When the car stopped outside her apartment, he got out and walked around to her side, waving his driver off. He could damn well open the door for the woman who had done so much for him, in such a short time, and asked for nothing in return.
Once she stood on the sidewalk, hugging herself, he closed the door. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at five for Rockefeller Center, and then two on Sunday for the theatre.”
“Okay.” She hesitated, not moving toward her stairs. “Look, about earlier, when I kissed you, and you said—”
He held a hand up. “I got caught up in the moment. You made it quite clear you want to keep this thing between us platonic, and I shouldn’t have pushed for more.”
“But—”
He locked eyes with her. “I’m sorry, and I take it back. All of it.”
“Okay.” She nibbled on her lower lip. “Well, then…good night, I guess.”
He inclined his head. “Good night.”
She still didn’t move.
Neither did he.
The tension built between them, fast and thick. If this were any other woman, he’d think she wanted him to kiss her, but she’d made it pretty damn clear she didn’t want that at all. But, holy shit, he did.
“Do you want to come in?” she finally asked. “Have a drink?”
Yes. Hell yes. “I do. But if I come in there, I’m following through on every promise I’ve made, and you’ll be screaming my name within the hour.”
She cocked her head. “Is that a promise?”
“Damn right it is, which is why I should leave.” He reached out and grasped her chin, unable to resist. “You’re not ready, darling. I shouldn’t have pushed you earlier.”
She shrugged, still clinging to her purse as if it could save her. They stared at one another, the tension mounting even higher than his heart rate. It was as if she silently asked him to do something—anything. What? He had no idea. He didn’t speak “woman.”
“Like I said…” She tugged on her hair. “Wanna come in?”
He’d resisted the first time. He wouldn’t be able to do so twice. “Hell yeah.”
He waved his driver off and followed her up the stairs. Her hips swung with each step, as if she sought to torture him with the very thing he couldn’t have, since she’d more than likely change her mind before he could kiss her. And yet he followed her inside anyway because he was a masochistic asshole like that.
She flicked the lights on and glanced over her shoulder. “Beer?”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging out of his coat. He laid it across the chair where she’d dropped hers. “Thanks.”
She went into the kitchen, and he wandered around the living room. The picture on the shelf above the sofa was askew, so he nudged it straight before settling on the couch. She had a bunch of photos of herself with what he could only assume were her parents, a few of her with her roommate, but none of them had men in them.
He wasn’t sure why that made him happy, but it did.
When she came back into the living room carrying two open beers, he smiled at her. She kicked off her heels but still wore her dress, and was as gorgeous as always. He took the beer she offered him, and copied her, taking his shoes off and sliding them side by side under the table with his foot.
She sat down beside him, turning toward him and tucking her foot under her. Her knee touched his thigh, and he stiffened. Resting her head on a hand, she leaned against the back of the couch and smiled at him. “So…”
He raised a brow. “So?”
“How do you think tomorrow—?” She broke off, pressed her lips together, and shook her head. “You know what? Screw this.”
After setting down her beer, she yanked his out of his hand mid sip. He blinked. “Hey. I was drinking that.
“I’m done.” She straddled his lap and cupped his face. His heart lurched, and his cock thickened with need. “I invited you in. Now it’s time for you to fulfill your part of the bargain, Benji.”
He held her still, digging his fingers into her thighs, but didn’t move. “Say it. I need to hear you say it.”
“Kiss me. Take me.” She buried her hands securely in his hair. “Make me yours.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, sliding his hands down her legs, and back up—only this time under her skirt. “Maggie.”
He kissed her fully. All the other times they’d kissed, minus the time he’d made her come, he’d held himself back. Hadn’t let himself get caught up in the moment. Well, not this time.
This time, he was all fucking in.
She gasped and clung to him, rolling her hips against him hungrily. He entwined his tongue with hers, loving the way she tasted. Hell, she tasted like she was his—and he liked that. He slid his hands up her curves. If he was a poetic man, he could write a verse or two about the way her waist flared out slightly at her hips, intoxicating him. He arched up, rubbing against her warm core, and she moaned, pressing down firmly.