What?” Trip asked her gruffly, his thoughts clearly on my abandoned handy.
Dance Floor Girl said, “You signed all my friends’ stuff. You walked away before you could sign mine.” She stepped closer and shoved the paper in his direction. “Do you mind?”
My first thought was to answer her with Do you? but I kept my mouth shut. Trip smiled politely, signed her stupid napkin, and sent her on her way.
He shot an apologetic look my way and I just rolled my eyes.
And then we went back to making out.
My thoughts were more on the evening we’d had rather than the evening still ahead of us. I mean, the first night we went out in weeks, and we had to spend it dealing with strangers. That night, I felt like he belonged to the world more than he belonged to me. Maybe he always would.
Trip went to the bathroom, so I hit the dance floor. It’s not like I was the one who needed to live my life in hiding, right? No one would give a darn about me.
But just in case, I stood off to the edge of the floor where it was a little darker. I was feeling the effects of those gin and tonics, and figured I’d look like a drunken idiot if I busted a move anyway. So, I was just kind of swaying along and bobbing my head to the music when a voice behind me asked, “Good band, huh?”
I turned and found a really cute guy standing there. Young. Probably early to mid-twenties. Fantastic eyebrows. “Yeah. They’re great. I’m enjoying the hell out of them!”
“You know what I’m enjoying?” Eyebrows asked. He leaned in closer and said, “Watching you dance.” I just gave him a courteous smile and a yeah right smirk as he added, “Can I buy you a drink?”
I was feeling like an old lady in that club filled with twenty-somethings, so it was flattering that some young stud was laying on the charm. He was sweet, but I politely thanked him and explained I was there with someone.
Suddenly, that someone swooped out of nowhere, grabbed my hand and hauled me out of the club. Once we got outside, I gave a rub to my shoulder where Trip had practically pulled my arm out of the socket. “Whoa, there, pal. What’s with the—”
SLAM! My back was suddenly plastered against the black walls of The Viper Room, Trip’s mouth descending on mine. I was a little buzzed from the drinks, but I was positively drunk from Trip’s drugging kiss. I melted under his assault, his body pressed along the length of mine, his breath against my lips as he pulled back and said, “You tease. Wiggling around in this little skirt. You thought you’d go unnoticed? I leave you alone for five minutes and you’ve already got some guy hitting on you.”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Jealous Trip was just too hot for words. I decided to stoke the fire. “You were only gone for three.”
He growled, smacked me on the ass and gave me a sham dirty look out of the corner of his eyes. “You’re asking for it, Warren. Just wait until I get you home.”
The valet brought the Batmobile around and Trip practically shoved me in the passenger seat, the line of awaiting clubgoers gawking at the scene we’d just made. Crud. Forgot about them. A few Blackberries made their appearance, but thank God there were no actual photographers around for that.
Trip started the drive home, his hand sliding up between my legs, under my skirt, teasing a look at my panties.
“Eyes on the road, cowboy. Let’s remember where we are.”
He snarled, “There’s only one place I want to be right now and it’s right here. Maybe here. Or here.”
I almost melted into the seat. It was going to be a long ride home.
Like a total gin-head, I unzipped him and slid my hand inside his jeans as he wound the car up Mulholland Drive. He was already hard, and he groaned as my hand worked him over. I was a bit worried that he’d drive us over the edge of the cliff.
Maybe I shouldn’t have had my hand down his pants.
Rationality returned as I shook my head, trying to get my brain straight. “I’m thinking this can wait a few minutes,” I said as I reclaimed my hand.
Trip let out with a frustrated breath. “I’m only agreeing because we’re almost home. Christ. You’re such a tease. I’m dying here.”
I giggled as I watched him zip up and readjust himself.
We finally made it home—in one piece—and Trip hit the button to open the gate, but didn’t drive through. “Huh,” he said. “That’s weird.”
He got out of the car and checked his mailbox, which was gaping wide open. Slightly odd.
He pulled an envelope out and ripped it open right there at the end of the driveway, read the card inside, then promptly folded it up and shoved it in his pocket before coming back to the car.
“What was it?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Let me see it.”